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Ling wanted nothing more than to collapse into her bed.
After sixteen hours in the air, wrangling passengers from Bangkok to Tokyo and vice versa, her body buzzed with exhaustion.
She had just shoved her suitcase into the trunk of her car when Junji appeared out of nowhere, leaning against the driver’s side door with a grin that screamed trouble.
“Come on, Ling, it’s just one date,” Junji chirped.
Ling squinted at her best friend, mascara smudged from the flight, hair tied in a lazy bun. “Junji, not now. I just landed. I need sleep, not another setup. My body is this close from collapsing.” Ling pinched her fingers together.
Junji, unfazed, crossed her arms. “Again. One date. That’s all I’m asking.”
Ling sighed, opening the car door. “You don’t remember what happened the last time, do you? She-who-will-not-be-named nearly memorized my roster after one dinner. And I just happened to tell her I’m a flight attendant! I don’t even know how she got my schedule!”
Junji cackled, loud and unrepentant. “You’re the only person I know who can make someone obsessed after just one date. One! That’s talent.”
“It’s trauma now,” Ling muttered, slamming the door shut. “I had to swap schedules with another crew just to shake her off.”
Junji only grinned wider. “Details, details. Besides, you’re too picky. Let me prove you wrong this time.”
Ling groaned. “Not happening.” She started the engine, pulling away, while Junji shouted through the window, “I’m not giving up!”
Two days later, true to her word, Junji tried again and this time at the gym.
Ling pressed the barbell overhead, sweat dripping down her temple, when Junji sidled up to the bench rack like a devil on her shoulder.
“Just one date?” she repeated, her voice sweet as poison.
“Junji,” Ling grunted, lowering the bar, “I told you I don’t want to anymore. Especially not after last time.”
Their history stretched back to college.
Ling, roped into the interschool pageant year after year, and Junji was at her side first as makeup artist then eventually as cheerleader, and occasional life saver.
From there, their friendship had hardened into steel. Which was exactly why Ling knew Junji wasn’t really going to let this go.
Ling shot her a look. “What kind of friends do you even have if they think stalking is romance?”
Junji smirked. “Excuse me, I have fantastic friends. You’re my best friend aren’t you? You’re just allergic to effort.”
Ling let out a short laugh, breathless from the set. “That was a little too much effort for me. And you’re allergic to boundaries.”
“Fine, fine. I’ll sweeten the deal. I’ll pay for your date.”
Ling snorted. “As if that’s the problem.”
Junji’s grin sharpened. “Alright then. I’m cashing it in.”
Ling froze mid-reach to another dumbbell. She turned slowly to her best friend. “You wouldn’t.”
“I would.” Junji’s eyes sparkled. That favor from Junji rescuing her from humiliation during college had been hanging over them like a running joke. Ling always asked when she’d use it. Junji’s answer was always the same: One rainy day.
Ling sat up, narrowing her eyes. “She must be important if you’re spending that card now.”
“Let’s just say,” Junji drawled, “I have a good feeling. And when you realize I’m right, you’ll owe me twice over.”
“Such arrogance, considering your track record of disasters.” Ling arched an eyebrow.
Junji wagged her finger. “Here’s the deal. I cash in the favor, I’ll even pay for the date. But if you end up remotely interested in a second one, you owe me two favors.” She extended her hand with mock solemnity.
Ling stared, weighing the irritation against the inevitability of Junji’s persistence. Finally, she clasped her hand. “Fine. But if I’m not, you'll never set me up again and you’ll owe me two favors.”
Junji grinned like a cat that had already eaten the canary. “Done. I can already smell victory. Honestly Ling, I may have just found your wife.”
Ling chuckled despite herself, shaking her head. Junji’s confidence was infuriating, but her loyalty was undeniable.
They moved back into their workout rhythm, weights clanking, sweat dripping, the bet sealed between them like a fuse waiting to be lit.
On the day of the date, Ling arrived earlier than she needed to. She always did. If flying had taught her anything, it was that being early meant control—and control meant calm.
Ternajachob Café sat just a stone’s throw away from Suvarnabhumi, tucked behind a strip of palms and glass. It was an oasis she’d come to rely on between flights, a place where the noise of departure boards and check-in counters felt worlds away. Today wasn’t any different: her luggage sat in the trunk, her uniform hung crisply in the back seat of her car. After this “date,” she’d change, head straight for the crew entrance, and slip back into the life she knew.
The bell chimed as she walked in, and the smell of roasted beans wrapped around her like a familiar blanket.
“Hi, Ling. What do you want today?” Fern, the barista, called with an easy smile. They knew each other by now; this was practically Ling’s second living room.
“Just coffee,” Ling said. “Can you bring it outside? I feel like catching the weather.”
Fern nodded, already moving to the machine.
Ling carried herself through the sliding doors to the garden terrace, settling into her favorite shaded bench. The late afternoon light dripped gold across the leaves, and for a few moments she allowed herself to breathe without schedules, without passengers, without Junji’s voice needling her about romance.
Her gaze drifted idly across the courtyard until it snagged on someone unexpected.
A woman sat alone at a nearby table, legs crossed, a paperback open in her hands. Not the usual heavy novel or business manual Ling often saw in travelers’ laps, but something lighter, a romantic comedy with a cute cover. And yet, the woman’s face didn’t match the book in her hands.
There was a quiet sadness in her eyes, something fragile that contradicted the easy laughter that should be printed on the pages.
Ling caught herself staring longer than polite.
As if sensing the weight of it, the woman lifted her head. Their eyes met across the greenery, and for a beat the world seemed to shrink to that single glance. Neither smiled, neither looked away.
The spell broke when Fern reappeared, sliding Ling’s coffee onto the table with a cheerful clink of porcelain. By the time Ling murmured her thanks and glanced back, the woman had lowered her gaze to her book again, but the echo of that moment stayed, humming beneath Ling’s skin.
Nearing the time of the meet-up, Ling ducked into the restroom to freshen up. She rinsed her hands under the cold tap, pressed her palms against her cheeks to chase away the tiredness, then carefully reapplied her lipstick.
For good measure, she checked her hair, smoothed down an invisible flyaway, and whispered a few versions of how she’d introduce herself. Each sounded stiffer than the last, but it was better than walking in blind.
When she was finally satisfied, she made her way toward the café’s greenhouse. If Junji insisted on setting her up, Ling had at least negotiated one thing: privacy. A little glass room tucked into the corner of the property, surrounded by vines and potted orchids. That way, no one could watch the awkward first minutes unfold.
But when she pushed the door open, she stopped in her tracks.
Standing near a row of philodendrons was the same woman she’d spotted earlier outside, the sad-eyed reader. The paperback was gone, replaced by a delicate focus as she traced the leaves with her gaze.
Ling’s mouth got ahead of her brain. “You’re the sad-eyed reader.”
The woman turned, brow arching, lips twitching at the corner. “And you’re the bored bean aficionado.” Her voice was warm, amused.
Ling blinked. “No…forget that. My mouth… it runs faster than my head. Sorry.” Flustered, she stepped forward and offered her hand. “I’m Ling Kwong.”
The woman regarded the hand for a beat, then took it gently. “Orm Sethratanapong.”
Her name lingered in the air between them, unfamiliar but pleasant.
Ling quickly gestured toward the table, pulling out a chair for her like muscle memory. Orm’s lips curved into the faintest smile at the gesture, but just as she moved to sit, Ling’s nose betrayed her with a sharp sneeze.
“Oh god, I’m so sorry,” Ling sputtered. “Pollen. I love this place, but apparently it doesn’t love me back.”
Orm tilted her head. “Then why choose a greenhouse with flowers and plants?”
Ling gave a helpless shrug, still dabbing at her nose. “I actually adore this café. The pollen just, well, it doesn’t adore me. Or maybe I don’t adore it. Whichever way, it’s unrequited.” The words spilled too fast, and Ling groaned. “Sorry. I ramble when I’m nervous.”
Another sneeze wracked through her, cutting off her apology.
When she looked up again, Orm was already digging through her bag. She pulled out a neat silver packet and offered it to her.
“Antihistamines,” she said simply.
Ling blinked, both touched and embarrassed. “Thank you. Really. Do you just… carry these around?”
Orm gave a small shrug, as if it were nothing.
The first few minutes went the way most first meetings do. Careful and polite, both of them feeling around the edges of conversation.
Ling stirred her coffee, glancing at Orm across the table. “So… Junji tells me you just came back from Australia?”
Orm nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Yeah, just last month. Finished my master’s in economics. Been trying to adjust back to Thai time ever since. Mostly just… at home, helping my mom or driving around for errands. Not exactly glamorous.”
Ling smiled faintly. “Sounds peaceful. You’ve got time on your hands.”
Orm tilted her head. “And you? Gina mentioned that you fly for a living?”
“Flight attendant.” Ling said it simply, like a fact she’d repeated a thousand times, though a part of her still carried the pride of it. “If I’m not on a plane, I’m at home. Or the gym. Or trying some new restaurant Junji insists is ‘life changing.’ Also, who is Gina?”
“She’s my friend who set this up, I think she’s friends with Junji.” Orm’s lips quirked. “So we’re both homebodies, just with different altitudes.”
That earned a laugh from Ling, lighter than she expected. “Something like that.”
There was a pause, not uncomfortable, just the kind that made both of them realize the usual small talk would only get them so far. Orm’s gaze lingered on Ling, curious, steady.
“Okay,” Orm said slowly, a different note into her tone. “Want to try something different?”
“More different than this?” Ling questioned, resting her chin on her hand.
Orm’s lips curved faintly as she nodded. “There’s this list, well thirty-six questions really. Supposedly it makes two strangers feel something.”
Ling raised a brow, amused despite herself. “Something? Something what?”
“You wanna play to find out what it unearths?” Orm asked getting her phone.
“Hmmm” Ling hummed.
Orm smiling now. “Or it could just be a better way to skip the boring questions. Worst case, we’ll have something to laugh about when this ends.”
Ling took a sip of her water, eyes narrowing as if she were weighing a dare. “Alright. But if this ends in another stalker, I’m sending Junji the therapy bill.”
Orm laughed, leaning forward on her elbows. “A stalker? You know what, deal. Maybe that story will come up in one of the questions.”
She unlocked her phone and turned the screen toward Ling. “So, apparently we’re supposed to answer them in order. Listen carefully, be honest, validate emotions, take breaks if needed… and reflect.” Her lips quirked upward. “Still game?”
Ling checked her watch, she had time before her flight. Why not? she thought, shrugging lightly. “Sure. Let’s do it.”
“We’ll take turns going first?” she suggested, and Orm nodded.
- SET I -
“I’ll start since I’m the one dragging us into this experiment,” Orm said, scrolling to the first prompt. “Okay…question one. Given the choice of anyone in the world, whom would you want as a dinner guest?”
She paused for a while, eyes drifting toward the vines outside the glass. “My dad, I think,” she said finally. “I’ve barely seen him since I got back, like maybe an hour a day, if that. I just… want to sit with him properly, share a meal, pick his brain. He’s always been the one person who helps me make sense of things when my head feels messy.”
Ling hadn’t expected such sincerity on the first question. She’d planned to joke her way through, but now it felt wrong to do that, to match honesty with deflection.
“My dad’s mom,” she said softly. “My grandma. She’s the one who made me want to see the world. For her, it was just a dream. For me, it became real. I haven’t seen her in years… haven’t been back to Hong Kong in a while. I want to have that conversation with her over a meal and tell stories, show pictures of the places I’ve been to.” She smiled faintly. “Maybe I should.”
Orm’s gaze warmed. “You should,” she said simply, handing the phone over for the next question.
“Would you like to be famous? In what way?” Ling read aloud, brows knitting slightly.
She leaned back, idly tracing the rim of her glass as she thought. “Hmm… depends. Would being famous mean losing my privacy? Because, let’s face it, once you’re in the spotlight, people start thinking they have the right to control your life.”
She glanced at Orm, who was listening intently. “Maybe something connected to fitness, or something humanitarian like starting a scholarship fund. Something that matters, but not the kind that turns your whole life into public property.”
Orm smiled faintly. “You’d probably end up being the kind of famous people actually root for.”
Ling laughed softly, waving a hand. “You say that now. Wait till they find my sleep-deprived airport selfies.”
Orm chuckled, the sound quiet but genuine. “I get that, though. I think if I were to be known for something, it’d have to be… intellectual or professional. I wouldn’t survive the media spotlight either. I’m too much of a homebody.” She shifted slightly closer, resting her arms on the table.
“Maybe in smaller circles like building something meaningful. If my name ever mattered, I’d want it tied to ideas that actually helped people, like shaping better systems for small businesses or fairer economies.”
Ling nodded, watching how Orm’s hands moved when she spoke, measured but alive. “That sounds… different.”
A quiet hum settled between them. Outside, the faint buzz of cicadas seeped through the glass walls. Neither seemed in a hurry to move on, but Orm eventually cleared her throat and smiled down at her phone. “Alright, question three.”
She read it aloud. “Before making a telephone call, do you ever rehearse what you’re going to say? Why?”
Ling grinned. “You’re looking at someone who once practiced an entire call to her boss while waiting in line at immigration. And I was just going to request vacation time.”
Orm laughed, tilting her head. “So yes, then.”
Ling nodded. “Definitely yes. Except with friends. You’ve already seen how I blurt things out when I’m nervous.”
Orm raised her cup to her lips, hiding a small smile. “It’s endearing.”
Ling ignored the warmth creeping up her neck. “I just like being prepared, that’s all. Talking helps me regulate my emotions, keeps me focused. I think it’s respectful, too. People are giving you their time, and the least you can do is not waste it rambling before getting to the point.”
Orm nodded slowly. “Exactly. I do that too. Especially for work calls. I jot down key points, say them out loud once or twice. Makes me sound more collected. I hate sounding like my brain’s scattered all over the place.”
Ling smiled, noticing how Orm tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear when she got shy talking about herself. “You don’t strike me as someone who ever sounds scattered.”
Orm met her gaze briefly, eyes soft but unreadable. “You’d be surprised.”
Something eased in the air after that, like the first unspoken layer of distance between them had quietly dissolved.
“What would constitute a perfect day for you?” Ling read, leaning slightly forward.
She thought for a moment, lips pursed in half-serious contemplation. “If you’d asked me when I was younger, I’d probably say hanging out with friends, doing something outdoorsy. But now?” Her voice softened. “Now, I think it’s sleeping in, waking up with nothing urgent to do. Being with someone I love, talking about anything or nothing. Just… a slow day. A peaceful one.”
Orm nodded slowly, eyes tracing the condensation on her glass. “That sounds kinda perfect,” she said quietly. “I get that, being with someone you love. It doesn’t really matter what you do, as long as you’re in the same space. That presence alone can fix the noise in your head.”
Her tone was even, but something in her expression cracked. Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, and her gaze lingered somewhere far away like she was looking through the memory of someone she couldn’t name aloud. The corners of her lips trembled just slightly, the kind of sadness that wasn’t meant to be noticed.
Ling saw it anyway. The heaviness behind her composure, the faint gloss over her eyes that no amount of calm could hide.
Orm looked down, fiddling with the phone as she read the next question. “When did you last sing for yourself? Or to someone else?” she asked, her voice barely above a murmur. “I… haven’t sung to myself in a while. It doesn’t come to me lately. And to someone else…” she hesitated, her throat tightening before she forced a small laugh “...maybe more than six months ago.”
The silence that followed wasn’t empty; it ached. Ling felt an unexpected pull in her chest, an instinct to fill the quiet with warmth, to make Orm smile again.
So she straightened and said, playfully, “Well, you’re looking at someone known to sing beautifully. My audience has no complaints.”
Orm’s eyes flickered up, amusement breaking through the sadness. “Is that so? And who exactly are these lucky critics?”
“Char Siu and Tofu, my golden retrievers.” Ling grinned. “Char Siu’s the excitable one, Tofu’s old and only tolerates my singing because snacks usually follow. Maybe I should sing him old songs now, you know, for nostalgia’s sake.”
Orm laughed, really laughed this time, her shoulders easing, eyes lighting up for the first time that evening.
Ling tilted her head, enjoying the sound. “You’re laughing at me,” she teased. “Maybe I should prove my talent.”
Before Orm could protest, Ling began to sing, playfully at first, leaning into the joke. But when she reached the chorus of Princess, something shifted. Her voice steadied, rich and clear, and for a few seconds the greenhouse felt smaller, quieter.
Orm didn’t move. She just watched, the faintest trace of awe softening her features. When Ling finished, Orm clapped slowly at first, then with a bright smile that erased every shadow from her face.
“Okay,” Orm said, laughter in her voice. “You weren’t kidding.”
Ling realized she wasn’t performing anymore. She was trying to make someone feel better and she had.
Ling scrolled down the screen and chuckled softly. “Okay, this next one, I feel like we’ll have the same answer.” She read aloud, “‘If you were able to live to the age of ninety and retain either the mind or the body of a thirty-year-old for the last sixty years of your life, which would you want?’”
She looked up, eyes glinting with playfulness. “Wanna blurt it out at the same time?”
Orm tilted her head, intrigued. “Sure. Let’s see how alike we really are.”
Ling grinned. “After three, okay? One… two… three—”
“Mind,” they said in unison.
They both laughed, surprised but not entirely. The sound echoed softly between them, easy and warm.
Ling rested her chin on her hand. “See? I knew it. You don’t strike me as the type to pick vanity over sense.”
Orm smiled, her expression gentle. “You could always retrain the body, rebuild it, push it again. But once the mind starts slipping, the memories go with it. And what’s the point of living long if you forget the life you built?”
Ling nodded, the playfulness easing into something more thoughtful. “Yeah. The mind holds everything that makes you you.”
Orm’s eyes flickered toward her, the faintest curve at the corner of her lips. “Exactly.”
There was a small pause then, but a comfortable one. Ling noticed how Orm’s posture had relaxed, shoulders no longer tight, her fingers idly tracing the condensation on her glass as if she’d forgotten to be guarded.
By the time Fern came back with their dinner, a grilled salmon for Ling, a simple khao pad for Orm and two shared appetizers in front of them, the air between them had softened.
The questions had done their work; there were no formalities left to hide behind. They ate slowly, occasionally laughing at how seriously they were taking the experiment.
After a few bites, Ling read the next question.
“Do you have a secret hunch about how you will die?”
She glanced up from her plate, half-expecting Orm to laugh it off, but Orm just nodded for her to go first.
Ling thought for a moment. “I’d like to say old age,” she said, voice steady. “After living a full life, seeing everything I wanted, maybe surrounded by people I love.”
Orm’s fork stilled against her plate. “I pray it’s not because of a disease,” she said softly. “Or another pandemic. Old age would be nice. Clutching the hand of the one I love.”
Ling’s heart caught on the quiet way she said it. Orm’s gaze had drifted to the glass walls of the greenhouse again, where vines swayed gently in the breeze.
For a heartbeat, Ling wanted to reach out, to steady that longing before it slipped into loneliness.
When Ling read the next one “Name three things you and your partner appear to have in common” the heaviness lifted a little.
“Partner,” she teased. “That’s generous of the question.”
Orm chuckled. “Guess we’re stuck with it.”
Ling counted on her fingers. “We’re both homebodies. Both love our families.”
Orm leaned back, smiling. “And both clearly need time off.”
Ling laughed, clinking her fork against her glass like a toast. “Finally, something we agree on completely.”
Their plates were half empty when Ling continued, “For what in your life do you feel most grateful?”
She spoke without overthinking. “I’m grateful for what I’ve achieved so far. The places I’ve seen, the people I’ve met. And that I can still support my family in the province, even save a bit for later.”
Orm listened, chin resting on her hand. “That’s a good answer,” she murmured. Then, after a breath, “I’m grateful for the people who helped me get back up. For my family’s support, even after the mess. Just… knowing I still have somewhere I can go home to.”
There was a faint tremor in her voice when she said after the mess, one Ling didn’t miss. But Orm kept her smile in place, the kind that hides more than it reveals.
“If you could change anything about the way you were raised, what would it be?” Orm shook her head almost immediately.
“I don’t think I’d change anything.”
Ling smiled. “Same. All of it, good or bad, it shaped who I am.”
Orm nodded and met her eyes, and Ling could sense the role her family played in Orm’s life that she wanted to ask. Still, she let it be. Some stories don’t like to be rushed.
Then came the long one: “Take four minutes and tell your partner your life story in as much detail as possible.”
Ling laughed nervously. “Four minutes? You’ll regret that.”
But Orm just gestured for her to go on.
Ling told her about Hong Kong, about moving to Kalasin as a teenager, about struggling to learn Thai and somehow ending up representing her school in pageants. “The tourism department and my friends wouldn’t take no for an answer,” she said with a grin. “That’s how I learned to smile even when I’m terrified.”
She spoke about flying, about the quiet pride in her uniform, about the long nights and strange airports that had become home. By the end, she was surprised how easy it was to talk.
Orm listened the whole time, eyes soft, chin propped on her palm. When Ling finally exhaled, Orm gave a small nod. “You sound like someone who’s lived a hundred lives already.”
Ling’s laugh came out quieter. “Your turn.”
Orm hesitated, toying with her spoon. “Mine’s simpler. Grew up here in Bangkok. My mom’s an actress, my dad runs his own business. It was a good childhood, no real complaints. I studied economics, then went to Australia for my master’s. My ex and I… we went together from Bangkok to Australia. We were planning to settle down there.”
Her voice thinned slightly, like a string being stretched too tight. “On the day we were supposed to view our new apartment after our graduation, I surprised her. And got surprised instead.”
Ling stayed silent, not wanting to break the moment.
Orm smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “That was six months ago. Been back to Bangkok for a month now.”
Ling’s chest tightened. There was something raw about the way Orm said it but not angry, not bitter, just tired, bone tired. Like she’d already spent all her entire strength surviving it.
Ling wanted to reach out, to say something that might ease the weight in Orm’s voice. But it felt too soon, too tender a space to cross uninvited. So she tucked the instinct away for now, letting silence do the comforting instead.
The next question came almost as a mercy: “If you could wake up tomorrow having gained any one quality or ability, what would it be?”
Ling exhaled. “You know the movie Jumper? I want that ability. Just to travel instantly anywhere. No check-ins, No flight delays.”
Orm smiled faintly. “Makes sense. You’ve been flying for years. You’d probably still find a way to turn teleporting into work.”
Ling laughed. “Probably.”
Orm looked thoughtful for a moment. “Maybe invisibility for me. Just to… disappear for a bit. Not because I hate life, but because sometimes I want to exist without being seen. Without having to explain.”
Her voice trailed off into the quiet hum of the café’s music.
Ling didn’t answer right away. She just watched Orm, the stillness of her expression, the strength it took to say without having to explain.
“Sounds peaceful,” Ling said finally. “But I think if you disappeared, the world would miss out on something good.”
Orm looked up, caught off guard by the sincerity. A small smile flickered at her lips, grateful, almost shy.
And just like that, the heaviness shifted again, replaced by something warmer. They didn’t notice that their dinner plates had long gone cold, or that the sky outside had turned from soft gold to indigo a while ago.
The night, it seemed, had decided to stay with them a little longer.
- SET II -
The plates had been cleared, the table now scattered with only coffee cups and the faint smell of vanilla and rain-soaked earth from the greenhouse outside. The night had taken on that soft, unhurried rhythm where time no longer mattered.
Orm scrolled through the next question, her thumb hesitating on the screen before reading it aloud.
“If a crystal ball could tell you the truth about yourself, your life, the future, or anything else, what would you want to know?”
She was quiet for a moment, eyes tracing the steam curling from her cup. “Would I be happy again?”
The words landed like a small confession. No hesitation, no pretense, just raw honesty hanging between them.
Ling didn’t even think. “Yes,” she said immediately, firm but gentle, like it was a promise.
Orm looked up, surprised by the conviction in her tone. Ling offered a small smile to soften it, but in her mind, she meant it. Whatever came next in Orm’s life, she would make sure happiness found her again. There was something in her compelling her to see it through.
When Orm turned the question back to her, Ling shrugged lightly. “Nothing at the moment,” she said, swirling the last sip of coffee. “I think… I’d rather see how things unfold. Some truths are better when you live them out.”
Orm’s gaze lingered on her, curious but admiring. “That’s brave,” she murmured.
Ling tilted her head. “Or reckless.”
Orm laughed, the sound low and warm. “Maybe both.”
A comfortable quiet stretched before Ling spoke again. “Okay, your turn. Is there something you’ve dreamed of doing for a long time? And why haven’t you done it?”
Orm leaned back in her chair, thinking. “Starting my own business. Not a huge one, just something I can build from scratch. I guess… I’ve been too scared. Stability feels safer after everything.”
Ling nodded. “That makes sense. Dreams can wait until we’re ready to hold them.” She smiled faintly. “Mine’s simpler. I’ve always wanted to build my own house here. One I designed myself. Not big, just mine.”
Orm’s lips curved. “So you’d still build here, even after all those flights to everywhere?”
Ling chuckled. “Maybe it’s because of them. Flying reminds me how good it feels to come home.”
The light between them shifted again, growing softer, more personal.
“What is the greatest accomplishment of your life?” Orm asked next, her voice quieter now, as if she already knew this one would mean something.
Ling didn’t hesitate. “When I finished building my mom’s house. Every layover, every overtime. It all went into that. Seeing her finally move in… that was the first time I felt like I’d really made something lasting.”
Orm’s face lit up, genuine admiration in her eyes. “That’s a great accomplishment.”
Ling smiled at the sincerity in her tone, a small flutter rising in her chest. “Thanks. What about you?”
Orm thought for a beat, her gaze dropping to her hands. “Finishing my master’s,” she said. “But not just the degree itself. Finishing it while trying keeping my sense of self intact. I almost lost both. But I didn’t quit. Even if I had every reason to. Even when it felt like I had nothing left, I showed up. That feels like an accomplishment now.”
Ling’s expression softened. “That’s more than an accomplishment,” she said quietly. “That’s strength.”
Orm met her eyes, and for a second neither of them looked away. There was no pity in Ling’s gaze, only understanding. The kind that made you feel seen without being exposed.
Outside, the sound of rain began to fall, tapping softly against the glass walls. Orm smiled faintly, like she’d just exhaled something she’d been holding for months.
“Guess I didn’t realize how much I needed to talk tonight,” she admitted.
Ling grinned, resting her chin in her palm. “It’s nice have this conversation.”
The crystal ball question might have asked about the future, but both of them knew the truth, they’d already stumbled into something they didn’t expect to find tonight.
The rain outside thickened into a steady hum, the kind that wraps the night in stillness. Fern had already dimmed the lights, leaving the greenhouse bathed in a soft amber glow. Ling glanced at the couch tucked into the corner, half hidden behind a row of potted ferns, plush and inviting.
“Want to move there?” she asked, nodding toward it. “Feels more comfortable than pretending we’re still on a job interview.”
Orm laughed lightly, relief flickering across her face. “Yeah, good idea.”
They carried their drinks and settled onto the couch. Orm folding her legs under her, Ling sitting sideways, knees turned toward her companion.
From there, the conversation no longer felt like a game. It felt like confession by candlelight.
Orm read the next question. “What do you value most in a friendship?”
Ling didn’t answer right away. She watched the rain slide down the glass panels behind Orm before finally saying, “Consistency. People who stay when life isn’t shiny or easy. I don’t need grand gestures, just the kind of presence that feels safe.”
Orm nodded, her thumb brushing the edge of the phone absently. “Safety,” she said softly. “The freedom to speak without editing myself. A real friend doesn’t need me to be polished, just honest.”
Ling’s eyes warmed. “Then you must be a really good friend.”
Orm looked down, smiling faintly. “I try. It’s easier to offer that kind of space to others than to take it for myself, though.”
Ling tilted her head, studying her. “Maybe you just haven’t met someone who lets you.”
That earned her a glance, one that lingered a second longer than expected.
Orm cleared her throat and scrolled down the phone. “Okay… what is your most treasured memory?”
Ling brightened. “That one’s easy. A beach day with my family when I was a kid. It was one of those slow, perfect days. My mom laughed so hard she cried, my dad fell asleep under a towel, and my brother and I kept building sandcastles only to destroy them right after. It was simple, just pure happiness.”
As she spoke, her smile softened into something wistful, and Orm found herself smiling too, caught up in the imagery.
“That sounds… warm,” Orm said quietly. “Mine’s a little less cinematic, but I guess it’s when my dad taught me how to drive a stick. We circled the same street for hours until I stopped stalling. He never raised his voice, just said ‘Again, you’ll get it next time.’ I didn’t realize then how much patience that took.”
Ling’s expression gentled. “He sounds like a good man.”
Orm nodded “He is.” and for a moment her gaze drifted again, somewhere between memory and longing.
The next question hung heavier. “What is your most terrible memory?”
Ling drew a slow breath. “When my parents told us they were separating. I came home late from badminton practice, they were waiting at the kitchen table. My brother was in the living room, just… staring at the floor. No one said anything for a while. I still remember the sound of the clock ticking.”
Her voice faltered, but she smiled faintly to chase it away. “It’s strange how you can hear silence that loud.”
Orm didn’t speak right away. Her fingers tightened slightly around her mug. When she finally looked up, her eyes were softer but sad. “You could probably guess mine,” she said.
Ling didn’t ask. She didn’t need to. Instead, she reached out, just lightly, her hand resting against Orm’s where it rested on the couch. A small, wordless gesture that said I’m here.
Orm didn’t pull away just she squeezed in return.
The rain carried on, steady and endless. And in that quiet space between questions, something unnamed began to bloom gentle, careful, but undeniably real.
The café had grown quiet; only the hum of the lights and the clinking of distant cups filled the silence. From their corner couch, the world felt far away. Like the night had tucked them into their own small orbit.
Orm’s voice came gently. “If you knew that in one year you would die suddenly, would you change anything about the way you’re living now? Why?”
Ling thought about it, her gaze following the raindrops streaking the glass. “I’d stop flying all over,” she said finally. “Spend more time grounded, literally and figuratively. I think I’d go home more. See my family, my dogs. Maybe just… breathe.”
Orm nodded slowly. “That sounds nice. But what’s stopping you from doing that now?”
Ling froze at Orm’s question. What was really stopping her from doing it regularly? She was in her head when Orm continued.
“I think I’d say yes to that photoshoot my mom’s been pestering me about. She keeps wanting a professional picture together, but I keep putting it off. If I only had a year left, I think I’d want her to have something to remember me by. Something good.”
Ling smiled softly. “You should say yes anyway.”
Orm’s answering smile was small but real. “Maybe I will.”
The next question came quietly, almost seamlessly from the last: What does friendship mean to you?
Ling tilted her head, the glow from the hanging lamp tracing the edge of her jaw. “It’s choosing someone without needing a reason but also not being afraid to say what is real to them.” she said. “It’s the small check-ins, the shared silence, the sense that you’re not alone in this wide world.”
Orm’s eyes softened as she listened. “That’s beautiful,” she murmured, then exhaled slowly. “For me, friendship is the place where I don’t have to earn love. It’s where I can exist without a role, just me, unedited. It’s rare, but once you have it, you hold on.”
Ling’s gaze lingered on her face a second too long, drawn by the vulnerability in her tone. “You sound like someone who’s lost one of those.”
Orm’s lips parted as if to answer, but she only said, “maybe, over the years. But maybe I’m finding a new one tonight.”
Ling’s heartbeat faltered, caught between surprise and something tender she didn’t want to name.
Orm scrolled again, slower this time, as though the words mattered more with each question. “What roles do love and affection play in your life?” she read.
Ling gave a quiet laugh. “That’s a loaded one.”
Orm smirked, leaning back into the couch cushions. “It’s question twenty-something, I think we’re past the small talk stage.”
Ling grinned, conceding. “Fair. I guess… love and affection remind me I’m human. My job can make me detached, always in transit. Love grounds me, it slows me down.”
Orm nodded, thoughtful. “That makes sense. You live your life moving from one place to another. You’d need something, or someone, to bring you back.”
Ling’s eyes flickered toward her. “And you?”
Orm hesitated, then met her gaze fully. “They’re both healing and terrifying,” she said quietly. “I crave them, but I’ve learned they have to come from the right person, someone who doesn’t mistake tenderness for anything else other than that.”
The words hung there, fragile and raw. Ling didn’t say anything for a while; she just watched Orm trace invisible circles on the rim of her cup.
Without thinking, Ling reached out and brushed a stray hair from Orm’s cheek, her fingers lingering for just a moment longer than they should. “Then maybe it’s not the love that’s terrifying,” she said softly. “Maybe it’s trusting someone to handle it gently.”
Orm looked at her, eyes wide, breath caught in her throat. The rain outside deepened again, filling the pause that followed.
Neither of them moved to speak. The questions could wait.
For now, it was enough that they were still sitting there, side by side, suspended in the quiet kind of understanding that feels almost like falling.
They were still seated sideways on the couch, half-turned toward each other, their knees almost brushing. The rain had softened into a distant pitter-patter, steady enough to fill the silences that now felt warm rather than awkward.
Orm scrolled, her smile curving at the next prompt. “Alternate sharing something you consider a positive characteristic of your partner. Five items each.”
Ling raised a brow. “So this is the compliment round?”
“Looks like it,” Orm said. “You first.”
Ling shook her head. “No way. You suggested this game, you start.”
Orm laughed under her breath, then looked at her like she was trying to memorize her face before speaking. “When you laugh,” she said, “it’s impossible not to laugh with you.”
Ling felt the corner of her lips tug upward. “You listen like you mean it,” she countered softly. “Not just to words but to silences too.”
Orm’s gaze flickered between Ling’s eyes. “You feel steady, but not cold. You know how to be kind without losing your edge.”
Ling smiled at that, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “You have this calm that makes people want to stay a little longer.”
Orm’s laugh came out quieter this time, almost shy. “You look at people like you’re trying to memorize them. It makes them feel seen.”
Ling’s chest tightened at that, her tone softening. “You make heavy things sound like they have the potential to be light, like they’re stories waiting to be healed.”
Orm tilted her head, eyes bright. “You make simple things look like they matter. Everything you do feels intentional.”
Ling hesitated, watching the way Orm spoke, careful and sincere. “You don’t hide your softness,” she said finally. “You carry it carefully, even when you’ve been hurt.”
Orm didn’t speak for a second. She just looked at Ling, like something in her had gone still. “You remind me that I can start again,” she said, her voice almost a whisper. “That not everything new has to hurt.”
And Ling, ever steady and composed, felt her pulse stumble. “You make me want to slow down,” she murmured. “And I don’t slow down for just anyone.”
They didn’t move for a while after that. The question had ended, but it felt like the air around them hadn’t caught up yet.
Orm broke the spell by scrolling to the next one. “Okay… next: ‘How close and warm is your family? Do you feel your childhood was happier than most other people’s?’”
Ling exhaled slowly, grounding herself again. “Even after everything we’ve been through, we’re close, maybe closer than before. It’s true what they say: trials either make or break a family. For us, it made us stronger. My childhood wasn’t perfect, but it was perfect for me. I wouldn’t be me without it.”
Orm nodded, listening in that quiet way of hers. “We’re close too. Even from miles away, we find ways to be together. We’re busy people, but when something happens, everyone steps up. And yeah… I’d say my childhood was happy. But I don’t compare. Everyone’s version of happiness looks different and that’s kind of beautiful.”
Ling smiled, a touch of admiration in her eyes. “That’s such an Orm answer.”
Orm chuckled softly. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
She scrolled again, slower now. “How do you feel about your relationship with your mother?”
Ling’s answer came easily. “We’re close. Became even closer after we moved here. I don’t talk to my dad much anymore, but Mom has been my constant.”
Orm nodded, resting her chin on her knee as she looked at Ling. “Mom’s like my best friend,” she said. “She knows me too well. Sometimes I think she can read my thoughts before I even say them.”
Ling smiled. “That sounds nice. Comforting.”
Orm hummed. “It is. And a little scary.”
Ling laughed quietly. “Mothers usually are.”
The two of them fell into a soft silence again, the kind that didn’t need words. The questions kept coming, but somewhere between the laughter and the confessions, the space between them had already shifted no longer just curiosity, but recognition.
- SET III -
The air in the greenhouse had turned quieter, heavier in a gentle way. The soft glow of the overhead lamps made the leaves shimmer faintly, and the hum of the rain outside felt almost like background music.
Orm scrolled to the next prompt. “Make three true we statements each. For instance, ‘We are both in this room feeling…’”
Ling smiled faintly, thinking for a moment before speaking. “We’re both in this room feeling… hopeful.”
Orm looked at her, really looked, and nodded. “We are both trying to heal from something, even if we’re not saying it out loud.”
Ling’s smile softened. “We’re both not where we thought we’d be at this age… but maybe that’s okay.”
Orm’s eyes warmed as she stared at Ling. Their gazes held for a heartbeat too long, the quiet hum of rain filling whatever words might’ve come next.
The next question appeared, simple yet loaded:
“Complete this sentence: I wish I had someone with whom I could share…”
Ling stared at the phone for a second, her thumb frozen mid-scroll. “Can we answer that later?” she asked, voice almost a whisper.
Orm didn’t press. She just nodded. “Yeah. Later.”
The night stretched a little further, the rain easing to a fine mist. Orm spoke next, reading aloud.
“If you were going to become a close friend with your partner, please share what would be important for them to know.”
Ling leaned back against the couch, her voice low but steady. “I’d be gone half the time,” she admitted. “Flights, layovers, different time zones. But I’m working toward being grounded in a few years. I just… need to find the courage to stop moving.”
Orm smiled at her honesty. “Then I’d say… be patient with me. I’m still figuring myself out. I’m a work in progress right now.”
Ling’s lips curved. “That’s fine. Works in progress make the best stories.”
Orm laughed softly, shaking her head. “You sound like you’ve lived several novels already.”
Ling met her gaze. “Maybe I’m hoping for a better chapter.”
The warmth that bloomed between them wasn’t loud, just steady like something quietly blooming under the surface.
Orm glanced at the phone again. “Tell your partner what you like about them. Be very honest this time, say things you wouldn’t normally say to someone you’ve just met.”
Ling looked at her, weighing the question. “I like that you were brave enough to share these things with me,” she said finally. “We were practically strangers when we started this, but you never hesitated to show who you are. That’s rare.”
Orm’s voice was softer now, almost shy. “I feel safe with you,” she said. “And it’s rare that I feel that, especially this early.”
Ling exhaled, her heart tripping in her chest. The distance between them suddenly felt smaller, almost fragile.
“Then I’ll take care of that,” Ling said quietly. “Your safety.”
Orm’s eyes lifted to hers, uncertain but drawn. “You’re making it very hard to pretend this is still a game.”
Ling smiled. “Maybe it stopped being one a while ago.”
Outside, the rain finally stopped but neither of them noticed. The stillness between them said enough.
Orm scrolled down and smiled. “Alright, this one could get interesting—‘Share with your partner an embarrassing moment in your life.’ You first.”
Ling groaned, covering her face with one hand. “Oh, I already regret agreeing to this.”
Orm laughed. “That bad?”
“Worse.” Ling sat up straighter, her eyes glinting. “Okay, so remember my best friend Junji? She’s my makeup artist-slash-cheerleader-slash-chaos gremlin. Back in college, I joined this pageant, don’t ask why, they basically shoved me into it. It was finals week, my brain was fried with all the thing happening simultaneously, and by the time I got to the Q&A round, I could barely think straight.”
Orm leaned forward, smiling. “This is going to be good.”
“The host asks me, ‘If you could change one thing about the world, what would it be?’ And before my brain could even process it, my mouth said, ‘Traffic… because, like, it makes everyone late and sad.’”
Orm blinked, then burst out laughing, nearly spilling her drink.
“Oh, it gets worse,” Ling said, laughing too. “The whole auditorium went silent. You could hear a pin drop. Then suddenly, I see Junji stand up from the crowd yelling, ‘ICONIC!’ and clapping like her life depended on it. Everyone else just… followed! Out of sheer confusion, I think.”
Orm was laughing so hard she had to press a hand to her chest. “You’re kidding—”
“Nope. Somehow, I still won. Junji called me ‘Miss Traffic Management’ for two years after that.”
“Honestly? I’d vote for you too.”
“Pity votes count,” Ling said, trying to keep a straight face.
Orm wiped her eyes, still grinning. “Okay, fine. My turn.”
Ling gestured dramatically. “Let’s hear it, genius economist.”
Orm exhaled through a laugh. “I was fifteen and had the biggest crush on my math tutor. She was this older university student who looked like she walked straight out of a Thai drama. So one day, I tried to impress her by pretending to understand advanced calculus.”
Ling raised a brow. “Oh no.”
“Oh yes,” Orm groaned. “Except I didn’t realize my notebook was upside down the entire time. She just smiled, very politely, and turned it the right way up. I wanted the ground to swallow me whole.”
Ling laughed, a warm, unrestrained sound. “Please tell me it ends there.”
“I biked home in the rain to scream into my pillow. My mom found out and now she teases me every time she sees an equation. She’ll say, ‘Careful, check if it’s right side up this time.’”
Ling was still chuckling when Orm sank back into the couch, covering her face. “I’ve never told anyone that before,” Orm admitted through a laugh.
“Well, for what it’s worth,” Ling said, nudging her knee lightly, “I think teenage you was adorable.”
Orm peeked out from behind her hands, her cheeks pink. “You’re just saying that because you said ‘traffic’ onstage.”
Ling grinned. “Exactly. Takes one disaster to appreciate another.”
They both laughed again, the kind that melted into small silences.
When the laughter finally subsided, Orm scrolled to the next question. “When did you last cry in front of another person? Or by yourself?”
Ling took a breath, thinking. “I haven’t cried in a while. I’m not really a crier.”
Orm nodded, unsurprised. “Yeah, you seem like the type who keeps it together for everyone else.”
“Occupational hazard,” Ling said with a shrug. “Flight attendants don’t really get to fall apart midair.”
Orm’s lips curved gently. “I’m the opposite. I cry at almost anything—movies, songs, burnt toast. My tear ducts are basically a loose faucet.”
Ling smiled, softer this time. “Balance, then. I’ll hold the line when you fall apart.”
Orm looked at her for a moment, eyes glinting, voice quieter now. “That sounds dangerously nice.”
Ling just held her gaze, her voice low but sure. “Maybe nice isn’t always dangerous.”
The next question was simple, almost disarming.
“Tell your partner something that you like about them already.”
Orm hesitated for a second, her gaze dipping toward Ling’s lips before settling on her eyes. “I like your smile,” she said softly. “I really do. It’s warm… like you mean it.”
Ling felt her cheeks lift into that same smile, involuntarily. “Well,” she replied, voice lowering, “I love your eyes. As cheesy as it sounds, I could stare at them for a long time.”
Orm laughed quietly, brushing her hair behind her ear. “You’d get bored eventually.”
Ling shook her head. “No, i don’t think so. I kinda have this tick that i need to match the color with it’s name. I think i’ll be searching for it forever.”
“And if you find it?” Orm asked quietly.
“Then i’d start again just to be sure.” Then Ling smiled at Orm.
Something in the air shifted after that. No longer just comfort, but a quiet awareness threading between them.
Orm scrolled to the next question. “What, if anything, is too serious to be joked about?”
Ling’s tone turned thoughtful. “Death. It’s always too serious to joke about. I get awkward when it comes up, even if people mean well.”
Orm nodded slowly. “I agree. Some things lose their weight if we laugh at them too soon.”
Ling hummed in agreement, eyes drifting toward the window where the rain had started again, gentle this time, like a reminder of something inevitable.
“If you were to die this evening with no opportunity to communicate with anyone, what would you most regret not having told someone? And why haven’t you told them yet?”
Ling looked down at her hands, her voice barely above a murmur. “My dad,” she said. “That I forgive him for what happened with our family. Now that I’m older, I understand I can’t force people to stay together for the sake of others. But I’ve never said it out loud. The divide between us… that’s my fault.”
Orm’s brows softened, her voice tender. “You should tell him,” she said. “I bet he’d love to hear it.”
“Maybe when I become braver.”
Orm shifted, setting her phone aside. “Well,” she said, her tone light but eyes sincere, “if you need someone to hold your hand…” She extended hers across the small space between them, palm up, steady. “I’ve got a pair.”
Ling’s gaze lingered on her hand before she took it.
Warm, gentle, grounding.
“Noted,” she said, her voice soft with something almost fragile.
A moment passed before Ling asked, “What about you?”
Orm’s thumb brushed over Ling’s knuckles once before she withdrew her hand. “I’d just like to tell her that I hope she’s happier now.”
Ling studied her face, the calm veneer that barely covered the flicker of pain underneath. “If you need someone by your side when you meet her again,” she said quietly, “just tell me.”
Orm looked up, surprised, but her lips curved, gratitude flickering through her eyes. “Careful, Ling,” she said gently. “You keep saying things like that, I might start believing you mean them.”
Ling smiled, that same grounded smile that reached her eyes. “Who says I don’t?”
For a long while, neither spoke. The rain had slowed again, but the world beyond the glass seemed to blur into stillness. Inside, the only thing that felt certain was this.
Two people, strangers hours ago, sitting close enough for their truths to touch.
The café had grown still. The staff had dimmed the lights awhile ago, but no one came to remind them of the time.
Ling and Orm sat closer now, no longer conscious of distance. The phone lay between them, its glow soft and warm like a candle.
Orm read the next question aloud.
“Your house, containing everything you own, catches fire. After saving your loved ones and pets, you have time to safely make a final dash to save one item. What would it be and why?”
She thought for a moment, fingers absently tracing the edge of her cup. “Pictures,” she said finally. “I have tons of them, some framed, some just scattered in boxes. They’re the proof of everything that’s happened. Even the bad years feel worth keeping when you see them frozen in a good moment.”
Ling smiled. “That’s very you.”
Orm glanced up. “And you?”
“The practical in me says my IDs,” Ling replied with a small laugh. “But the sentimental in me says my postcard collection. I’ve been sending one to myself from every country I’ve flown to. They’re not fancy, but they remind me that I’ve been places, that I’ve lived.”
Orm’s smile reached her eyes. “That’s beautiful. Like little time capsules.”
“Exactly,” Ling said softly. “Little reminders that I existed there.”
Orm scrolled to the next question, her expression turning a shade more serious.
“Of all the people in your family, whose death would you find most disturbing? And why?”
Ling exhaled, the question landing heavier than expected. “Not that I play favorites,” she said, “but probably my mom. I don’t even want to think about it, honestly. I wouldn’t know what to do. She’s… the center of everything that still feels like home.”
Orm nodded slowly, her gaze distant. “I hear you. Same here. The thought of my parents not being around? I can’t even begin to process it. It would feel like losing a limb, or forgetting how to breathe.”
The quiet that followed wasn’t heavy, it was simply real. Two people sitting with the truth of how fragile love can be.
After a long pause, Orm read the last question. Her voice had gone softer, the words almost careful.
“Share a personal problem and ask your partner’s advice on how they might handle it. Then ask your partner to reflect on how you seem to be feeling about it.”
She fell silent. Ling waited, studying the way Orm’s thumb pressed against her palm like she was grounding herself.
When Orm didn’t speak, Ling reached out offering her hand, quiet and steady. The kind of gesture that didn’t ask, only assured.
Orm hesitated, then took it. “I’ve been second-guessing everything lately,” she said at last, her voice low. “You know I almost didn’t come tonight? Gina told me to go anyway. She said I could show up early, check the place, and if I still felt off, she’d drive me home. She even dropped me off just to make sure I wouldn’t bail.”
Ling smiled faintly. “I’m glad she did.”
Orm’s grip tightened slightly. “How do you learn to trust again, after everything? After someone you love teaches you to doubt yourself?”
Ling’s answer came without hesitation. “It’s a process, a long one. But there’ll be someone who’s patient enough to prove you can. Someone consistent enough to quiet all your doubts.” She held Orm’s gaze. “Not everyone you meet will break you. Whoever hurt you… she didn’t know what she lost. But if it means anything, I’m grateful to her. Because if she hadn’t wrecked everything, you wouldn’t be sitting here with me. I see how this weighed on you and I’m glad you’re talking about it and not keeping it bottled up.”
Orm’s eyes softened. She didn’t speak, only squeezed Ling’s hand.
Ling took a small breath, as if gathering courage.
“Ever feel like if you stop moving, everything falls apart?” Ling asked. “I’ve been feeling like that lately. I keep flying, working, doing because I’m afraid of what’s left when I stop. Maybe that’s why Junji keeps setting me up. She thinks I need something… or someone… to make me stay.”
Orm listened quietly, the weight of Ling’s confession hanging between them. When she finally spoke, her voice was calm but sure. “You’re more than your career, Ling. More than what you give to others. You’re allowed to pause. To rest. To just… be.”
Ling’s eyes flickered up to hers. “You make it sound simple.”
“It’s not,” Orm admitted. “But it gets easier when someone reminds you you’re allowed to.”
Ling smiled, something tender and unguarded in her expression. “Then maybe that’s why we met.”
Orm’s laugh was soft but sincere. “Maybe so.”
They didn’t rush the moment. Orm glanced at the phone again, scrolling to the end. “That’s all thirty-six.”
Ling leaned back, exhaling deeply. “We actually did it.”
Orm smiled, half in disbelief. “Strangers to full emotional autopsy in one sitting. Impressive.”
“Exhausting,” Ling said with a grin. “But… nice.”
Orm nodded. “Yeah. Nice.”
There was a beat of silence, and then Ling raised her glass of water. “To surviving thirty-six questions.”
Orm lifted hers too, eyes gleaming with quiet warmth. “And to whatever they just did to us.”
They clinked their glasses lightly, the sound delicate in the still air.
Outside, the rain had stopped completely. The world felt rinsed clean.
For a moment, they simply sat there, smiling like people who had found something they hadn’t known they were looking for.
Ling glanced at her watch and winced. “Oh no.”
Orm raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you’ve got a flight.”
“Not yet,” Ling said with a small laugh. “But I need to change before my shift. If I move now, I won’t have to sprint through the staff entrance.”
Orm leaned back slightly. “You have to go already?”
Ling hesitated. “I have to change, actually. Do you mind waiting for me while I do that?”
Orm shook her head. “Not at all.”
Ling paused, lips quirking into a grin. “Do you want to help?”
Orm blinked. “Help?”
“Maybe with makeup?” Ling teased, as if she hadn’t been doing her own for years.
Orm chuckled. “You’re seriously trusting me with your face?”
Ling smirked. “Why not? You seem like you’d be careful.”
That earned her a faint flush and a quiet, “Alright then.”
They moved to the powder room attached to the greenhouse, where a tall mirror reflected soft yellow light and the faint shimmer of plants behind glass. Ling laid her uniform neatly on the counter. A crisp, tailored purple dress with gold accents that somehow looked both commanding and graceful.
As she changed behind the divider, she caught herself smiling faintly.
The night played back in fragments: Orm’s laughter, her steady voice, the way she’d said I feel safe with you.
There was no pretending anymore. Something in her had shifted. Small, but certain.
She zipped her dress and took a deep breath. What was this feeling? It wasn’t the rush of a new crush. It was quieter, steadier.
Like a soft landing after years of turbulence.
When she stepped back out, Orm was already by the counter, sleeves rolled up, organizing Ling’s makeup kit like it was a high-stakes assignment.
“I feel like I’m back in high school,” Orm said, smiling a little. “I used to help my mom with her shoots, but never someone who actually knows what she’s doing.”
“Good practice then,” Ling said, sitting on the stool. “Just don’t make me look like a ghost, please.”
“I’ll try my best.”
Orm leaned in, brush in hand, her brow furrowed in concentration. Ling watched her through the mirror at first, how carefully Orm’s fingers moved, how her lips parted slightly as she focused, but soon the mirror felt unnecessary.
She turned her head slightly, studying Orm directly.
Her eyes traced the lines of Orm’s face, the steady concentration, the faint pink of her cheeks, the way the corner of her mouth twitched each time she blended too long.
“You’re staring,” Orm murmured without looking up.
Ling smiled. “Just checking if you’re doing it right.”
Orm finally met her eyes, close enough that Ling could feel the warmth of her breath. “And?”
Ling’s voice came out softer than she intended. “Perfect so far.”
Orm froze for half a second, then laughed quietly, shaking her head.
When the last touch of lipstick was done, Orm stepped back, tilting her head as if she’d completed a painting. “There. You look… ready for the world again.”
Ling met her gaze in the mirror. “Maybe just ready for takeoff.”
Orm laughed softly. “That too.”
They stood there for a beat longer than necessary, Ling still seated, Orm close enough to touch, both aware of how much had been said without words.
“Is Gina picking you up?” Ling asked as they stepped out into the cool night air.
Orm frowned at her screen, thumb tapping at the phone. “She’s supposed to. But she’s not answering. Probably fell asleep again.”
Ling hesitated, watching the faint crease form on Orm’s forehead. Something about leaving her there alone didn’t sit right. The idea of parting like this, half-finished and uncertain just felt wrong.
“Can I see your phone for a second?” she asked.
Orm blinked, puzzled, but handed it over without protest.
Ling quickly dialed a number. A second later, her own phone buzzed in her pocket. She grinned, returning the phone. “There. Now I’ve got your number.”
Orm looked amused. “That’s a bold move, Miss Flight Attendant.”
Ling shrugged, playful. “You can’t blame me for being efficient. Now, come on.”
Orm tilted her head. “Where exactly are we going?”
Ling turned toward her car and smiled, that half-teasing, half-serious kind of smile that got under the skin. “You’re dropping me off at the airport. Then you keep my car. I’ll be back the day after tomorrow.”
Orm raised an eyebrow. “And?”
“And when I land,” Ling said, opening the passenger door, “you’ll pick me up, and we’ll call it our second date.”
Orm laughed softly, shaking her head. “What makes you so sure there’ll be a next one?”
That’s when Ling did something she wouldn’t normally do. She stepped closer, close enough to see the reflection of the overhead lights in Orm’s eyes, close enough to feel her breath.
“Instinct,” Ling said. “And a little bit of hope.”
Orm’s lips curved. “Hope, huh?”
Ling leaned in slowly, giving her time to pull away. But Orm didn’t. She met her halfway, smiling right before their lips touched.
The kiss wasn’t rushed. It was warm, sure, the kind that feels like a promise more than a question. When they finally parted, Ling’s voice came out softer, almost a whisper. “Does that answer your question?”
Orm grinned, eyes still closed for a heartbeat. “Loud and clear.”
The drive to the airport was quiet in the best way. The world outside blurred into streaks of streetlight, but inside, there was only the soft hum of music and their fingers laced between them on the console. Ling couldn’t remember the last time a silence felt this easy.
When they pulled up to the departure area, Orm shifted to park for a moment. Ling turned to her, reluctant to unbuckle just yet.
“Can you do me a favor?” she asked.
Orm smiled. “Depends what it is.”
“Tell Gina to stop setting you up on dates.”
Orm laughed, tilting her head. “Possessive this early?”
Ling shook her head, pretending to think. “If you were anyone else, I’d say no. But you’re Orm and my answers with you might always end up being yes.”
Something tender flickered in Orm’s expression, quiet but sure.
Ling took a small breath, then added softly, “And remember that one question we skipped earlier? The one about what I wish I had someone to share with?”
Orm nodded, eyes steady on hers.
“I said I’d answer it later,” Ling continued. “So here it is—I wish I had someone I could share myself with. And I think… I just found her.”
For a second, Orm couldn’t speak. The warmth in her chest was overwhelming in the best possible way. She reached out, cupping Ling’s face with one hand, thumb brushing her cheek.
Ling smiled, then leaned in for a quick, gentle kiss. One that tasted like goodbye and beginning all at once. She was about to reach for the door when Orm tugged her back, just enough for another kiss, deeper this time, unhurried.
“Come back in one piece, alright?” Orm murmured. “I’ll pick you up.”
“I will,” Ling promised, smiling as she brushed her thumb over Orm’s fingers. “I’m already excited to come home.”
As she stepped out and waved, Ling watched her disappear into the street, her lights disappearing from view before she turned around and entered the doors.
Ling’s last thought as she walked away was almost a laugh: Damn, now I owe Junji two more favors.
But she didn’t mind. Not this time.
Junji POV
Junji was just settling into bed when her phone buzzed on the nightstand. She reached for it, half-asleep, and blinked at the name on the screen.
Ling
I owe you two favors.
But thank you.
Junji smirked, instantly more awake. Her thumbs flew over the screen.
Junji
Should I just wait for the wedding invitation then?
The reply came quick, typical Ling.
Ling
Let’s see. We’re a work in progress.
Junji grinned at the ceiling. That was a big deal. Ling admitting anything, especially something that sounded like hope. Maybe this Orm girl really was the one who could make her best friend stop running from her own heart.
Her phone buzzed again. Another message, this time from Gina.
Gina
Seems like I lost. Come get your ticket to TWICE when you’re free.
Junji laughed quietly, already typing back.
Junji
Told you I had the perfect candidate. That girl’s never failed me.
A pause, then Gina’s reply came through.
Gina
Just tell her to be careful with my best friend.
Junji’s smile softened.
Junji
You don’t have to worry about that.
She set her phone aside and lay back, the faint glow from the screen fading into darkness. For the first time in a long while, she didn’t feel the usual tug of worry for Ling, no anxious what-ifs, no protective instinct on high alert.
Instead, she felt something lighter.
Relief.
Her best friend finally had a reason, someone, to come home to besides the endless horizon.
And with that comforting thought, Junji drifted off to sleep, smiling.
Ling POV
Two days later, when the arrivals doors slid open, the usual chaos of the airport blurred into background noise.
Rolling luggage, murmured goodbyes, the echo of reunions.
But Ling only saw one person.
Orm stood just beyond the line of waiting passengers, hair slightly wind-tousled, a paper cup of coffee in one hand, and that same quiet, radiant smile in place.
It wasn’t the kind of smile that begged attention.
It was the kind that felt like a light left on for you.
When their eyes met, Ling felt something ease inside her, the tension she didn’t even realize she’d been carrying since takeoff. Orm raised her free hand, palm open, like a silent invitation.
Ling didn’t hesitate. She walked straight toward her, through the press of people, and slipped her hand into Orm’s.
The warmth of that simple touch was grounding, as if the last forty-eight hours had just been a long detour back to where she was supposed to be.
“Have you been waiting long?” Ling asked, her voice low, a little breathless.
Orm shook her head, thumb brushing the back of Ling’s hand. “I don’t mind, it’s you. Besides, you’d wait for me too.”
The words hit softly, like a promise rather than a line. Ling’s smile wavered but not from doubt, from how safe it felt to finally believe it.
They didn’t rush toward the exit. They just stood there for a moment, hands still linked, letting the world move around them. People came and went; flights arrived and departed. But for them, the noise dimmed, time slowed, and everything else fell away.
Ling squeezed Orm’s hand gently. “You really came.”
“I told you yesterday I’d pick you up remember? Right before your flight.” Orm said. “And I keep my word.”
Ling let out a quiet laugh, the kind that came from relief, not humor. “Good. Because I didn’t want it to be just my imagination.”
Orm smiled, eyes steady. “It wasn’t. Welcome Home.”
And somehow, that one word—Home— felt larger than a place.
It was a heartbeat, a connection, a simple truth that settled between them.
Ling leaned lightly against Orm’s shoulder as they started walking, the clatter of wheels and announcements fading behind them.
For the first time in a long while, she didn’t feel like she was leaving somewhere.
She felt like she was finally arriving.
Home.