Chapter Text
I used to think waiting had an end.
That there would come a day when the door would open, my phone would ring, or I'd hear my name in a crowded street and everything would finally make sense.
I don't think that anymore.
Some waits don't end.
They just become a part of you.
Like a scar.
Like a missing limb.
Like a promise that outlives the person who made it.
Today started like every other Tuesday.
I woke up at six.
Made coffee for one.
Watered the plants by the window.
Ignored the silence that had become too familiar over the years.
There was nothing remarkable about it.
Nothing that should have pulled me back into the past.
Nothing that should have made me remember.
And yet, by noon, I was standing in my kitchen staring at a package with my name written across it.
The handwriting wasn't hers.
I knew that immediately.
I'd spent years memorizing every curve and stroke of Ling's handwriting.
This was different.
Neater.
Older.
The kind of handwriting that belonged to someone trying very hard not to make a mistake.
The package sat on my counter for almost an hour before I touched it.
I don't know why.
Maybe because I had a feeling.
Maybe because grief teaches you how to recognize danger.
Not the kind that hurts your body.
The kind that hurts everything else.
Eventually, I picked it up.
It wasn't heavy.
Just a small cardboard box.
No return address.
No explanation.
Nothing but my name.
I almost didn't open it.
Almost.
But curiosity has always been stronger than fear.
So I cut through the tape.
Lifted the lid.
And forgot how to breathe.
There was a photograph inside.
Just one.
A simple picture.
The edges were slightly worn, as if someone had handled it too many times.
I already knew who I'd see before I turned it over.
I already knew.
Because some people never really leave you.
They're there in every song.
Every season.
Every quiet moment.
Every version of your future that never happened.
My hands trembled as I picked it up.
Ling smiled back at me.
God.
Even after all this time, she could still ruin me.
The photo had been taken years ago.
Before everything.
Before hospitals.
Before arguments.
Before promises.
Before goodbye.
We were sitting on a beach.
The sun was setting behind us.
Ling was laughing at something I couldn't remember.
I was looking at her instead of the camera.
That part felt painfully accurate.
I spent most of our relationship looking at her.
Like she was something I was afraid to lose.
Maybe that's why losing her hurt the way it did.
The photograph slipped from my fingers.
I quickly grabbed it before it hit the floor.
Something else fell out.
An envelope.
My stomach dropped.
Because suddenly I knew.
Not what it contained.
Not who sent it.
Just that somehow it would hurt.
The envelope was sealed.
Yellowed with age.
As though it had been waiting a very long time to reach me.
My name was written on the front.
Just two words.
For Orm.
I stared at it.
And for the first time in years, I felt twenty-four again.
Twenty-four and terrified.
Twenty-four and in love.
Twenty-four and still stupid enough to believe that loving someone hard enough could save them.
I sat down at the kitchen table.
The envelope resting between my hands.
Outside, life continued normally.
Cars passed.
People talked.
The world kept moving.
It always does.
The cruel thing about grief is discovering that the world doesn't stop when yours does.
I laughed softly.
Not because anything was funny.
Because sometimes that's what happens when your heart doesn't know what to do.
You laugh.
You cry.
You stare at old photographs until your chest aches.
I traced the edge of the envelope with my thumb.
For years, I'd imagined this moment.
Not this exact one.
But something like it.
Ling returning.
A message.
An explanation.
Proof that all the waiting had meant something.
Proof that she hadn't forgotten.
Proof that I hadn't been foolish.
Because waiting is a dangerous thing.
The longer you do it, the harder it becomes to admit you might be waiting for nothing.
I should've hated her.
A lot of people thought I did.
It would've been easier.
Easier than loving someone who broke your heart while insisting it was for your own good.
Easier than remembering every word of a goodbye you never wanted.
Easier than hearing her voice every time the world became too quiet.
But I never hated her.
I tried.
God knows I tried.
Especially in the beginning.
Especially on the nights when I reached for my phone before remembering there was nobody to call.
Especially when I found myself looking for her in crowds.
Especially when I realized I was still leaving space for her in my future.
I wanted to be angry.
Instead, I missed her.
And somehow that felt worse.
My eyes drifted to the photograph again.
Ling's smile.
That stupid smile.
The one that always appeared right before she said something reckless.
Or honest.
Usually both.
I remembered the day the picture was taken.
Not clearly.
Just fragments.
The sound of waves.
Sand in our shoes.
Her hand finding mine.
The feeling that we had all the time in the world.
Funny.
How wrong we were.
I closed my eyes.
And there it was again.
That memory.
The one I spent years trying not to revisit.
The final night.
The final conversation.
The promise.
The promise that ruined me.
"Wait for me."
Three words.
That's all it took.
Three words and I built years of my life around them.
Three words and I convinced myself she'd come back.
Three words and I kept loving someone who wasn't there.
When I opened my eyes again, the envelope was still sitting in front of me.
Unopened.
Silent.
Waiting.
Just like I had.
My throat tightened.
Because deep down, beneath all the years and all the healing and all the pretending...
I was afraid.
Afraid that whatever was inside would finally force me to stop waiting.
Afraid that it wouldn't.
I looked toward the empty chair across from me.
For a brief second, I could almost imagine her there.
Crossing her arms.
Rolling her eyes.
Telling me I was being dramatic.
I smiled despite myself.
Then the smile disappeared.
Because she wasn't there.
She hadn't been there for a very long time.
And somehow, that still hurt.
My fingers found the seal.
I took a shaky breath.
Another.
Then another.
The envelope crinkled softly beneath my grip.
And as I prepared to open it, one thought echoed louder than the rest.
The last thing Ling ever asked me was to wait.
And I did.
I waited.
For far longer than either of us ever imagined.
I waited... Even for nothing.