Chapter Text
The end of filming—the final shoots, minor adjustments, the wrap party—all of it passed Orm by.** She was there physically, doing her job, talking to people, carrying out the director’s requests, but mentally, she was nothing more than a ghost drifting through the studio.
Work no longer inspired her. It didn’t bring her joy. It only hurt more and more—every corner, every hallway, every room in the main studio was a reminder of Ling. The pain was so unbearable that Orm didn’t want to exist. She didn’t want to eat, sleep, or live.
She had known it from the start—she had seen it in Ling. Ling had the power to hurt her. But after the soft glances, the gradual unraveling, after every touch that made Orm melt, she had surrendered. Fear and hesitation faded into the background.
Ling looked like someone who could break, destroy, and walk away without a second thought. But Orm had come to know her, to understand her, and she realized that their breakup had hurt Kwong just as much as it had hurt her. And that was the worst part—she hadn’t been left because she wasn’t good enough, because something was wrong with her. She had been left because of someone else’s fears, pressures, and anxieties.
Orm wished—she dreamed—that they had met under different circumstances, in another time, another universe. Lately, she had found herself imagining how things might have been if they had met just a little earlier—before the world knew Ling’s name, or maybe later, when the peak of her fame had passed, when the weight on her shoulders wasn’t so crushing.
But these were questions with no answers. Things had happened the way they had happened. And all she could do was move forward.
But she couldn’t.
Pulling herself together turned out to be harder than she had imagined. The ache in her chest was so real, so physical, that for the first time, she understood every metaphor in love songs, in great novels, in famous paintings. Her heart had never been broken before. And she had no idea what to do now.
Each night was worse than the last. Visions of Ling—smiling, laughing, at home in her slippers and shorts, her hair in a messy bun, glasses perched on her nose, in the kitchen, on the couch—haunted Orm for hours. She only fell asleep when her body gave in to exhaustion, just before dawn. Two hours later, she would wake up, head to the set, and focus on just one thing: pretending she was fine.
On the last day, Khun Ploy called Orm into his office, patting her shoulder in a fatherly way. He had seen the change in her—he even had his suspicions about the reason. But as an experienced man, he would never voice them. After all, he had his own moral principles.
He had known Orm since she was a child, had worked closely with her mother, and he wanted to help—not directly, not in an obvious way. He had enjoyed working with her. He had seen the fire in her eyes, how she was always ready to take on any task, how well she got along with people. And even now, in this state, Orm hadn’t made a single mistake at work.
“Kid, I’ve got a project. I’m producing. They need a first assistant director. Yes or no?”
Orm blinked, trying to process the director’s words. It seemed unimaginable—her career moving so fast, from third to first in less than six months. Just two projects. Usually, it took years. She knew so many stories of people who never managed to break into the industry—and yet, here she was, getting this chance at such a young age.
A dull pain squeezed her chest, and Orm cleared her throat. Had he offered this to her two weeks ago, she would have said yes without a second thought. Instantly. But now, with a broken heart and no sense of direction, she had no clear answer.
"I…" She couldn't decide. She wasn’t even sure she wanted to stay in the film industry anymore. Logically, she knew that eventually, it would pass—at some point, it had to get easier. But right now, when the only thing occupying her mind was her breakup with Ling, Orm stayed silent.
Khun Ploy gave a knowing nod.
"I’ll take that as a yes," he said without even glancing at her shocked expression. "Casting starts in a month. We’ll need you there. Get some rest, and in three weeks, we’ll sign the contract."
He left so quickly that Orm didn’t even get a chance to protest or smile. No reaction at all—just pure disbelief.
The following weeks passed in a blur. She left the house exactly three times. The rest of the time, she stayed in her room—watching movies, listening to music, mindlessly scrolling through TikTok, writing a few stories that turned out far too sad for her usual self. And crying. A lot.
Sometimes, it was quiet tears—ones that started in the middle of doing something, slipping down her face silently, burning her cheeks. Other times, it was uncontrollable, gut-wrenching sobs. The kind where clenched fists and nails digging into her palms didn’t even register as pain—not compared to what she felt in her chest.
Thinking about Ling was unbearable. But not thinking about her was impossible.
Orm didn’t even understand how it had happened—how the actress had settled so deeply into her, moved into her head rent-free, with no plans to leave. She felt Ling under her skin. She couldn’t even remember what it was like **not** to be completely, helplessly in love with her.
And she didn’t even blame her. She understood. She justified it. She tried to accept it. Because she had seen her. She had seen Ling’s feelings, her fears, her contradictions, and the way she fought with herself.
And that made it even worse—because no one was really at fault, but somehow, everyone was. The two of them. The industry. The people around them.
Koy tried to talk to her, to give her advice, to help in some way, but Orm never let her. She kept pushing her away, not letting her in, not giving her a single answer. So her mother simply stayed close—silent support in the form of a cup of coffee on the table, sliced vegetables, a light touch on the shoulder, or a faint smile. No pressure. Just quiet presence.
Her brother and father took the same approach. At first, At tried to joke around, but he quickly realized that Orm was really, truly not okay. Not like he had ever seen before. Not like he ever wanted to see again.
By the time she had to sign the contract, Orm looked like a different person—she had lost weight, her face had thinned, the confidence that usually radiated from her was nothing more than a shadow, and the light in her eyes, the one that always lifted the people around her, had completely faded.
No one said it out loud, but Orm wasn’t stupid—she could see the changes herself. She had tried to pull herself together before coming to the studio. But after trying on half her wardrobe, nothing seemed to fit right—everything hung awkwardly at the sides, clearly the wrong size now.
She settled on a loose white shirt and trousers—she had to wear a belt, but at least she looked presentable, not like she had been drinking for months straight. Makeup was necessary, though it couldn’t fully hide the dark circles under her eyes.
As soon as she arrived at the studio, a girl approached her, introducing herself as Prig. She had the energy of a hurricane, and Orm winced slightly—being around people wasn’t easy for her right now, especially loud, lively ones who reminded her too much of her past self.
"We’ve got big changes. Come on, hurry up," Prig grabbed Orm by the wrist, pulling her further into the building. "You sign the contract, and then we head straight to casting—it’s about to start."
Orm was caught off guard. She wanted to stop, but Prig’s firm grip and brisk pace didn’t give her the chance.
"Casting was supposed to be next week, wasn’t it?"
"They moved it."
"Why?"
"Because Pontivat was only available today. So, they had to reschedule. If you answered texts from unknown numbers, you’d know."
Orm averted her gaze but kept walking. She really hadn’t checked her phone in weeks. A vague memory flashed in her mind—her mother mentioning something like this. But she hadn’t been listening at the time, letting the information pass right by her. Khun Ploy and Koy had been talking, so her mother had probably been aware of all the work-related changes.
"Wait, Blue?"
"Yeah, he might be playing the lead."
Blue was a complete newcomer to the industry but had skyrocketed to fame after starring in a drama that became an instant hit. His popularity had surged with that project, landing him on billboards, interviews, and promo events. He wasn’t on the same level as top-tier actors yet, but he was quickly gaining recognition and solidifying his status in certain circles.
Most likely, the producers wanted to ride the wave of his rising fame by casting him in his first-ever feature film. Orm only knew about him because, during her long stretch of apathy, she had ended up watching that drama. She wouldn’t say his acting was anything exceptional—she had enough experience to compare. But a pretty face and natural charisma made up for a lack of talent.
By the time they reached the legal department, Orm skimmed through the contract. The pay was significantly higher than her first project. But with the promotion came not only a bigger salary but also a longer list of responsibilities—the work contract now had even more clauses, including the ever-ambiguous "and other tasks assigned by the director."
Orm was ready—not completely, but for the first time, beyond the pain, she felt something close to pride. She had truly worked hard, proven herself, and she deserved this promotion. She deserved to move forward, even if it felt impossible right now.
After half an hour of discussions with the legal team—clarifying terms, risks, and force majeure clauses—Orm signed the contract. Then, she and Prig headed down to the casting room.
Actors came and went—not just well-known ones. Today, they were casting for the two lead roles—a man and a woman, bound by a passionate love story. For now, the actors auditioned separately; the best candidates would be chosen first, and only later would they be paired with potential co-stars to test chemistry.
Orm sat at the table, bored. Next to her were producer Khun Ploy, the casting director—whose name she didn’t remember—and the film’s director, Khun Nattapon. At the door, Prig was in charge of calling in and escorting the actors.
She didn’t understand why she was even here—her presence changed nothing, and she wasn’t contributing in any way. But the mysterious and oddly encouraging—almost sympathetic—smile from Khun Ploy suggested that Orm was here mostly for distraction. She wasn’t sure, but she suspected her mother had let something slip to her old friend about Orm’s current state of mind.
Not that she minded—it was almost reassuring. Sometimes, she was genuinely interested in the auditions, especially when actors performed poorly—good ones, she had seen plenty of. And when some eccentric candidates walked in and delivered bizarre, improvised performances, Orm had to cover her mouth to hide a smirk. A few times, she even exchanged glances with Prig, and there was no hostility in it—just a hint of something resembling a budding friendship.
By the end of the day, Blue arrived. He walked into the room lazily, as if the space and everyone in it belonged to him. A cocky smile, a direct look into Orm’s eyes. She wasn’t sure if she imagined it, but it seemed like he might have even winked at her. She didn’t react, just sat there, listening as he tried to play the role of some macho heartthrob.
It was ridiculous—his character was supposed to be melancholic and introspective, the kind of person who could talk about space and philosophy for hours. The firecracker energy was in the female lead, while the male lead was calm and reserved. But Blue… He might as well have never opened the script. He clearly didn’t understand the character, kept stumbling over his lines, yet still maintained his confident facade.
"Give me a fifteen-minute break," the actor said like he was the one running the show.
Orm couldn’t hold back—she rolled her eyes. But she noticed the calm reactions of Khun Ploy and the director—they simply nodded.
Blue left the room, and Orm shot them a questioning look.
"Why did you…?"
"Oh, come on," Ploy smiled knowingly. "He’s a young guy, full of energy, wants attention. If we take him, we’ll teach him some manners. If we don’t, someone else will."
Orm chuckled—and immediately surprised herself with the sound. She hadn’t expected to hear it, not after so long. She hadn’t laughed, smiled, or felt joy in weeks, slowly destroying herself from the inside. And maybe, just maybe, she had finally gotten a break from the endless stream of dark thoughts.
"Korn," the new director had used the shortened version of her full name since they first met. "Can you grab an extra script? I wrote all over mine during the auditions."
Orm glanced at the printed pages and couldn’t suppress another smile—his copy was covered in ridiculous doodles, and at the top, in massive letters, was the word "SOS."
"Of course."
She quickly stepped out of the room, heading toward the printer room, but her path was blocked.
Blue stood in front of her, wearing a predatory half-smile.
"Liked me so much you decided to meet me during my break?"
"What?"
Orm was caught off guard—lost in thought, she hadn’t even registered what he’d said. But his stance, the way he blocked her path, made her instinctively take a step back.
"I’m saying I got the message, gorgeous," he ran a hand through his hair like he was in some cheap commercial. "We can grab dinner after I land the role."
The girl rolled her eyes and was about to bypass him, but the guy was faster—he grabbed Orm’s hand, stopping her.
"Listen," Orm exhaled, trying to keep herself composed—the last thing she wanted was to end up in the headlines, "Assistant director slapped the rising star." But her nerves were on edge—though there was a hole in her soul, she hadn’t lost the spice of her character. "If you think I can help you get the role, you're mistaken. Right now, I’m just in the 'bring me this, bring me that' position."
He laughed as if Orm had told the funniest joke in the world, but he didn’t let go of her hand.
"Babe, they'll take me anyway. I’m talented, young, and charismatic," he snapped his fingers with the other hand. "And you’ve got a unique opportunity to spend the evening with me. The night. And if you're lucky, breakfast."
That was the final straw. Orm was ready to push him away, both physically and emotionally, covering him with a string of choice insults and curses. But then, a voice came from behind.
"Get the hell away from her." Prig stood with her arms crossed, and it was clear from her expression that she wasn’t joking. There was fire in her eyes, and she looked ready to hit the arrogant actor if needed.
Blue hesitated for a moment—he didn’t see anything wrong with his actions—he had just casually invited a beautiful girl on a date. Lately, that approach worked more often than not.
"If you want to join, we can make it a threesome. I’m up for it. What about you, babe?"
Orm finally pulled her hand free from his grip, just as Prig slowly, but very menacingly, approached them.
"You’ll do your audition. But believe me, they won’t take you. Not after you touched her."
The young assistant director wasn’t sure—was Prig bluffing, just trying to intimidate him, or was she speaking the truth? She had doubts about whether her new acquaintance had any real influence in the industry, but Prig spoke so confidently that it was almost believable. The way she phrased it also unsettled her, but the tension in the air made thinking about it now almost a foolish decision.
"We were just talking, right?" Blue seemed lost. "Tell her."
Orm scoffed—he was defending himself like a big child.
"You’re an idiot."
The girl took Prig by the arm and led her in the direction she had originally intended to go. She needed to print the script. She could see that her new acquaintance was on the verge of hitting the actor.
"Where are you taking me? I’m not done with him," the girl complained, but didn’t resist too much—she just walked alongside her, loudly—too loudly—muttering, clearly hoping Blu would hear it.
"He’s just stupid. Why are you reacting like that?"
"I’d be killed if..."
Prig suddenly fell silent. Orm wouldn’t have noticed her words if the girl hadn’t stopped so abruptly, so unexpectedly.
"If what?"
"I’m just saying nonsense when I’m mad. Forget it."
Prig pretended to examine the wall, clearly showing that the conversation was over. It was strange, and Orm frowned, trying to understand what her acquaintance had meant. Nothing came to mind, so the girl decided to just print the script and return to the casting room. The day had drained her, and she wanted to finish quickly and get home. There, another unfinished drama and a few rounds of crying awaited her—not that it was exactly scheduled, but she knew how she felt, and when she was alone, it always happened. Ling hadn’t left her mind for a second—just drifted a little further away, giving space to other thoughts—but never completely disappeared.
Blue tried again at playing Amus, the lead character in the film, and it was better than the first time. But still far from perfect—throughout the day, there had been men who performed much better. Blue, even while acting, threw a few flirtatious glances at Orm. But the girl only lowered her eyes, following the script.
When the auditions were over, the girl was exhausted. She was planning to just go home, rest, think, be alone—it wasn’t that people and society used to tire her like this, but she gave herself an excuse—it hurt. Social life needed to be approached gradually, not all at once. And today, she had done her best.
It was already dark outside when she left the building. Quickly calling a taxi, she listened to the hum of the city—the way she used to, when leaving the set. Feeling the wind on her cheeks, how it tousled her hair, how it slipped under her clothes, the girl, for the first time in a long time, felt alive.
"Thanks for waiting." A heavy hand landed on her waist, and Orm recoiled, her fleeting sense of peace vanishing as quickly as it had come.
"When we're not at work, nothing stops me from hitting you," Prig’s voice again.
"Calm down already. She clearly made it clear she’s not against it."
Orm felt disgusted—from him, from his touch, and his voice. In her mind, the image of Ling immediately appeared—she would have sent him away with just a look. Or with her presence. Unexpectedly, the girl felt a tear run down her cheek. She hadn’t expected to cry in front of unfamiliar people, but the weight of the day, its intensity, the crowd, and this smug guy—on top of the main pain—suddenly piled up right now, with such force that she couldn’t hold herself back.
"Get the fuck away," Prig shoved Blue’s shoulder and, carefully placing her hand on Orm’s shoulder, trying not to be rude, led her away.
"Ask the manager for the number, I'll be waiting for the call," the guy shouted after them, and Orm sniffled even harder.
Prig led the girl to the parking lot, sat her in the passenger seat of her car, and drove off. Orm didn’t know where her new acquaintance was taking her, or who she even was, but for some reason, she felt safe with her—this whimsical person had some kind of quiet strength.
"What do you do?" Orm remembered that she didn’t even know the girl’s position.
"Assistant." Prig didn’t look at her; all her attention was on the road.
"Assistant director? Second? Third?"
"Just an assistant. I kind of keep an eye on everything."
"That’s weird."
She didn’t respond. The rest of the trip was in silence—Orm gradually calmed down and just looked out the window. They were definitely not going to her place, but by the time the girl decided to ask, the car had already stopped.
"Bar," Prig said before Orm could ask.
"I don’t want to. Take me home."
"To cry to a drama? Oh, no, now we’re like best friends by force, so we’re going to drink and relax."
Orm hesitated for just a second—she’d always chosen the quiet sadness route, but maybe that’s why the pain never went away? Maybe she needed to just dive in headfirst? Do something reckless, stupid, or just drink herself senseless? She wasn’t sure, but she nodded anyway.
"I love-loooove her, you understand?" Orm drank in half an hour, two glasses of martini. She hadn’t had alcohol in a while, and her tolerance was noticeably lower. Prig just sat next to her, occasionally checking her phone. "Like, I love her so much I would forgive her. One message from her, and I’m there. Anywhere in the world, you understand?"
Prig giggled, recording a short video of the monologue.
"So, who are we talking about? I know everything except who it is."
Orm fell silent—even in this state, she knew that saying it would not only expose herself but also put Ling, her reputation, and her career at risk. Maybe the new acquaintance wouldn’t even believe her or would never tell anyone, but staying silent was still the best option.
Prig glanced at her phone again, and her face immediately stretched in surprise.
"Wow, that was fast."
Orm looked at the girl questioningly, but she was too absorbed in whatever she was reading.
"Hey, you’re distracting me here. And in the end, you’re the one distracted."
"Okay, okay, look."
Prig handed Orm her phone, which was open to X. The entire feed was filled with messages—news about Blue.
"Young actor: unprofessionalism and toxicity."
"Pontivat Tanwancharyn: scandal involving an up-and-coming star."
"Industry producers express their unwillingness to work with the actor."
"The director of the drama ‘Our Steps,’ where Pontivat Tanwancharyn was in the main cast, negatively spoke about working with the actor."
"Harassment and abuse: how fame corrupts young actors."
Orm ran her finger across the screen without even reading the messages—there was no point. It was an obvious media attack—some sort of information leak, the industry was on its feet, and she even saw tweets from famous actors speaking out against the man's actions. It all happened so suddenly that Orm swallowed hard.
Thoughts swarmed in her head—it was too strange that within just an hour, the actor had been torn apart by all the media, many colleagues, some producers, and directors. It was too suspicious, too blatant. Orm’s drunk brain tried to process the information, and a foolish thought crossed her mind. But she couldn’t shake it off—she only knew one person capable of doing something like this.
"Prig…"
"What?" the girl asked, sipping her cocktail, smiling slightly.
"This is going to sound like a strange question, but do you know anything about this?"
The girl shrugged, avoiding the question.
Orm narrowed her eyes, facing the odd reaction. She downed the third glass of martini in one gulp. She needed answers—or at least for someone to call her crazy for such thoughts. Just anything that would confirm or refute her suspicions. She didn’t believe in coincidences—not in this industry. Everything happened for a reason—someone’s order. The only question was whether the person she thought of was behind it.
But how? Ling was in Hong Kong, filming, and most likely trying not to think about Orm. She was probably hurting too, and had thrown herself into work.
"Do you know Kwong?"
"Uh-huh."
"Close?"
"Meh." Prig shrugged again, clearly uninterested in the conversation.
Orm clenched her fists and looked away—if there was even the slightest chance that Ling did this… In her heart, besides the excruciating pain, something else settled—hope, shivers, overwhelming love. If it was Ling, it meant she hadn’t let go, hadn’t completely turned away—watching from the shadows, a quiet strength.
But a minute later, as they stepped outside and Orm started to calm down a little, all these thoughts seemed ridiculous—Ling was too far away, too scared, too busy, too many "too"s. Tears welled up in her eyes again—Orm would give anything in this world just to see her.
"I miss her so much, Prig."
"Disgusting."
"What?"
"Both of you."
Orm wiped her tears with her hands like a child and looked at the girl with the most innocent expression. She wished the drunken thought was true, but what were the chances?
"Who?"
"You and Sirilak."
Something snapped in her heart—Prig was too straightforward to keep a secret, if it was one. She casually walked to the car. Orm froze in place—she couldn’t believe her ears. Ling had destroyed a person in the industry just because he looked at her wrong, spoke to her wrong, touched her. Her knees buckled, and a whole stream of emotions flooded her soul.
"Are you coming or should I leave you here?"
Orm lifted her tearful gaze and then giggled. "You can’t leave me alone, can you?"
Prig rolled her eyes. "You're lucky I like you." She walked around the car, opened the door, and nodded. "Let's go."
Orm had to physically push herself to move—her mind was such a mess, amplified by the alcohol, and she could barely comprehend the space around her. Her intuition about Prig hadn't failed her—she was the only anchor keeping her grounded right now. If that strange girl weren’t around, Orm didn’t know what she would have done. At the very least, she would have passed out from the overwhelming emotions.
On the way back, it was quiet. Prig just drove, while Orm thought. She thought about Ling, about how much that girl had done for her, even in the most unpleasant way possible. About how Ling had somehow brought Prig into her life, how she had done everything to get rid of that annoying guy, how she cared, how she watched over her. Maybe she still loved her, never admitting it. Orm wanted to somehow reach out to her, make it known that she saw, felt, and knew. But that seemed rash, too emotional, something that could scare her off again. Orm would have been ready, would have been glad, if their connection just existed—so thin, almost invisible, like a thread.
The girl closed her eyes, imagining Ling's warm gaze. She probably smiled smugly, reading the news about the exposure and the cancellation of Blue. She imagined her lying in bed a thousand kilometers away, in her silly home T-shirt, with that strange silk sleep mask on her forehead, reading the news, squinting a little and awkwardly holding the phone—as if she'd just picked up technology for the first time.
Orm missed her unbearably. But all she could do was quietly rejoice and imagine. Any movement, any gesture, any word could scare her off, destroy that invisible care Ling secretly—or almost secretly, thanks to Prig—had shown.
"Why do you think she did it?"
Orm asked bluntly, knowing that Prig behind the wheel wasn’t the type of person to beat around the bush. Prig didn’t react at first, staring at the flow of traffic, as if she wasn’t planning to answer. But when they turned to Orm's house and parked, she finally turned to her.
"You know yourself."
"Can you pass something on to her?" Orm's voice trembled with emotion on the last word.
"I’m not a messenger." Prig tapped the steering wheel with her fingers, as if signaling that it was time for the girl to get out.
Entering the house, Orm was hit by a wild exhaustion. But along with it, there were also feelings – so many feelings. Disgust for Bulu's touch, from which she wanted to wash off as quickly as possible, the unpleasant headache from the alcohol, interest in Prig – who she was, what her relationship with Ling was, the ever-present pain of realizing that Ling, though she had finally appeared in her life again, was so far away – both physically and emotionally, and the work that promised to be tough – the to-do list was still right in front of her.
The following weeks were filled with work – Bulu was successfully removed from any job in the film industry, casting continued – now for pairs, and Orm had a lot of work – she could barely catch her breath. But it was comfortable, it was better – she was so tired that she barely had time to think too much. And then Prig had firmly established herself in her life – she joked harshly, talked a lot when she was in a good mood, drove her home when they finished work too late. Orm still hadn’t figured out her position, but none of her colleagues seemed to mind her presence – they even gave her tasks and talked to her – so she was, at the very least, officially there.
But it seemed Prig had another important mission – no matter how tough the day was or how busy they were, she made Orm eat. A light snack, a hearty lunch, a late dinner – she organized all of it for the whole team, but the girl knew – she felt – who and what was behind it.
Her connection with Ling was growing stronger again – without words, without meetings – but Orm felt it. In small gestures and big movements. Prig was the brightest reminder of it. They never discussed Kwong again, but Orm didn’t need to. She understood everything, accepted it, and was grateful to the universe for even this connection.
Little by little, she was recovering – she gained weight, smiled more at her colleagues, didn’t feel disgusted when thinking about the film industry, and sometimes was even overly energetic, like before. One thing remained unchanged – her heart still missed Ling. The nightly tears hadn’t disappeared – they had become less frequent and a bit different – now Orm longed, tortured herself with a phantom hope, the weight of her feelings, her love. And she still couldn’t do anything – the girl knew that Ling needed to make the decision herself. Without pressure.
A month and a half after signing the contract, and almost three months after their breakup, Orm began receiving gifts – delivered straight to her address – at home or work. Always hand-delivered by couriers.
The first time was when the cool nights and mornings came to Bangkok, and Orm was already sniffling – on the verge of getting sick. One of those evenings, when the girl was about to leave work, she got a delivery notification. She knew for sure she hadn’t ordered anything, so she didn’t pay much attention to the message – maybe a mistake. But when a courier from a certain company was calmly waiting for her in the lobby with a small package, Orm frowned.
“Khun Kornnaphat, this is for you.”
The girl, taken aback by the craft paper bag in her hands, was about to say something, but the courier quickly left. It was a bit unsettling – an unfamiliar person, an unknown package. Orm cautiously looked inside – there was a sweater – warm, with the outline of a small golden retriever near the heart. Along with it, there were medicines – cold remedies, pain relievers, a heating pad, inhalers.
Orm bit her lip, trying not to smile too much. This was a bold move – not passing it through Prig as usual, but sending it via courier. As if something more personal, something closer.
It was care.
But Orm still didn’t make any moves toward it – she just waited.
She didn’t have to wait long – the next day turned out to be really tough – the actors were playing terribly, as if they’d all conspired, the cameramen weren’t holding their positions, one of the makeup artists simply didn’t show up for work, and as the first assistant director, Orm had to deal with problem after problem.
In the evening, when they were all leaving the set, a courier approached Orm – from the same company, with a bouquet of hydrangeas and a small package. He simply nodded, handing over the delivery to the girl, and quickly left.
“Wow,” one of the actors chuckled. “We didn’t know you had a lover.”
Orm blushed, but her proud smile didn’t fade.
“I don’t,” she shrugged, leaving a little intrigue – they wouldn’t believe her anyway, even if she gave them a detailed explanation of what was going on in her personal life, especially with whom.
Then, when Prig dropped her off at home with a sly glance, Orm carefully put the flowers in a vase, removing the wrapping. She trimmed each flower and stared at them for so long and with such love that Att humorously checked her pulse.
“Is your girlfriend apologizing or something?” her brother huffed – he was angry at Ling for how long Orm had been in that state.
“She’s not my girlfriend,” Orm quietly replied, and then, even more softly, added, “Not yet.”
Inside the package was a brownie, fully soaked in chocolate – exactly how Orm loved it.
In every gift, in every delivery, there was something personal, something that claimed ownership, something that shouted, “I know you.” It warmed her soul, but the heaviness was still palpable – these were material things, but what Orm truly needed was Ling by her side. Just her presence, even if it had no label. The need for her was growing exponentially, and Orm didn’t know what to do with herself.
She spent weeks convincing herself not to write, not to call, not to make any moves. But with each gift, with each sign of attention, it became harder.
The gifts started arriving even more frequently: a book Orm had once mentioned, an exclusive toy, a new gamepad, a collectible figurine of a character from her favorite animated movie, cute stationery – after the incident when she couldn’t find a pen on set. It was as if Ling knew everything happening in her life. But Orm knew nothing – she had made a point of not reading any news about the actress – it was still too painful. Seeing her face on every second billboard on the way to work – that was already too much. It made Orm’s heart flutter and ache at the same time.
A month later, Orm was fully immersed in the shooting process – it was in full swing, and they had already filmed some scenes. She felt like a fish in water – she could get along with anyone on set, talked a lot, and learned from Khun Ploy and Khun Nattapon.
Sometimes, she and Prig would go for walks – just walking through shops and restaurants, laughing at silly jokes, eating a lot, trying different cuisines, and one time – on their day off – they even went to the beach.
But one morning, when Orm arrived at the set by taxi – she was running late because she had overslept – the night before, she had played a computer game for a long time, and the mood on set was different. People, without even noticing Orm's delay, were glued to their phones, whispering to each other – some whispering, some talking loudly.
"Can't be!"
"I don’t understand why. There were no signs."
"Oh my God, I can't believe it."
"How awful."
"This is so strange, she lived for the cinema."
"Shit."
Orm walked past her colleagues, listening in confusion to the conversations. She tried to find someone who wasn’t so absorbed in talking, or someone close to her. Everyone was on edge – the shooting was supposed to start by this time, but everyone seemed to be ignoring the schedule.
She walked to the director's chair near the location where they were supposed to shoot today and found Khun Ploy, who was also absorbed in his phone. He nervously clenched the device, wiping sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief.
Prig was standing a little further away – the only one with an unreadable expression, arms crossed over her chest – her posture when she was tense but trying not to show it.
"Khun Ploy, Prig," Orm greeted them more quietly than usual, her heart pounding – she had a bad feeling. It was as if everyone had fallen into mourning and regret.
Prig nodded in acknowledgment, and the producer looked up. A shadow of understanding crossed his face – he gave a grim smile, as if piecing the facts together in his head.
"This is because of you, am I right?" he clicked his tongue, but there was no anger in his voice, more of an experienced observation.
"I don’t understand..." Orm took an uncertain step forward, hoping for an explanation.
The producer pressed something on his phone and handed it to Orm. When she saw Ling on the screen, her hands trembled, and she almost gave the phone back.
"Watch," the tone left no room for refusal. The girl pressed the play button.
Ling was standing at a conference about the completion of her project in Hong Kong. She was wearing a black blazer, her hair cascading down – Orm swallowed. The actress was standing by a wall, surrounded by dozens of microphones from various publications, TV channels, and media. She was confidently smiling directly at the camera. Ling was smiling.
Orm blinked, looking closer – maybe it was just her.
"Is this official?" one of the reporters' voices was heard.
Ling nodded.
"Definitely. I’m leaving the industry. It’s important to say that this is a well-thought-out decision, I made it a few months ago, and I would have left immediately, but I needed to wrap up some things – including finishing the film. Also – terminating existing contracts with brands, canceling things that were planned for years ahead," she paused for a second. "I want to thank everyone who supported me along the way – the directors, fellow actors, screenwriters, producers, and most importantly, the fans. I’m grateful to everyone who helped me get here, every person. But now I’m ready to leave – please respect my decision – because I’m sure about it, more than anything else."
The girl bowed, hands clasped, and the video ended.
Orm had to sit down – with trembling hands, she handed the phone back to Khun Ploy. Ling had left the industry. Ling had quit cinema. Ling had ended her career. Ling, whose fear was stronger than anything she had, had, for the first time, chosen herself. Or them? Thinking about it now felt almost selfish. Prig approached, handing Orm a bottle of water – she saw what state the girl was in and wanted to help in any way she could. But instead of accepting the water, Orm stared at her.
"Why did she leave?" Tears shimmered in her eyes.
"Orm…" Prig's voice was too soft – she had never spoken to her friend like this before.
"Why?" The first tear rolled down her cheek, but Orm spoke clearly, almost angrily. "Answer me, why did she leave?"
"She doesn’t owe me an explanation."
Orm, despite the dizziness, jumped up from her seat, walking out of the room, then out of the building. She walked down the street aimlessly, simply overwhelmed by emotions, not knowing where to put herself.
The girl pulled out her phone and dialed Ling.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
Three short beeps.
Either she hung up or blocked me.
This was the first time she had tried to contact the actress, and it wasn’t successful. Orm needed answers – if there was even the slightest chance that Ling had done this for her… She breathed deeply, feeling so small in the big city – all she wanted was to hear answers, understand, and, if she were very lucky, be near Ling. She understood the state she was in right now – she could imagine. She had faced her greatest fear, had controlled it, and had gone one-on-one with it in the ring.
Stopping in some park, Orm exhaled. She forced herself to stop. She needed to reach Ling by any means, any means at all – whether that meant flying to Hong Kong or simply leaving the industry herself, just to support her.
The girl dialed Prig. As soon as the connection was made, Orm didn’t let her speak a word.
"Listen to me carefully," Orm’s voice was hoarse from tears, but there was steel in it, confidence in her words. "Right now, you’re going to tell me where I can find her. The number, the secret Line account, the address, anything. I don’t care about your excuses, I’m not leaving her alone right now."
"Orm, she asked…"
"Do you not understand that I don’t care? If you don’t help me, I’ll find another way. But, Prig, this will be the end of our friendship, seriously."
There was silence on the other end of the call – too much silence. After a few seconds, Prig exhaled loudly.
"She’s already in Bangkok. She came back after the press conference. She bought a condo here a few weeks ago."
"Address."
"I’ll send it now."
Orm briefly thanked her and hung up the call – she needed to get to Ling as quickly as possible. She called a taxi, entering the address that Prig had sent almost immediately after their conversation.
Sitting in the car, Orm returned to the time when she and Ling were apart – it hurt more than ever, but somehow, even without appearing directly on the radar, the actress had managed to heal her. First, she had torn her apart, and then she had rebuilt her – like the best trauma doctor. It felt strange, but Orm didn’t feel resentment – certainly not towards Ling – she understood her: her motives, her fears, her worries.
When the girl stood at the door of the condo, it became unbearably scary – what if Ling pushed her away again, couldn’t trust her, wouldn’t let her in? She rang the doorbell, biting her lip. The wait – even just a few seconds – felt like an eternity. Her heart was pounding so loudly that Orm could hear it as though it was echoing within a hundred meters' radius.
Silence.
Nothing.
No answer.
"Ling, please. Let me be there. No status, no complications, just let me in. I promise, I just want to support you." Orm pressed her forehead to the iron door. "Please."
She didn’t know how long she stood there, but it was all in vain. No one answered – Ling didn’t give her a chance. Ling had supported her from afar for so long, but when the time came for them to meet, she became afraid again. Orm hit the door with her fist. Then with her palm. And did it several more times.
"N’Orm…" a familiar voice called her from behind, questioning.
Orm turned around, her eyes widening in shock – there stood Ling with bags from the grocery store. She was wearing a black turtleneck, black pants, and sneakers, with a black mask on her face, glasses, and her hair tied up in a bun – clearly trying to avoid being recognized on the streets. Orm had waited so long for this meeting, had imagined it so many times, and now, finally face to face, she didn’t know how to act.
"Orm," Ling softly called her again, as if she couldn’t believe she was seeing the girl in reality – so close, just an arm’s length away. "I..."
Ling didn’t finish her sentence, and Orm took a step forward – a step into the abyss. She hugged Ling with both arms, holding her so tightly that for a second, the older girl felt pain. She dropped the bags, and they fell loudly to the floor. Neither of them cared – they were holding each other as if one of them could disappear at any moment.
"Take off that damn mask," Orm growled, though the tenderness in her gaze showed that it wasn’t real anger.
Ling removed the mask, tightly clutching it in her hand. Orm swallowed – Ling hadn’t changed at all – maybe just lost a little weight. The girl couldn’t resist – she ran her hand across Ling’s soft cheek, lingering with her thumb on her lips. She didn’t want to say anything that might hurt Ling, but there were so many words in her head – pleading, apologies, harshness, confessions. She wanted to scream from the emotions tearing her apart inside, but she just remained silent, staring at Ling.
"You were going to break down my door?" the older girl smiled.
"I thought you…" Orm stopped, trying to find the right words. "Would choose not to open to me."
Ling didn’t respond with words, instead, she pressed herself to Orm with a kiss.
It was so sudden, so unexpected, that Orm lost her balance for a moment, as if she had been pushed off a cliff straight into an abyss where nothing existed except the heat of Ling's breath. Ling’s lips were hot, hungry, but uncertain – as if she didn’t fully believe that Orm was here, that she could touch her again, feel her again.
Orm sighed into the kiss, opening herself up, letting her body remember what it was like to be close. Her fingers dug into Ling's shoulders, pressing into her skin, checking: real. Ling trembled—a light, almost invisible tremor—but Orm felt it with every cell of her body.
She kissed Ling deeper, more insistently, more demandingly. This wasn’t a careful, tentative kiss. There was no awkwardness of two people who hadn’t seen each other for a long time and didn’t know how to start again. This was anger. Raw, painful anger for all the months of separation, for sleepless nights, for the failed attempts to forget each other that always ended in failure.
Ling’s lips parted under her pressure, Orm’s tongue slid inside, mixing their breaths, making Ling exhale with a short, broken sound. Orm didn’t remember who first pushed the other back, who first grabbed the other’s clothes as though they wanted to sink them into their skin. Ling pressed herself against her with desperate hunger, with the hunger of someone who hadn’t tasted life for too long.
Orm’s hands were everywhere—on Ling’s back, her waist, the curve of her neck. She felt how Ling’s heart pounded in unison with her own, how her breathing came in uneven, feverish gasps. Ling responded to the kiss as though she feared that if she stopped, Orm would disappear.
Orm knew that fear. She felt it too.
Ling kissed her harder, as if trying to erase the six-month gap, to wipe it from their lips, from their bodies, from their memories. Her fingers buried themselves in Orm’s hair, clenched, tugged—and Orm gasped in that movement, in that power, in that madness. Ling was everywhere. In the taste on her lips, the heat on her skin, the pain where once there had been emptiness.
The kiss was long, fierce, the kind that leaves marks on lips and in the soul. They didn’t try to be careful. They didn’t try to hide how desperately they had waited for this.
When they pulled apart, Orm was breathing heavily. Ling’s lips were swollen, red. Her eyes sparkled—whether from excitement or from tears, Orm couldn’t tell. She looked at Orm as if she could breathe for the first time in a long while.
Orm lifted her hand, ran her thumb over Ling’s lower lip, erasing the trace of her kiss. Ling didn’t pull away. Didn’t take a step back. Orm smiled—slightly trembling at the corners of her mouth, but still confident.
"So, you're not a Dior ambassador now?"
Ling chuckled—it was so much like Orm.
"If you want, the new collections will still be coming to you first. I still have connections, baby."
Orm’s eyes widened. "Baby? Wow."
The older girl looked away, clearly embarrassed, both by her choice of words and Orm’s comment. "Maybe I needed a little more time."
Orm bit her lip, looking at the spot where they hadn’t moved from.
"Don't you want to invite me inside?"
They walked into the condo, and Orm gasped—it was so much brighter, more spacious, and livelier than the last place. Not a museum room, but a home—photographs on the shelves, a diffuser, some paintings—probably from the artist Ling had once told her about, a projector that Orm had bought more than half a year ago, even a few of her toys.
Orm walked deeper inside, and she heard small footsteps racing toward her from the far door. She turned to Ling, who was smiling modestly.
"Meet"—a small golden retriever puppy appeared in the spacious room, clumsily tumbling over as it ran. "Charsiu."
Orm lifted the puppy into her arms, cooing at the little animal. "Who are you, and what have you done with Ling?"
The joke was borderline, but Orm hoped everything would be fine.
"I guess I had a lot of time to analyze my life," Ling stepped closer. "Are you staying?"
"For the night?" Orm clarified, still petting the puppy.
"Maybe forever?"
Orm placed the puppy on the floor and fully turned toward Ling. "Are you serious right now?"
Ling bit her lip and nodded.
"I don't know what kind of magic you have, Orm," she started uncertainly, but when Orm took her hand, she continued. "But when I left, everything fell apart. You were constantly in my thoughts. But I only truly realized what an idiot I was when Prig sent me your photo. You looked so broken, so fragile—and I did all that. I turned the brightest girl, my sunshine, into a walking corpse."
"Hey, don't exaggerate," Orm playfully hit Ling's arm, though tears froze in her eyes.
"I lied to you, I lied to myself, I lied to society. I never enjoyed the movies, and only you were able to bring me to this conversation, to this confession. And only you see me as I really am. I want to do the same for you—to prove that I deserve to be by your side. That I deserve you."
Orm sniffled, leaning into Ling. "And how are you going to prove that, my unemployed beauty?"
Ling pulled away, pretending to be deeply offended. "Check Forbes. I’ve got money. And also, Prig finally rented a place for my future café."
"So you’ve been preparing."
"For you. For me. For us."
"You’re so extra." Orm kissed her on the cheek. "But, Ling, don’t you want to tell me something else?"
Ling looked away as if deciding. She took a deep breath, clenched her free hand into a fist. Orm held back a smile—Ling looked like she was about to jump out of an airplane.
"You’re the first person I’ve ever told this," she closed her eyes. "I love you."
Orm kissed her on the nose, then on the forehead, and the chin. "I love you too, but actually, I wanted to ask about Prig—how did you end up with such a loyal assistant?"
Ling made a mock-suffering face. "You’re a liar. You made me confess, and now you’re making fun of me."
Charsiu barked, as if outraged along with his owner. Orm laughed—there was no trace of the six months that had passed between them; Ling stood there, ready to bare her soul, give her heart, and try again.
"She’s my cousin. And I had to pay her. At first, then she kind of got into it."
"You paid my friend?"
"I paid my sister."
"Sounds even worse."
They both laughed, hugging each other again. And it felt so right, as if they had gone through all their fears and acceptance just to end up here, in this new chapter of their lives.
"You’ll have to beg for forgiveness from my relatives—they’re mad at you." Orm pinched Ling on the shoulder without breaking their hug.
"Anything. But first, I’ll beg for forgiveness from you."