Chapter Text
Lingling Kwong liked being early. Not just punctual—early. Early meant control. Early meant her long black hair remained perfectly smooth, her eyeliner stayed sharp, and her thoughts lined up neatly instead of crashing into each other like impatient commuters. Today, of all days, she intended to maintain this sense of precision.
Her first day at Mirai Advertising.
She'd rehearsed it in her mind: walk in calm, collected, thirty minutes before onboarding. Radiate competence. Exude confidence. Make a good impression. Not let her mole twitch on her left cheek the way it did when her stress levels rose.
The sun was barely lifting above Bangkok's skyline when she pulled into the company lot. Morning traffic had been merciful—grumpy, but flowing. She sipped from her iced Americano, feeling the satisfaction of everything going right.
And then she saw it.
Only one nearby parking spot left.
Everything else was two blocks away. And walking two blocks in Bangkok humidity on your first day at work was basically showing up steamed like a dumpling.
Lingling nodded to herself. The universe had aligned. Of course the last good spot was waiting for her. She signaled early, angled her sedan, and felt that anticipatory thrill of small, stupid victory.
Until—
A black compact rolled into the opposing lane, both angled perfectly toward the same empty spot.
Lingling blinked. "Oh no you don't. Not today."
She edged closer to the spot.
The compact signaled too.
She squinted into her mirror. The driver door opened.
A woman stepped out—taller than Lingling by a few centimeters, fair skin catching the morning light, brown hair tied into a low, extremely neat ponytail. She wore a fitted white shirt tucked into black trousers like she was walking into a boardroom, not a parking lot.
Her amber eyes scanned the spot. Calculating. Cool.
Lingling's left cheek twitched.
One of those types, she thought. Sleek. Quietly aggressive. The parking-lot embodiment of a LinkedIn success story.
The woman approached the spot to inspect the angle. Lingling lowered her window.
"Excuse me," she called out. "I'm taking that spot."
The woman turned her head, brows lifting. "Are you?"
The way she said it—calm, almost curious—was infuriating.
Lingling jabbed a finger toward the spot. "I was here first."
"You were near it," the woman replied evenly. "Not in it."
Lingling's jaw dropped. "That's ridiculous."
"Is it?" The woman stepped back toward her compact. "Seems accurate."
Lingling felt her blood pressure spike. "You can't just swoop in because you think you can parallel-park better than everyone else!"
"I wasn't swooping," the woman said, hand on her door. "I was positioning."
Positioning? Oh, she hated her already.
They moved at the same time.
Lingling eased forward.
The woman swung her compact into perfect alignment.
The engines hummed. The tires squeaked. The air thickened.
It was a duel.
A stupid, petty duel for a stupid, petty rectangle of asphalt.
And then...
A horn.
A silver hatchback zipped between them and slipped into the spot like a thread through a needle.
Both Lingling and the brown-haired woman stared, mouths faintly open.
The hatchback driver got out, gave them a bland nod, and walked away.
Silence.
Then...
"This is your fault," Lingling snapped, launching out of her car.
The other woman pivoted toward her, incredulous. "My fault? You were blocking the angle!"
"Blocking? I was aligned! You were hovering like you were waiting for divine permission!"
"If you hadn't hesitated—"
"I didn't hesitate!"
"You did."
"You did!"
They both pointed at each other at the same time.
They both stopped.
Then they both groaned.
Lingling slapped her forehead. "I cannot believe this."
"Likewise," the woman said dryly.
They glared at the spot now peacefully occupied by the silver hatchback.
A shared misery. A shared embarrassment.
And unfortunately—a shared consequence.
The walk.
Two blocks.
In Bangkok heat.
Lingling resisted the urge to scream.
"Great," she muttered, slamming her door shut. "Perfect start to the day."
The woman, sliding back into her compact, sighed. "Well. Enjoy the exercise."
Lingling gasped. "Are you suggesting..."
"I'm suggesting we both lost," the woman said, rolling up her window.
Lingling stood there, flabbergasted, watching amber eyes disappear behind tinted glass.
"Unbelievable!" she shouted.
The compact drove away.
Lingling stomped back into traffic and finally found a humiliatingly distant spot between a bakery and a noodle shop.
The two-block walk nearly killed her.
By the time she stepped into Mirai's sleek, glass-walled lobby, she was warm, annoyed, and very determined to blame the tall, amber-eyed woman for everything wrong with her life.
She fixed her hair, wiped her forehead, and took a calming breath.
Then she saw her.
Standing in line at the reception.
The woman from the parking lot.
Lingling's soul left her body.
No. No way. Not her. Please not her.
The woman turned casually—and their eyes met.
Both women froze.
Recognition.
Annoyance.
Disbelief.
Lingling whispered, "Oh, for the love of..."
The woman's expression said the exact same thing.
They looked away at the same time—with identical tight smiles.
---
The new hires gathered in a glass-paneled auditorium. Corporate videos played. Coffee smelled too sweet. Name tags were passed around.
Lingling kept her distance from the woman, but thanks to cosmic cruelty, they ended up two rows apart.
At least she didn't know her name.
Yet.
The HR coordinator took the mic.
"Welcome! We're excited to introduce today's new senior creative hires. First—our new Executive Creative Director..."
Lingling exhaled calmly.
It wasn't her problem.
"...Ms. Orm Kornnaphat."
Lingling choked on air.
Her head snapped toward the stage.
The woman—that woman—stepped forward.
So her name was Orm.
Orm stood tall, composed, giving a polite bow as the room clapped. Her amber eyes glided across the audience—and locked onto Lingling.
Lingling stared back, eyes wide.
Silently: Why. You.
Orm's answering look: This is karmic punishment for both of us.
"And our new Art Director, Ms. Lingling Kwong."
Lingling jolted up as her name was called.
Now everyone clapped for her.
Including Orm.
Which somehow made it worse.
They exchanged a stiff nod as she passed by—professionalism stretched thin over irritation.
---
Mirai's creative floor buzzed with energy. People clustered, mingled, compared notes. It would've been fine—almost pleasant—if not for the fact that gossip spread faster than Wi-Fi.
A friendly copywriter named Jai approached Lingling.
"So cool that we got a new ECD," he whispered. "And wow, she looks intense. Like she meditates, does kickboxing, and files taxes early."
Lingling snorted. "She stole my parking spot."
Jai gasped. "No."
"Yes."
"But she looks so composed!"
"Evil comes in calm packaging."
Across the room, Orm, who had just taken a sip of coffee...paused.
Her amber eyes narrowed. She walked over just enough to make her presence known.
"I didn't steal anything," Orm said, voice calm but undeniably pointed. "If someone hadn't stopped in the middle of the lane..."
Lingling whirled. "I was aligning!"
"You were obstructing."
"You were circling like a shark!"
A few employees looked between them like watching live entertainment.
Jai whispered to another copywriter, "They've known each other for two hours and already hate each other. Iconic."
Pravit, an old-school Creative Director, strolled past and chuckled. "Ah, parking wars. Company tradition. Seniority usually wins those battles."
Lingling stiffened.
Orm blinked.
A misunderstanding bloomed on the spot.
Lingling's thought: She assumed she deserved the spot because she's ECD? Wow.
Orm's thought: She thinks I used seniority? I didn't even know about parking privileges.
Neither clarified.
Both grew more annoyed.
---
By 6:30 PM, new-hire fatigue clung to every muscle in Lingling's body. The sun was turning gold as she stepped outside.
To her horror, Orm was there too.
Walking toward the lot. Same direction. Same pace.
They made accidental eye contact.
Lingling lifted her chin. "Long walk back. Again."
Orm replied, "Maybe tomorrow the universe will be kinder."
"Only if you stay out of my way."
Orm's smile was slow, razor-edged. "Unlikely."
Lingling's heart thudded—annoyance, adrenaline, something sharper.
"See you tomorrow," Orm said, voice steady, almost a challenge.
Lingling stepped past her. "Try not to lose another parking battle."
Orm laughed softly. "Try not to start one."
They walked off in opposite directions.
Two stubborn women. Two bruised egos. One ridiculous misunderstanding.
And the beginning of something neither recognized yet—something sharp, electric, and destined to grow.