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In truth, Orm had never learned how to accept it.
She stood between platforms, steady amidst the tide of strangers, trying to convince herself that the figure beside her was real. The station intercom echoed overhead, announcing the arrival of the next train. Orm turned her head, and Ling was still there, standing close. Small beneath her oversized black coat and pale sweater, fragile as a thought that might vanish if stared at too long.
“The train will be here soon,” Ling whispered, stating the obvious, as if saying it aloud could soften its weight. “After this, you won’t have to worry about me anymore, Orm.”
“Yeah.” Orm’s voice came out stiff. She drew a slow breath. “You’ll be happy, right?”
Ling scoffed lightly. “What a silly question.”
She lifted her gaze, and a heartbeat later, their eyes met. Orm had often wondered when she first fell for those warm brown irises, glowing with a sincerity that felt almost reckless. There was something childlike there, something quietly peculiar, and entirely irresistible.
She wondered what it would be like to wake up to that gaze in the morning. To be greeted by that soft curve of a smile, the gentle crease at the corners of Ling’s eyes, as natural as breathing. She wondered about it more often than she dared admit.
She always did.
And yet, Orm never learned how to accept.
“I am happy,” Ling said at last, her tone earnest, unwavering. “If that’s what you want, what both of you want, then I am. For you. And for myself.”
“With Win?” Orm asked.
“…Yes.”
Something inside her chest lurched, barely perceptible, yet sharp enough to draw blood. Orm wondered why she had been the one to ask, only to be the one in pain.
“I—” Her voice faltered. “Ling—”
Ten meters away, the shrill whistle of a railway officer pierced the air, followed by the low groan of steel wheels grinding along rusted tracks and crushed gravel. The sound rang louder than fireworks on New Year’s Eve. The intercom chimed again, repeating its instructions, urging passengers to stay behind the safety line.
Stop. Just for a moment.
I need time.
She needs time.
Even though Orm wasn’t sure Ling wanted any.
“It’s alright,” Ling murmured. “I know you’ll be happy.” Her lips curved into a gentle smile, as sincere as the slender fingers that patted Orm’s back, soft and reassuring. “Give my regards to your husband, okay?”
Orm only shook her head. Not in refusal, not in agreement.
“Ah,” Ling breathed. “It’s here.”
The train slid to a halt. Its familiar rumble made Orm feel impossibly small. She hated every second slipping past them, despised the way time refused to slow. Yet for once, she surrendered.
Her arms lifted on instinct, pulling Ling into her embrace, pressing that fragile body close. A silent farewell, a wordless confession of how deeply she would miss Ling’s presence. How unbearably cruel it felt that they had met at all, only to end like this.
“Alright,” Ling said softly. “That’s enough.”
She pulled away, though Orm lingered for a second too long. Ling’s smile remained unchanged, unbroken, untouched by grief. No cracks, no wounds, nothing that might betray the ache Orm wished she could see.
“Home is where you are meant to stand,” Ling said quietly, more to herself than anyone else. “And my home is the last stop of this train, Orm.”
And Win will be waiting for you.
“And Win will be waiting for me.”
Until we meet again.
“So…” Ling exhaled, and God, Orm loved her smile. “Goodbye.”
In truth, Orm had never learned how to accept.
Even as Ling climbed the steps into the train without hesitation, while Orm remained frozen among the crowd that surged forward. Businessmen in tailored suits, women checking their watches, children clutching their mothers’ hands, students in crisp uniforms, elderly couples moving in unison, musicians with worn guitar cases, twin figures blurring into one.
And Ling, always Ling, etched so deeply into Orm’s vision that every image sent quiet signals into her mind, carefully stored in a small chamber of memory. Precious. Untouchable.
The warning echoed once more.
Steam billowed into the air, white and black, heavy with the scent of metal and smoke. The carriage doors slid shut. Ling stood behind the clear glass, and Orm saw her, always her, separated by a thin, merciless barrier.
This was a farewell without an ending.
Ling’s eyes crinkled as she smiled wider, radiant, unburdened. She looked free. She looked unbearably free without me.
Orm tried to return the smile, but her eyes betrayed her. She did not blame the rushing of time, nor the melancholic stillness of the platform, nor the heat gathering beneath her lashes before spilling quietly down her cheeks.
Ling’s figure receded, farther, farther, until distance swallowed her whole. The horizon burned orange, fading into violet, dissolving into a night scattered with trembling stars.
And still, Orm never learned how to accept.
A whisper slipped past her lips. “I love you.”
The intercom chimed once more, announcing that the last train had departed ten minutes ago.