Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The morning light in Bangkok slipped gently through the café windows, warm and quiet. Lingling arrived first, as she always did. She moved with her usual calm presence, choosing the corner seat that gave her a clear view of the door. She sat down and rested her bag on her lap, fingers brushing the tiny capybara keychain clipped to the zipper.

She pressed the little toy between her fingers. She had meant to give it to Orm, but it never felt like the right moment. Maybe today, maybe not. She sighed softly and checked her phone.

The group chat, baby trio 🫶, lit up.

Orm: I’m on the wayyy wait for me.

Lingling’s lips curved slightly without her noticing.

The door opened with a loud jingle. Gulf strode in with his usual loud energy, spotting Lingling instantly. He slid into the seat opposite her and leaned back like he owned the place.

“Your girl is late again,” he said, nudging her arm with a playful grin.

Lingling didn’t look up from her phone. “Don’t call her that.”

“Uh huh.” Gulf smirked. “Tell her to hurry. I’m starving. If I faint, it is your fault.”

Lingling rolled her eyes. “You ate before coming.”

“That was an appetizer,” he said, shrugging.

She didn’t respond, but there was a hint of amusement on her face. Gulf caught it, of course, but didn’t comment. He just drummed his fingers on the table, humming some tune that made no sense.

The bell chimed again.

Orm walked in with the morning sun behind her, hair slightly messy, her shirt half tucked like she barely made it out the door. She held a milk box in one hand, her steps lazy but warm.

Lingling noticed the flavor right away, plain, the one she always chose. Orm placed it gently in front of her.

“For making it up to you,” Orm said, eyes flicking up with a small smile.

Lingling blinked, caught a little off guard. “You… didn’t have to.”

“It was on sale,” Orm replied quickly, though the smile stayed.

Before Lingling could say more, Gulf leaned forward dramatically.

“Hello? Where is my treat? Why is she the only one getting bribed in the morning?”

Orm raised a brow. “Because she didn’t ignore my messages last night. Unlike someone.”

Gulf laughed. “Wow, calling me out this early.”

Orm shrugged and slipped into the seat beside him, close enough that their shoulders almost touched. They fell into their usual bickering, light and natural.

Lingling watched them for a quiet moment. Their laughter blended easily. Their movements felt familiar with each other. Maybe too familiar.

She didn’t say anything. She just opened the milk, took a slow sip, and looked away, trying not to think about it.

The café air felt warm, calm, and cheerful as always. Yet something faint and uneasy curled in Lingling’s chest, soft enough she pretended not to feel it.

The days passed in a soft rhythm that only the three of them understood, small pieces of life stitched together like a quiet montage.

Karaoke Night

The room glowed with neon lights, the screen flashing lyrics that none of them could follow properly. Orm held the mic with both hands, swaying dramatically as she sang off key. Before the chorus even hit, she drifted toward Lingling and draped herself over her shoulder, cheek pressed lightly against Lingling’s arm.

Lingling froze for a breath, then relaxed. Her hand hovered for a moment as if unsure whether to settle on Orm’s back, but she kept it to herself.

Gulf stood across the room, phone raised. “You two are suspicious,” he announced, zooming in on the way Orm clung to Lingling. “Very suspicious. I’m saving this.”

Orm continued singing without caring. Lingling looked away, pretending to focus on the lyrics, though her heartbeat picked up at the soft weight resting against her.

Movie at Lingling's Condo

They gathered in the living room one quiet weekend evening. The lights were dim, the air cool, the movie already playing. Lingling and Orm sat on the couch, while Gulf took the floor between them with a huge bowl of popcorn.

He reached in first, as expected, grabbing handful after handful. Lingling gently nudged the bowl toward Orm instead, her fingers brushing the rim closer to her side.

Orm noticed. She smiled softly and took a piece, her voice barely above a whisper. “Thanks.”

Halfway through the movie, Orm’s head began dipping forward. Then she slowly leaned into Lingling’s shoulder, searching for support without really thinking. Lingling remained still, letting Orm rest. Her eyes stayed on the screen, but her focus drifted completely.

Gulf looked back once. He opened his mouth as if to tease, then shrugged and returned to the movie. His expression was unreadable for a second before it settled again.

Temple Visit

The temple courtyard felt peaceful, filled with the faint scent of incense and old stone warmed by sunlight. Lingling stood near the steps, fiddling with the small string bracelet around her wrist. The knot had loosened again.

“Hold still,” Orm said, stepping closer.

She gently took Lingling’s wrist, tightening the bracelet with careful fingers. Her brows knit in concentration, her touch light but steady. Lingling watched her quietly, the sight almost too gentle to look at directly.

Gulf stood a few steps away, hands in his pockets. He watched them with a small flicker in his eyes, something Lingling couldn’t quite catch before he looked away.

Moments like that added up, small but sharp. Lingling noticed everything about Orm, the way her hair curled behind her ear, the way her laugh softened at the edges, the way her smile came out shy when she received attention. All these tiny pieces settled inside Lingling slowly, like falling petals.

And every time Lingling gathered the courage to say something, to make a quiet comment or offer a tiny gesture back, Gulf always spoke first. His voice cut in before hers, louder and brighter.

Orm would turn to him, laughing. And whatever Lingling wanted to say slipped back into her throat, unspoken again.

Still, she told herself it was fine. They were just the baby trio. They were always together.

But the more she saw, the more something quiet tightened in her chest.

The shift began quietly, slipping into their days without warning.

It started one night after dinner. The three of them walked down a calm Bangkok street, the air cooler than usual. Orm wrapped her arms around herself, shivering a little. Lingling noticed instantly. She reached for her jacket, fingers brushing the zipper, already moving to offer it.

But Gulf stepped in faster.

Without hesitation, he swung his jacket over Orm’s shoulders. “You’ll catch a cold,” he said, brushing imaginary dust from the collar.

Orm gave a small, awkward laugh. “You didn’t have to.”

Lingling’s hand froze mid-air. She let it drop slowly before anyone noticed. She shoved both hands into her pockets, watching the two of them walk ahead, their silhouettes close under the streetlights. She stayed a step behind, telling herself it was nothing. Gulf was always like that. Helpful. Dramatic. Loud.

But the moment still lingered.

Another day, Gulf grabbed Lingling’s vintage camera from the table with a grin. “Orm, come here. Let’s take a picture.” He pulled Orm beside him, holding the camera out for a selfie.

Lingling moved closer, ready to join, but Gulf lifted the camera too quickly. The shutter clicked.

He didn’t realize she wasn’t fully in the frame.

When the photos were developed later, Lingling saw it clearly. Gulf and Orm stood in sharp focus, smiling, bright. And she was a blur at the edge, half cut off, like she had been passing by rather than belonging there.

She stared at the photo longer than she meant to.

Then came the invitations.

Gulf started asking Orm out to places. A new café. A late-night ice cream run. A thrift shop he wanted to browse.

At first it was casual. Then it became often. Almost routine.

Orm always told Lingling afterward, voice cheerful and honest. “You should’ve come too. It would’ve been fun with you.”

Lingling smiled each time. “Maybe next time.”

But inside, something sank little by little. Not dramatic. Not loud. Just a slow, widening distance she couldn’t bridge no matter how calmly she pretended to walk across it.

She told herself nothing was changing.

Yet every day, it felt like the space between them stretched a little further.

The rain came down hard that night, thick and unrelenting. It blurred the streetlights and soaked the pavement until everything reflected in shaky ripples. Lingling was at home, sorting through a stack of photos, when her phone buzzed.

Orm: it’s heavy rain right here. didnt bring umbrella, can someone save me?

A few seconds later, Gulf replied.

Gulf: Work emergency. Can’t help.

Orm sent another message, this time directed clearly at one person.

Orm: Ling, can you pick me up? 🥺

Lingling didn’t type anything back.

She didn’t need to.

She grabbed the first umbrella she saw, slipped on her sandals, and ran. The rain was cold and sharp on her skin, but she didn’t slow down. Her heart beat faster than her feet, pushing her forward.

When she reached Orm’s workplace, she found her standing under the awning, hugging her bag tight to her chest. Her hair was damp at the ends, her uniform slightly wrinkled from the long shift.

Orm’s eyes lit up when she saw Lingling.

“Ling, you... you came so fast,” she said, stepping closer.

Lingling lifted the tiny umbrella over both of them. It barely covered their shoulders, forcing them to walk close. Their arms brushed with each step, warm skin against the cold rain.

Orm tilted her head up, looking at Lingling with a soft expression that made the air feel different. “You’re always there for me,” she whispered. “Every time.”

Lingling’s breath caught, her fingers tightening on the umbrella handle. She swallowed, the words she had been holding for weeks rising to the surface.

“Orm, I...”

Before the rest could escape, bright headlights swept over them.

A car pulled up abruptly, splashing water across the curb. Gulf jumped out, holding a large umbrella that made Lingling’s tiny one look like a toy.

“I ditch my work for this,” he said, breathless. “Hop in before you two freeze out here.”

Orm looked between them for a second, uncertain.

Then she nodded and slipped into the passenger seat.

Gulf glanced at Lingling. “You come?”

Lingling shook her head gently. “Nah, I have something to do. You guys go first.”

Gulf hesitated, but Orm was already fastening her seat belt. “We’ll text you,” he said before getting in.

The door closed.

The car drove away.

Lingling stayed on the sidewalk, rain hitting her umbrella so hard it trembled in her grip. Water rolled down her sleeves, cold and heavy, but she barely felt it. She watched the red taillights fade into the wet night, her breath thin, her shoulders drawn tight.

For the first time, she felt the rain soaking straight through her ribs.

The days that followed grew quieter, almost too quietly.

It happened in small shifts, the kind that didn’t look like changes at first.

It began with unread messages.

Orm kept sending Lingling her usual updates. A picture of her lunch shaped like a heart. A blurry selfie during a long shift. A random meme she knew Lingling would like.

This time, Lingling opened them but didn’t reply.

The messages stayed there, blue-ticked and unanswered.

In the group chat, Gulf kept talking the way he always did, loud and cheerful, filling the chat with jokes and voice notes. Lingling responded, but only with short replies.

“ok”

“noted”

“maybe”

“later”

None of her usual warmth came through.

The hangouts started to fall apart next.

Somehow, Lingling was always busy.

“Sorry, something came up.”

“Work stuff again.”

“Maybe next week.”

Every time the trio planned something, Lingling found a way to slip out before it happened. Gulf noticed, of course. Orm did too, but she refused to say it out loud until one evening, when Lingling cancelled again.

Orm sighed and told Gulf quietly, “She’s avoiding us.”

Gulf looked down at his phone, his voice softer than usual. “Maybe she needs space.”

Orm frowned. “But… from what?”

He didn’t answer.

Orm carried the confusion with her for days. She kept replaying every moment, each glance, each silence. It didn’t make sense. Lingling didn’t feel angry or upset. She just felt… distant. Different.

Eventually, she gathered the courage to ask.

They met briefly outside a café after Orm insisted. Lingling stood with her hands in her pockets, eyes steady but guarded. Orm shifted on her feet before finally asking, her voice small.

“Are you okay with… me and Gulf hanging out?”

Lingling froze for a late second. “Of course.”

Orm waited, unsure. “Really?”

Lingling nodded once. “You can do whatever makes you happy.”

She said it softly, without emotion, almost practiced. She didn’t look at Orm when she said it. Her eyes stayed fixed on the pavement, or the passing cars, or anything that wasn’t the girl standing right in front of her.

Orm stared at her, confused. Hurt, maybe. Something didn’t feel right.

If everything was fine, why did Lingling feel so far away?

But Lingling didn’t explain.

And Orm, not knowing the hidden meaning behind the words, let the silence swallow the rest.

The rooftop bar glowed with warm lights, the kind that made every table look softer and every face a little gentler. Music drifted in the background, mixed with laughter and the clinking of glasses. Gulf’s birthday had drawn a lively crowd, but even in the noise, something felt slightly out of place.

Lingling arrived late.

She stepped out of the elevator with slow, careful movements, as if she had been forcing herself to show up at all. Her hair was slightly damp from rushing, her eyes tired in a way she couldn’t hide. She scanned the room, ready to slip into some quiet corner.

Before she could take another step, Orm spotted her.

Orm nearly ran over, eyes bright with relief. “Ling, I thought you weren’t coming.” Her voice held no judgment, only warm worry. She reached out and almost touched Lingling’s arm, stopping herself at the last second.

Lingling managed a small smile. “I didn’t want to miss it.”

Gulf looked at them from across the room. He had a drink in hand, but his expression softened the moment he saw Lingling. Not teasing, not loud. Just gentle, like he understood more than he ever said.

“Glad you made it,” he said quietly when she approached the group.

Lingling nodded. She kept a polite distance, standing slightly behind Orm, slightly away from the lively circle. The city lights shimmered around them, but Lingling felt like she was watching everything through a thin layer of glass.

The moment everyone had been waiting for arrived.

Someone dimmed the lights.

The cake came out, candles flickering in the warm glow.

People began to sing.

Gulf stood beside Orm, close in the way that felt natural between them now. Their shoulders brushed when he leaned forward to laugh at something she whispered. Orm nudged him back with a shy grin.

They looked comfortable. Familiar.

Lingling stood across from them, holding her hands together in front of her. The distance wasn’t large, just a few feet of rooftop space. Yet it felt like an entire story stretched between them. One she had written in silence.

The candles illuminated Gulf and Orm first, their faces bright in the golden light. Lingling saw it then, clearly for the first time. It wasn’t that Gulf had taken anything from her.

He didn’t steal a place she never claimed.

He only stepped forward in a space she left open.

And Lingling…

Lingling had been the quiet one.

The careful one.

The one who noticed everything yet spoke nothing.

The realization settled heavily in her chest.

She was the third person in this triangle, not because anyone replaced her, but because she stepped back before she ever tried to stand closer.

The candles flickered on Gulf’s birthday cake, warm and bright.

Lingling’s smile stayed still, soft but fragile.

She clapped along with everyone else, yet her heart felt a step behind, trying to understand how she ended up so far away.

The night ended slowly, the rooftop lights dimming one by one as people said their goodbyes. Laughter faded into the elevator, leaving only the quiet hum of the city below. Gulf offered to take Orm home, waving Lingling over to join them, but she shook her head with a small smile.

“You two go first,” she said. “I’ll walk.”

Orm hesitated, looking like she wanted to insist, but Gulf gently nudged her toward the car. They disappeared into the elevator together, Orm glancing back at Lingling until the doors slid shut.

Lingling stepped outside into the warm Bangkok night. The air smelled faintly of rain and city dust. She tucked her hands into her pockets and walked slowly down the street. Her footsteps were steady, but her heart felt strangely light and heavy at the same time.

She wasn’t angry.

She wasn’t jealous.

Just… accepting.

She had carried her feelings quietly for so long that the silence felt familiar, almost like a habit she didn’t know how to break. The truth was simple and gentle. She cared deeply, maybe too deeply, but she had never learned how to say it out loud. And now the moment had passed in a soft, inevitable way.

Her phone buzzed.

The group chat name lit up: baby trio 🫶

Orm: Let’s hang out again soon. The three of us. Promise?

Lingling stopped walking. The message glowed on the screen, bright and hopeful. Orm’s words were warm, trusting, still reaching for her. She wanted them all together. She always did.

Lingling stared at the message for a long moment.

Her thumb hovered.

She breathed in slowly.

She typed back, careful and steady:

Yeah. I’m still here.

She sent it.

Her smile was small, soft around the edges, touched with something like resignation. Not sadness. Not longing. Just an acceptance of the shape their friendship had taken, the roles they each played, the places they stood.

Lingling kept walking, the city lights guiding her path.

She chose to stay.

Not because she hoped for more, but because she loved them in quiet ways she didn’t need to explain.

Even if her feelings remained unspoken, she knew there was still room for her in this little trio. And for now, that was enough.

Chapter Text

The week after the rooftop passed quietly.

Morning came softly into Lingling’s condo. Sunlight spilled across the floor, pale and slow, warming the edge of her bed. The city outside was already awake, but her room stayed still, wrapped in a gentle hush.

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand.

The group chat was still alive.

Messages stacked one after another. Gulf joking about his headache from the night before. Orm sending a photo of her breakfast, captioned with something playful. Lingling stared at the screen longer than she needed to.

She replied late.

Short.

Polite.

“Morning.”

“Sounds good.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

Then she put the phone down.

The day moved on without waiting for her. Meetings filled her schedule. People talked, asked questions, expected answers. Lingling nodded, replied when needed, wrote things down. She did everything right. Efficient. Calm.

Yet everything felt slightly muted, like the volume of life had been turned down just a bit. Her coffee tasted the same, but she barely noticed. Time passed, but it didn’t leave a mark.

At some point in the afternoon, she reached into her bag for a pen and felt something familiar. She paused.

The capybara keychain.

She took it out slowly, resting it in her palm. The tiny shape looked almost silly now, soft and harmless. She turned it over between her fingers, tracing the small details she once thought Orm would like.

She considered it for a second. Then she clipped it back onto her bag.

Still not ready.

Night settled in quietly. The condo lights stayed low. Lingling sat on the couch, shoes kicked off, staring at nothing in particular. Her phone buzzed again.

A voice note from Orm.

Lingling hesitated before pressing play.

Orm’s voice came through bright and cheerful, talking about her day, something funny that happened at work, how Gulf complained about traffic again. She laughed at her own story, light and familiar.

Then there was a pause.

Just a breath too long.

A silence that didn’t belong to the joke.

Lingling listened carefully, catching the way Orm’s voice softened for a moment before picking back up, as if she had almost said something else. The message ended with a casual, “Talk later, yeah?”

The screen went quiet.

Lingling didn’t move. She held the phone loosely in her hand, the room still wrapped in night. Some things didn’t need to be said to be felt.

And Lingling felt it.

Gulf’s apartment felt louder than usual, even though nothing was making a sound.

He paced from the kitchen to the living room, then back again, talking under his breath like the walls were listening. Normally he would put on music or a show, something to fill the space. Tonight, he didn’t. His thoughts were already too noisy.

“This is stupid,” he muttered, rubbing his face. “You’re just tired.”

But the moments kept replaying anyway.

Orm’s laugh, light and easy, the way it slipped out when she didn’t expect it. The gentleness in her voice when she checked on people, always noticing small things. The way she chose who to stand beside without making it feel like a choice at all.

He sat down on the edge of the couch, elbows on his knees.

This wasn’t teasing anymore. He knew that. Teasing was easy. This felt slower. Heavier.

His mind drifted, uninvited, to Lingling.

She had always been the quiet one. The one who stayed a step behind, who watched instead of spoke. Gulf had seen it. The way she noticed Orm first. The way she made space instead of taking it. He had felt it even if he never said it out loud.

Naming it now felt unfair. Too late. Too selfish.

He leaned back, staring at the ceiling. “It’s fine,” he told himself. “It’s just comfort. We’re close. That’s all.”

Just friendship.

The words sounded thin in the air.

His phone buzzed.

He reached for it too quickly, then paused when he realized what he was doing. He unlocked the screen, heart sinking a little when it wasn’t Orm. Just a notification from some app he didn’t remember downloading.

He checked the time. Checked the group chat. No new messages.

Gulf stared at the phone longer than necessary. He sighed and dropped it onto the couch beside him, annoyed at himself.

Since when did he wait like this?

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration mixing with something softer. His feelings were real. He couldn’t deny that anymore. But they came late, tangled up with loyalty and silence and a truth no one had ever spoken aloud.

And that made everything harder.

Gulf sat there in the dim light of his apartment, knowing one thing for sure. Whatever he was feeling, it wasn’t simple.

The café was quieter than usual that afternoon. Fewer people, softer noise. Sunlight filtered through the glass, landing gently on the table between them.

Orm arrived first this time, fingers wrapped around her cup even though she hadn’t taken a sip yet. When Lingling walked in, Orm looked up quickly, relief flashing across her face before she masked it with a smile.

“You’re here,” Orm said, trying to sound casual.

Lingling nodded and took the seat across from her. “Yeah. Sorry, traffic.”

They sat there for a moment, the space between them filled with unspoken things. Orm fidgeted with the straw, twisting it slowly. She laughed once, short and awkward, then stopped.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” she said, voice quieter now. “Did I do something wrong?”

Lingling looked up immediately. “No.”

Orm blinked. “No?”

“You didn’t do anything,” Lingling said again, carefully. Too carefully. Her tone was gentle, measured, like she was afraid of breaking something fragile.

Orm studied her face, searching for cracks. “Then why do you feel so far away?”

Lingling didn’t answer right away. She wrapped her hands around her cup, grounding herself. “I’m just busy. That’s all.”

Orm nodded slowly, but something in her expression shifted. She heard the restraint in Lingling’s voice. The way her words stayed safe, distant. It didn’t sound like reassurance. It sounded like permission.

“Oh,” Orm said softly. “I see.”

Lingling frowned. “See what?”

Orm shook her head, forcing a smile. “Nothing. I just wanted to check.”

But in her mind, the pieces were already falling into the wrong shape.

She thought Lingling was pulling away because she was choosing Gulf. Because she was spending more time with him. Because maybe Lingling didn’t like that. Maybe Lingling was disappointed, quietly judging, too kind to say it out loud.

Across the table, Lingling watched Orm carefully. She saw the way Orm’s eyes dropped, the way her shoulders relaxed like she had made a decision. And Lingling misunderstood it too.

She thought Orm was choosing Gulf because Lingling never spoke. Because she stayed silent. Because silence was easier than risk.

Two people sat across from each other, sharing the same love.

Both convinced they were already too late.

The rain returned in the afternoon, light at first, then heavier, tapping steadily against the windows. Orm showed up at Lingling’s condo with a small bag in her hands, something she meant to return but kept forgetting.

Lingling opened the door with damp hair and a towel over her shoulder. “I’m in the middle of a shower,” she said apologetically. “You can wait inside.”

“It’s okay,” Orm replied quickly, stepping in. “I’ll just be a minute.”

The door closed. The sound of running water drifted faintly from the bathroom.

Orm stood in the living room, unsure where to sit. She paced a little, then stopped, then paced again. The quiet felt different here. Personal. She rubbed her palms together, restless, her thoughts refusing to stay still.

Her eyes landed on the coffee table.

Lingling’s vintage camera lay there, familiar and well used. Beside it was a small stack of developed photos, slightly worn at the edges. Orm hesitated, then picked up the top one.

It was the photo.

Gulf and Orm stood in the center, smiling brightly, captured in sharp focus. And at the edge, barely there, Lingling. Blurred. Half cut off.

Orm’s throat tightened.

She turned the photo over without thinking.

There was writing on the back, neat and careful, unmistakably Lingling’s handwriting.

“I should have stepped in.”

Orm’s chest pulled tight, the air suddenly heavier. She stared at the words, her fingers trembling just slightly. The sentence was quiet, regretful, unfinished.

Everything began to shift.

The silence.

The distance.

The way Lingling always waited.

The way she stepped back before anyone asked her to.

Orm leaned against the table, breath shallow. She felt something sharp and clear cut through the confusion she had been carrying for weeks.

This was never just about her and Gulf.

It might never have been.

The story she had assumed, the one where she was choosing and Lingling was letting go, cracked open. In its place stood something truer, something she had been too distracted to see.

It might have always been Lingling and Orm.

And somewhere along the way, a third person simply stepped into the space Lingling left behind.

The sound of the shower turned off.

Orm looked up, heart racing, the photo still warm in her hands.

The night air felt lighter than it should have been.

Gulf drove with one hand on the wheel, the other tapping along to the music blasting through the speakers. Orm leaned out the window slightly, hair catching the wind as they sang loudly, off key, laughing between lyrics. The city lights rushed past them, neon signs blurring into streaks of color.

For a while, it felt easy.

Just noise.

Just movement.

Just fun.

They parked near Orm’s place, engine still running, music fading into a low hum. The laughter settled into something quieter. Gulf stared straight ahead, fingers tightening around the steering wheel.

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to say,” he said, suddenly serious.

Orm turned to look at him, smile still lingering. “What’s up?”

Gulf let out a breath, uneven. “I think I like you,” he said quickly, then slower, as if realizing the weight of it. “More than I should.”

The words hung in the small space between them.

Orm froze.

Not because she felt pulled toward him. Not because the confession tempted her. But because something clicked into place, sharp and undeniable. All at once, she saw it clearly. The rides. The jokes. The closeness. The way he always stepped in.

Filling the space.

She swallowed hard, her heartbeat loud in her ears. “Do you know Lingling likes me?”

The question came out blunt, shaken, stripped of softness.

Gulf didn’t answer.

He didn’t laugh it off.

Didn’t tease.

Didn’t deny it.

He just went quiet.

Too quiet.

Orm felt her chest tighten, the truth settling heavily between them. His silence said everything. He knew. He had always known. And still, he stepped closer.

Orm’s hand shook as she reached for the door handle. “I need to go.”

“Orm,” Gulf said softly, finally turning to her. “I didn’t mean to...”

“I know,” she cut in, voice tight. “That’s the problem.”

She opened the car door and stepped out into the night, the cool air hitting her all at once. She didn’t look back. Her heart raced, thoughts crashing into each other, louder than the music ever was.

For the first time, everything was clear.

And nothing felt simple anymore.

The café felt smaller than usual.

Orm asked to meet as three, her message short and serious. No emojis. No jokes. Gulf agreed almost immediately. He knew he could not keep avoiding what was already waiting for them.

Lingling arrived last. She walked in calm and composed, just like always. Her expression was polite, prepared. She had already decided she would be fine. Smile lightly. Listen. Go home. That was the plan.

They sat down.

Orm chose the seat across from Lingling. Gulf sat beside her, slightly turned, watching both of them without saying a word. The noise of the café continued around them, cups clinking, people talking, life moving on like nothing was wrong.

Orm leaned forward without thinking. She rested her palm under her chin, elbow on the table, eyes fixed on Lingling. Not challenging. Not soft. Just searching.

Lingling noticed immediately. Her back straightened.

Gulf noticed too. His chest tightened. He stayed quiet.

Orm only realized what she was doing when the silence stretched too long. She pulled her hand back slowly, fingers curling into her lap. Her heart was already racing.

No one joked. No one filled the space.

Finally, Orm spoke. Her voice was steady, but only barely.

“Why did you step back, Ling?”

Lingling answered too fast, like she had been waiting for the question.

“Because you chose him.”

The words landed hard. Gulf flinched.

Orm’s breath caught, and she replied just as quickly, just as sharp.

“Because you never chose me.”

The air between them snapped tight.

Lingling froze, the sentence cutting deeper than she expected. She opened her mouth, then closed it again. For once, she had no careful reply ready.

Gulf looked down at the table, guilt heavy in his chest. He saw it clearly now, the damage done by silence and timing and fear.

Orm’s hands trembled slightly as she pressed them together. Her voice softened, but the truth stayed firm.

“I kept waiting for you to say something. Anything. And when you didn’t, I thought I was wrong.”

Lingling swallowed. Her voice came out quieter than she meant.

“I thought I was giving you space.”

Orm shook her head, eyes shining.

“I thought you were letting me go.”

The misunderstanding finally stood between them in full shape, sharp and undeniable. Not born from lack of love, but from too much caution. Too much waiting. Too much fear of choosing wrong.

And for the first time, none of them could pretend it was fine anymore.