The Last Scene's Secret

Chapter 4: Echoes of the Past

Ling Ling stood amidst the clutter of her room, her gaze drifting over the scattered remnants of her past—old fan books, photographs that had long lost their meaning. As she was tidying up, she stumbled upon a dusty box tucked away in a corner. Its surface was plain, except for a single name scrawled on it in faded ink: "O4^-" The ink had smudged, making the sentence blurred.

Curiosity piqued, Ling felt a twinge of nostalgia and unease. She carefully lifted the lid, the creak of the box echoing in the quiet room. Inside, she found a collection of objects that seemed oddly out of place in her current life.

At the top of the box lay a puzzle, its pieces scattered but missing instructions. a gift from a friend. It had been a thoughtful gesture, one that had remained incomplete because she'd forgotten about it amidst the chaos of her life. Next to the puzzle was a sleek pen, and beside it, a worn jacket. Lastly, a small, leather-bound notebook lay nestled in the box.

Ling picked up the notebook first, its cover bearing signs of age. As she flipped through the pages, she was struck by a sudden rush of memory, though it was faint and elusive. She stopped at a page where her handwriting detailed the significance of the items within the box:

"This jacket," she had written, " she gave it to me on a cold night. We were walking home from school, and she offered it to me when I was shivering. It was one of the first times I felt her warmth."

"This pen," Ling continued, "she gave it to me during an exam when all my other pens ran dry. It was a small act of kindness, but it meant a lot in that moment of stress."

"This puzzle," Ling wrote, "she gave it to me when I was flying back to Hong Kong. I had just turned ten, and Mom decided it was time to go back home. she gave it to me as a farewell gift, and I remember thinking how thoughtful she was."

Ling's fingers trembled as she turned to the final entry. The ink had smudged, making the last sentence almost illegible. She strained to read it

"I li-"

The rest of the message was obscured, the ink a dark smear that tainted the page. Ling felt a cold knot form in her stomach. The realization hit her like a jolt—she had memories of .........., fragments of kindness and affection, yet the face she now knew seemed so distant from the one she remembered.

She stared at the puzzle, pen, and jacket, the significance of these items weighing heavily on her. Does she still remember this? Why did she....? Ling's mind raced with questions and confusion. The connection between the items, once so vivid and significant, now felt like a ghost from a forgotten dream.

Ling closed the notebook, her heart pounding. The sense of loss was overwhelming, and she couldn't shake the feeling that a crucial part of her past had slipped through her fingers. She was haunted by the thought that the girl she knew. is... As she stared at the box, the pieces of her past seemed to taunt her, whispering secrets she was no longer sure she could uncover.

Ling Ling finished tidying her room, her movements slow and deliberate as she put away the final few items. The box with the puzzle still lay on her desk, its contents both intriguing and frustrating. After organizing the clutter, she turned her attention back to the puzzle. It had been years since she last attempted to piece it together, and now, without instructions or an image to guide her, the task seemed nearly impossible.

She sat down at her desk and began assembling the pieces, but the more she tried, the more her frustration grew. The puzzle, a jumble of irregular shapes and colors, felt like a cruel reminder of her fragmented memories. Each piece seemed to defy logic, refusing to fit together no matter how hard she tried. Ling's patience wore thin as she struggled to match pieces, her fingers deftly yet ineffectively moving them around the board.

Hours passed as Ling worked in vain, the pieces mocking her inability to complete the picture. She sighed deeply, her brow furrowed with concentration and weariness. Eventually, she realized that she was no closer to solving the puzzle than when she started. Defeated, she left the incomplete puzzle on the desk, its scattered pieces reflecting the chaos in her mind.

Ling decided to call it a night, hoping that sleep would provide some respite from her frustration. She glanced back at the puzzle one last time before retreating to her bed, where she fell into a restless sleep with the puzzle still half-finished, its challenge lingering in her thoughts.

Orm's POV:

Orm lay in her bed, drifting into a deep slumber, but her rest was troubled by vivid dreams. In her dream, she saw a girl receiving her gift—a puzzle. The girl's face was a blurred smudge, her features obscured by a veil of fog that Orm couldn't penetrate.

Orm watched helplessly as the girl took the gift, her expression unreadable. The scene shifted, and she saw the girl walking away, the distance growing between them. The dream felt heavy, suffused with a sense of sorrow and loss. Orm observed the girl for what felt like an eternity, unable to approach or intervene. The girl's inability to eat, smile, or laugh seemed like a profound grief that Orm couldn't comprehend or relieve.

As the dream lingered on, Orm was struck by an overwhelming sense of disconnection. The girl seemed so familiar yet so distant, and Orm felt a deep, aching emptiness as if a crucial part of her heart had been torn away. The dream's sadness was suffocating, and Orm felt a pang of longing that she couldn't quite place.

Just before she awoke, the dream shifted once more. Orm saw herself opening a letter, its contents hidden from view. The envelope bore the initials -LK. The sight of those letters stirred something deep within Orm, an echo of recognition mixed with confusion. The dream ended abruptly, leaving Orm with a lingering sense of unease and curiosity.

She woke up with a start, her heart racing. The dream's vivid imagery and the mysterious letter left her feeling unsettled. As Orm lay in bed, she couldn't shake the feeling that the dream was more than just a figment of her imagination—it was a message, a fragment of a past she couldn't fully remember but desperately needed to understand.

A/N: 

Dr. tan, Dr. Bow & me OH MY GHOD WHAT IS HAPPENING, (Honestly, I'm not even sure what's happening in this story right now, but I'm loving the ride!)Things are starting to unfold in this chapter. I'm excited to see what you think.I hope you enjoyed this chapter! As always, your feedback and support are greatly appreciated. Thank you for reading!