Secretly Watching Over Her

Chapter 12: Whispers of a Past Love

Orm had spent the last four years living in the shadow of an all-consuming grief, the memory of her beloved Ling haunting her every waking moment. Ling had been her everything—the light in her life, her muse, her soulmate. But that light had been cruelly extinguished when Ling was taken from her in a senseless act of violence, the tragic outcome of an ex-lover's obsession. It was a wound that time could only partially heal, a scar that Orm would carry with her forever.

In the years that followed, Orm retreated into herself, her once-bright spirit dulled by the weight of loss. She threw herself into her work, taking on roles that allowed her to escape into other lives, other stories, if only for a little while. The public saw her as resilient, a professional who could perform even in the darkest of times. But behind closed doors, Orm was a woman broken by tragedy, struggling to find meaning in a world without Ling.

Yet, life has a way of moving forward, even when it feels like it shouldn't. Gradually, Orm began to rebuild. She reconnected with friends, resumed her career in earnest, and tried to find joy in the small things—like the way the sun filtered through the leaves in the park near her favorite café, the very same park where she and Ling had spent so many afternoons. It was a place full of memories, both beautiful and bittersweet, and Orm often found herself drawn there, as if seeking comfort from the echoes of the past.

On this particular day, the park was bathed in the golden light of late afternoon. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of blooming flowers and fresh grass, and the gentle rustling of leaves created a soothing backdrop to Orm's thoughts. She walked slowly, her hands tucked into the pockets of her coat, lost in memories of Ling—her smile, her laugh, the way her eyes sparkled when she was happy. Orm could almost hear her voice, soft and sweet, as if she were still beside her.

As she approached the bench where they used to sit together, Orm's steps faltered. She closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath as she tried to steady herself. The pain of loss was always there, just beneath the surface, but today it felt particularly sharp. She opened her eyes and continued walking, her gaze fixed on the ground.

And then it happened—a sudden collision that jolted her out of her reverie. Orm gasped, stumbling slightly as she bumped into someone.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," she began, looking up to apologize properly. But the words died in her throat as her eyes met the woman's gaze. Orm's heart skipped a beat, her breath catching in her chest. The woman before her was the spitting image of Ling.

"Are you alright?" the woman asked, her voice tinged with concern.

Orm could only stare, her mind racing as she tried to make sense of what she was seeing. It wasn't just the physical resemblance—the same delicate features, the same dark hair cascading over her shoulders—it was something more, something that struck deep into Orm's soul. There was a familiarity in the way this woman looked at her, a warmth in her eyes that Orm hadn't felt in years.

"I... I'm fine, ling" Orm finally managed to say, though her voice was shaky. "It's just... you... you look like someone I've lost."

The woman offered a gentle smile, her eyes soft with sympathy. "I'm so sorry to hear that. but my name is Fahlada."

Fahlada. The name echoed in Orm's mind, but it was as if her heart refused to believe it. Standing here, so close to this woman who looked and felt so much like Ling, Orm felt an overwhelming surge of emotion. She wanted to reach out, to touch her, to see if she was real, if this was some cruel trick her mind was playing on her.

"Can... can I get a hug?" Orm asked, her voice barely a whisper. "I... I miss her so much."

Fahlada didn't hesitate. She stepped forward and enveloped Orm in a warm embrace, holding her tightly as if she understood the depth of Orm's pain. And as soon as Fahlada's arms wrapped around her, Orm felt something she hadn't felt in years—a sense of peace, of belonging, as if she had finally come home.