Between Us || LINGORM

Chapter 6: Shared Spaces

Orm hadn't planned on going to the study room that evening. In fact, she'd intended to spend the night in her dorm, gaming with Kwang and Prighking, whose loud laughter and endless jokes were a perfect distraction from the tension of her workload. But as she sat on her bed, staring at the glowing screen, a nagging restlessness pushed her to get up, throw on a hoodie, and grab her laptop.

Her mind was still spinning from their recent run-ins—Lingling's sharp gaze during the seminar where they clashed on economic theories, and the frustration of working under Lingling's authoritative chairmanship during the tourism project. Yet, amid all the exasperation, there was a gnawing intrigue. Orm couldn't shake the thought of Lingling, not just as the poised and dominant presence that commanded every room she walked into, but as something more. Something deeper.

The study room on the third floor of the student center was usually deserted after 9 p.m., making it the perfect place to clear her mind. Orm pushed open the door, expecting to see empty tables and silent corners, but instead, a familiar figure caught her attention.

Lingling was seated at the far end, hunched over with her guitar resting on her lap. The soft strum of strings filled the room, resonating with a quiet intensity that pulled Orm to a stop. It was a side of Lingling she hadn't seen before—unpolished, absorbed, and lost in her music. For once, the mask of perfect control slipped, revealing something raw and vulnerable.

Memories from earlier that week flooded Orm's mind: the tension-filled hours spent on the tourism project, where Lingling's meticulous nature dominated their discussions, leaving no room for Orm's casual creativity. Lingling's curt remarks had grated on her nerves, and Orm had retaliated with teasing that only seemed to deepen the rift between them. But watching Lingling now, Orm felt that familiar sting of curiosity mixed with admiration.

Orm stepped inside, shutting the door behind her softly, careful not to disturb the moment. She settled at a table a few rows away, intending to respect Lingling's space while satisfying her own curiosity. The music, slow and melancholic, wrapped around her like a warm blanket. It was far removed from the structured, authoritative Lingling she'd seen in meetings and lectures. Here, she was just a girl with a guitar, eyes closed, fingers dancing over the strings as if they were an extension of her.

Minutes passed before Lingling seemed to realize she was no longer alone. Her eyes fluttered open, and the serene expression she wore hardened into her usual composed mask. The transformation was almost painful to watch.

"You're here late," Lingling said, her voice clipped as she set the guitar down on its stand.

"So are you," Orm replied, giving her a half-smile that she hoped looked casual.

Lingling's eyes narrowed, scanning Orm for any hint of ridicule. When she found none, she seemed to relax, if only slightly. "I like the quiet here," she said after a pause, glancing at the books and notes scattered across the table.

"Me too," Orm admitted. "But I didn't expect to find you playing guitar. I didn't know you were in the band."

Lingling's gaze shifted to the instrument, and for a moment, Orm thought she saw the slightest blush touch her cheeks. "It's not something I talk about. It's just... an outlet."

The silence that followed felt oddly comfortable, as if they'd crossed an unspoken boundary into a place where competition and rivalry didn't matter. Orm watched as Lingling's fingers traced the edge of the guitar, a rare softness in her expression.

"You're really good," Orm said, breaking the silence. "I mean it. The way you play... it's different. It's powerful."

Lingling's eyes met Orm's, surprise flickering in them like a candlelight. Orm recognized the same look from their moments in the seminar when their debates veered into personal territory—brief, unguarded glimpses that spoke of more than what lay on the surface.

"Thank you," Lingling said, her voice barely above a whisper. The admission seemed to cost her, as if letting someone in on her secret broke an unwritten rule she held tightly to. Orm felt an unfamiliar pang of guilt; perhaps she had misjudged Lingling before, assuming that everything about her was polished and impenetrable.

The clock on the wall ticked louder as the silence between them stretched. Orm wanted to say more, ask more—to let the moment be filled with questions about why Lingling played, what music meant to her, and what other layers lay beneath the icy surface. But she kept quiet, sensing that pushing further would make Lingling retreat.

A beat passed before Lingling's expression turned contemplative. "Why are you really here, Orm?"

The question caught Orm off guard. She shifted uncomfortably in her chair, trying to think of an answer that didn't sound stupid. The truth was, she'd been drawn to this room, and perhaps, subconsciously, to Lingling herself. But admitting that wasn't an option. Not yet. "I needed a change of scenery," she said finally, shrugging. "The dorm was too noisy."

Lingling's eyes softened, and the corner of her lips lifted into the faintest hint of a smile. "Funny. I thought you thrived on noise."

Orm laughed, the tension breaking between them. "Most of the time, yeah. But even I need a break from Kwang's non-stop jokes."

Lingling's mouth quirked up further at the mention of Orm's best friend. She seemed to take in Orm's relaxed posture, the messy bun on top of her head, the hint of tiredness under her eyes. For the first time, Orm felt seen—not as the bubbly, carefree student but as someone with layers of her own.

"You should try practicing here more often," Orm said, feeling bold. "It suits you."

Lingling's gaze turned distant, as if considering the idea before she looked back at Orm. "Maybe," she said, her voice softer now, almost thoughtful. "We'll see."

Orm nodded, knowing that was as much of an admission as she would get. They lapsed into silence, the strangeness of the moment settling over them like a blanket. Lingling returned her attention to the guitar, fingers ghosting over the strings without playing. It felt like a truce, fragile but real.

As the clock edged toward midnight, Orm stood to leave, her heart lighter than it had been in days. The week had been filled with stress—from Lingling's commanding approach in their project to their clashes in the seminar—but now, it all felt softened by this unexpected encounter. She met Lingling's eyes one last time, offering a smile that felt different—sincere, unburdened by competition or expectation.

"Goodnight, Lingling."

Lingling's eyes lingered on Orm, her usual walls lowered just enough to let a glimmer of warmth show through. "Goodnight, Orm."

The door clicked shut behind her, but the unspoken connection remained, reverberating like the notes of Lingling's song. Orm walked back to her dorm, feeling a tug of anticipation mixed with confusion. Whatever lay between them—rivalry, respect, or something new—it was only growing deeper.