Between Us || LINGORM

Chapter 11: Trapped Together

The week following their unexpected reconciliation was a blur of study sessions and project deadlines. Orm's mind buzzed with the memory of that rare softness she glimpsed in Lingling during their brief moment of peace. But true to form, Lingling had wrapped herself back up in her composed exterior, as if their emotional exchange had been nothing more than a fleeting slip.

Orm didn't mind, not really. She found comfort in Lingling's dominant, meticulous nature, even when it clashed with her own easygoing approach. It was a challenge—a game, almost—to see if she could push Lingling's buttons enough to break that unshakeable calm. But tonight, there was no time for playful tests. They were due to present their project in just three days, and a power outage on campus had thrown their plans into disarray.

The university buzzed with irritated students, their voices rising over the hum of backup generators. The lights in the study hall flickered, and Orm glanced at Lingling, who sat across the table, tapping her pen against the notebook with a calm that bordered on unsettling.

"So much for progress," Orm said, letting out an exaggerated sigh. She leaned back in her chair, her hair brushing the edge of the table.

Lingling's dark eyes met hers briefly, unimpressed. "We adapt. Complaining doesn't change the situation." Her voice was even, practical.

Orm stifled a grin. Even in chaos, Lingling was resolute. "I'll remind you of that the next time you get upset about the printer jamming."

"That was different," Lingling replied coolly, though a slight quirk of her lips suggested she wasn't entirely unaffected by Orm's teasing.

Suddenly, a loudspeaker crackled to life. "Attention students: due to unforeseen electrical issues, the main building will be closed for the night. We advise everyone to leave as soon as possible."

Orm's eyes widened. "Well, that's our cue," she said, shoving her books into her bag. The building was already beginning to empty, a shuffle of footsteps and frustrated murmurs filling the air.

Lingling's movements were measured as she stood, sliding her notes into a sleek leather folder. "Let's go," she said, her tone leaving no room for debate.

They filed into the hallway, a crowd of students bustling around them. Orm felt the press of shoulders and elbows, the hum of worried chatter. She glanced at Lingling, who navigated the crowd with an air of command, parting it like water. It struck Orm that Lingling never seemed lost in a crowd—as if space bent around her, acknowledging her presence.

They were almost at the exit when a sudden shout caught their attention. "Hey! The side door's jammed!"

Orm groaned. "Typical. The one time we need a quick escape, and this happens."

Lingling's eyes narrowed, scanning the area. "There's another way," she said, gesturing toward the far end of the corridor.

Orm followed her without question. The hallway grew dimmer as they walked, the emergency lights casting a strange, bluish glow. Just as they reached the old elevator that was rarely used, the lights flickered again, then went out completely.

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me," Orm muttered. She reached out instinctively, her fingers brushing Lingling's arm.

Lingling's body tensed under her touch. "Stay calm," she said, though her voice had lost some of its unwavering certainty.

Before Orm could respond, there was a jolt, and the elevator doors creaked open just enough for them to step inside. The emergency lights provided only a thin strip of illumination. The moment they entered, the doors slid shut behind them, trapping them in near-darkness.

"Well, this is cozy," Orm said, trying to keep her tone light despite the sudden flutter of nerves in her chest.

"We need to call for assistance," Lingling said. She pulled out her phone, the screen's glow casting sharp shadows across her face. Her jaw was set, eyes focused.

Orm watched her for a moment, noticing how the light accentuated the subtle slope of Lingling's cheekbones. She cleared her throat. "No signal," she said, lifting her own phone.

A rare expression of frustration crossed Lingling's face. It was so brief that Orm almost missed it, but it was there—a crack in the armor.

"Well," Orm said, leaning back against the elevator wall, "guess we're here until someone figures out the backup generator."

Minutes passed in silence, filled only by the occasional creak of the old machinery and their own steady breathing. Orm's initial amusement faded as the quiet stretched on. She glanced at Lingling, whose eyes were fixed ahead, lips pressed into a thin line.

"You know," Orm said softly, "this is probably the longest we've been in the same place without arguing."

Lingling's gaze shifted to her, eyes softening just a fraction. "Is that why you're so quiet?"

Orm chuckled. "Maybe. I didn't want to break the record."

A small, reluctant smile ghosted across Lingling's lips. The tension in the air lightened, just a touch. Orm felt her own heartbeat steady at the sight.

"You said before that complaining doesn't change the situation," Orm continued, her voice quieter now. "Is that something you learned from your parents?"

Lingling's eyes darkened, and for a moment Orm worried she'd pushed too far. But then Lingling nodded, a stiff, almost mechanical gesture. "My father," she said. "He always said that control was the key to survival."

Orm hesitated. She had never heard Lingling speak of her family beyond superficial mentions. "Sounds...intense."

"It is," Lingling said, her voice laced with a rare edge. "He expects perfection. Composure. Anything less is—" She stopped herself, the mask slipping back into place.

Orm's chest ached at the sight. "That must be exhausting," she said, softer still.

Lingling's expression faltered, just for a second. "It's necessary."

Silence returned, thicker now, but different. It wasn't the suffocating quiet of earlier; it was loaded, charged. Orm wanted to reach out, to touch Lingling's hand and let her know she didn't have to carry that weight alone. But she held back, unsure if Lingling would welcome the gesture or pull away.

"You know," Orm said after a while, "my mom's the opposite. Mae Koy's all about embracing the chaos. She says life's too short to be anything but yourself."

Lingling's gaze shifted, and this time, it lingered. "Must be nice," she said, barely a whisper.

Orm's heart clenched at the vulnerability in Lingling's voice. "It can be," she said. "But I think there's something to be said for finding a middle ground."

Lingling's eyes met hers, and in that moment, the space between them felt smaller. The hum of the elevator seemed distant, the darkness less daunting.

"Maybe," Lingling said, and for the first time, Orm felt that it wasn't just a deflection. It was a possibility.