Between Us || LINGORM

Chapter 14: Opening Up

The quiet hum of the library was a stark contrast to the chaos that usually surrounded Lingling and Orm. This time, their meeting was a planned study session—a rare occurrence considering how much of their previous collaborations had been punctuated by playful arguments or unexpected adventures.

Orm leaned back in her chair, tapping her pen against her notebook as Lingling sat across from her, poised as always, with a neat array of notes spread in front of her.

"You know," Orm began, "for someone so perfect at everything, you never seem to lose that cool exterior. Is there ever a moment where you, I don't know, mess up or feel... ordinary?"

Lingling paused mid-note, her pen hovering above the paper. The question lingered in the air between them, heavier than Orm intended.

"Why do you ask?" Lingling replied, her tone steady, though her eyes betrayed a flicker of curiosity.

Orm shrugged, offering a lopsided grin. "I guess I just can't imagine someone like you having doubts or insecurities. You're always so composed, like nothing can touch you."

Lingling set her pen down, leaning back slightly in her chair. For a moment, she considered brushing off the question with her usual deflection, but something about Orm's earnest expression made her pause.

"I'm not as invulnerable as you think," Lingling said quietly.

Orm straightened, surprised by the admission. "Really? Like what?"

Lingling hesitated, her fingers tracing the edge of her notebook. "For starters, there's a lot of pressure that comes with being who I am. My family expects me to excel at everything—to be the best, to never falter. It's exhausting sometimes."

Orm nodded, her playful demeanor softening. "I get that. Kind of. I mean, my mom's an actress, so there's this whole thing about living up to her legacy, even though I have no plans to follow in her footsteps. People assume I'm just coasting on her name."

Lingling tilted her head slightly, intrigued. "Khun Koy, right? I've seen her in a few dramas. She's quite talented."

Orm smiled fondly. "Yeah, she is. But she's also just my mom. To everyone else, she's this big celebrity, but to me, she's the person who made me pancakes shaped like cats when I was sad. You know?"

Lingling's lips curved into a small smile. "I can't say my parents ever made me cat-shaped pancakes, but I understand the sentiment."

Orm leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. "What are they like? Your parents, I mean."

Lingling's gaze drifted to the window as she considered her answer. "My father is Chinese, and my mother is Thai. They both work in tourism, which is probably why I ended up studying it. They're supportive in their way, but they have high expectations. I'm the eldest, so there's a lot riding on me to set an example."

Orm whistled low. "That sounds intense. Do you get along with them?"

Lingling nodded slowly. "We do, for the most part. But it's... complicated. My father is strict, very traditional. My mother is more understanding, but she has her moments. They're proud of me, but sometimes it feels like they're proud of the version of me they've built in their heads—not necessarily the person I really am."

Orm's brows furrowed as she processed Lingling's words. "That sounds... lonely."

Lingling blinked, caught off guard by Orm's perceptiveness. "I suppose it can be."

For a moment, silence stretched between them. It wasn't uncomfortable, though—it was contemplative, a shared understanding hanging in the air.

Orm broke the quiet with a soft laugh. "You know, I used to think you were this untouchable ice queen. But you're a lot more human than I gave you credit for."

Lingling raised an eyebrow, though there was no malice in her expression. "Ice queen?"

Orm grinned sheepishly. "In the nicest way possible, of course. You're just so polished and put-together all the time. It's intimidating."

Lingling smirked. "And what does that make you? The court jester?"

Orm gasped in mock offense. "I'll have you know I'm more like the lovable rogue who wins everyone over with her charm."

Lingling shook her head, though her smile lingered. "If you say so."

Later that evening, as they walked back to their dorm, Orm found herself stealing glances at Lingling. There was a vulnerability in Lingling's expression that she hadn't seen before, and it made her chest ache in a way she didn't fully understand.

"You know," Orm said, breaking the silence, "it's okay to let people see the cracks sometimes. You don't always have to be perfect."

Lingling glanced at her, surprised. "Coming from the person who hides behind jokes whenever things get serious?"

Orm winced, though she couldn't help but laugh. "Touché. But seriously, it's not a bad thing to let people in. It doesn't make you weak—it makes you real."

Lingling considered this, her gaze softening. "I'll think about it."

Orm bumped her shoulder lightly against Lingling's. "That's all I ask."

They walked the rest of the way in comfortable silence, the distance between them feeling smaller than ever.

The next day, their conversations took a deeper turn. Orm found herself talking about her childhood, how her mother's fame had shaped her life in both positive and challenging ways. She shared stories of sneaking onto sets as a kid and the countless times she'd been introduced as "Mae Koy's daughter" instead of just Orm.

Lingling listened intently, her usual poised demeanor giving way to genuine interest. "It must have been hard," she said. "Being in her shadow."

Orm shrugged. "It was, but it also taught me a lot. Like how to stand out on my own, even if it's not always easy."

Lingling nodded, her respect for Orm growing. "You've done a good job of that. You're... uniquely yourself."

Orm grinned. "Is that your way of saying I'm weird?"

Lingling's lips twitched. "It's my way of saying you're unforgettable."

Orm's grin faltered for a moment, replaced by something softer. "Thanks, Lingling. That means a lot."

As the days turned into weeks, their bond deepened. Lingling found herself opening up in ways she never had before, sharing stories of her childhood in Hong Kong and the cultural expectations that had shaped her. Orm, in turn, shared her dreams, her fears, and the parts of herself she usually kept hidden behind jokes and laughter.

Through it all, they found comfort in each other—a balance that neither of them had known they needed. And as they navigated the complexities of their friendship, one thing became increasingly clear: what they had was more than just a connection. It was the beginning of something profound, something that neither of them could ignore.