Faded Echoes || LINGORM ✓

CHAPTER 17

Orm's heart raced with an inexplicable urgency as the last scene of her series wrapped up. The set, once buzzing with laughter and the clattering of equipment, now stood silent, save for the hum of the overhead lights. She swiftly slipped out of her costume, her movements quick yet deliberate. The act felt like shedding a skin, as if she were preparing to slip back into a role that felt truer to her own essence. Her manager, waiting just outside the tent with her arms folded, watched her in silence.

"I'll get off somewhere; you don't have to ride me home." Orm's voice was warm but sharp enough with its own kind of tension, but all she could say to this was nod once and stand still with an unresponsive face.

She took a neat bag with all her important belongings and stepped out of the tent. Her light pink dress fluttered in the evening breeze as she waved a quick goodbye to the crew, a few staff members, and the director. They all waved back, but Orm was already mentally miles away. She was thinking of something, or rather, someone.

Ling.

The mind of Orm would not shake off the thoughts of Ling and how, with a kindling fire in her eyes, she talked about Fellow Fellow. Ling was always enthusiastic; her eyes would shine brightly, her voice soft and giggly as she dished out what the band could do to have won her heart, which Orm never really managed to attain. Orm had always loved the way Ling's face lit up at a mere mention of them, how her whole demeanor softened, as if she doted on something more intimately personal to her. The girl that had once filled the space of her world with laughter was now a shadow in the distance.

Orm's vision focused when she found a parking spot in front of a gift-wrap shop, an idea forming in her head. Her hands clenched the wheel by association. She remembered well: last night, howling at two a.m. because she was browsing mindlessly through TikTok, Fellow Fellow's new album had cropped up for her to do something... important. Something she hadn't done in years.

With a swift flick of her gaze in the rearview mirror, Orm adjusted her glasses, pulled down her cap low over her forehead, and secured her face mask into position before she exited the car. The soft jingle of the shop door heralded her arrival, and the warm, sunny woman behind the counter greeted her.

"Hello, Ma'am. What can I do for you?" she asked, with a smile full of warmth.

"I'm here to pick up a gift I asked to be wrapped," Orm said quietly, but kindly.

The woman nodded and reached for the order book with hands already sifting through papers. "What's the name of the receiver, ma'am?"

"Uh, Orm Sethra," she answered, feeling her heart hop slightly at being referred to as herself.

Moments later, the woman returned with a white gift bag, the smooth paper crinkling as she held it out. "Here, ma'am. Just sign here to confirm receipt."

Orm signed quickly, the motion automatic, before leaving the shop, her fingers lightly brushing the bag's smooth surface. She knew exactly where she was going next. Grandview Hospital. Ling. She hadn’t had a proper conversation with her in years, but today, there was something different.

Her thoughts continued racing as she drove to the hospital. Every idea appeared to take her back to Ling. Upon arriving, she pulled into the parking lot and went toward the reception desk.

"Hi, is Dr. Kwong available?" Orm asked, still very calm but carrying a faint tremor of anticipation.

The nurse looked up, nodding politely. "Yes, Ma'am. Do you have an appointment?"

Orm shook her head quickly, a soft smile curling at the corners of her lips. "No, I just wanted to leave a gift for her. Can you make sure she gets it?" she added, handing over the bag.

"Of course," the nurse replied, taking the gift from Orm's hands. "Is there a message?"

"No message," Orm answered, quickly adding, "Just tell her it's from 'Baobao.' She'll know."

The nurse nodded and, with a polite farewell, disappeared into the building. Orm, her task complete, returned to her car. She smiled faintly as she drove back home, the weight of the bag she had just delivered feeling oddly light in her heart, even though the gesture was heavy with meaning.

Meanwhile, inside the hospital, Ling sat at her desk, the last of her patients having left. Exhausted, she rubbed her temple, trying to shed off the lingering tension of the day. As she settled into her chair, a sudden knock pulled her attention. Her secretary, Nene, stepped in, holding a white gift bag.

"Nurse Jaja gave me this," Nene said, putting the bag on Ling's desk. "She said it's for you... from a friend."

Ling furrowed her brows, her interest piqued but wary. "A friend?" she whispered to herself, her mind racing as to who it could be. As soon as Nene walked away, Ling opened the bag slowly. And as soon as she took out the album, she was caught in the throat.

It was the new release from Fellow Fellow—the band Ling had talked about so many times, the one that always made her eyes sparkle with passion every time she mentioned them. The album she wanted so desperately but never got the chance to buy. Nostalgia rushed over her.

Ling's fingers slid across the cover as she gazed at the two versions of one album. There was one version she had actually wanted, but there was a version everyone loves. She formed a small, mischievous grin as she plucked out her phone to catch the moment in action. The small blue sticky note fell out of the album and slid down to her desk.

Ling's smile dimmed as she read the note:

Hi, I know you still love and are a fan of Fellow Fellow. I thought I'd give this to you as a gift—no, as a sorry for the other day and for what happened a month ago. A peace offering, to be exact.

— Orm

Her fingers shook as she held the note. The words, simple yet so weighted, sent a familiar ache through her chest. She had moved on, hadn't she? Yet here she was, with her heart racing in a way she hadn't felt in years. A longing, an ache, for a person who had once been her everything.

She whispered to herself, a reminder, "She hurt you."

Ling leaned back in her chair, gazing at the sticky note as if it held the answers to all her questions. Her mind began to spin. Was this perhaps a step toward closure? Or was this merely another chapter in a story that she thought had long since ended?

Hope, small and fragile, fluttered in her chest. Maybe—just maybe—she could finally move forward.