Moth to a Flame

"You have a way with words," Orm said, her voice soft and husky. "You make even the most ordinary things sound interesting."

The city hummed with a relentless rhythm, a cacophony of lives intersecting and diverging. In a quiet corner of this urban tapestry, Ling lived a life meticulously planned. Her days were a predictable ballet, a performance of perfection. Win, her fiancé, was the perfect partner, the missing piece to her carefully constructed puzzle.

Yet, beneath the flawless facade, a secret thrived, a shadow cast by the city's neon lights. A clandestine rendezvous, a stolen moment of passion. A life parallel to the one Win presented to the world.

Orm was a world away from the gilded cage that Ling called life. Immersed in vibrant colors and pulsating rhythms, she was an artist, her canvas a reflection of her soul. The city's concrete jungle was her muse, its energy fueling her passion. Ignorant of the lives that intersected and collided just miles away, she lived in a bubble of creativity, her heart open only to the strokes of her brush.