Chapter 14 - The Campus K-Drama

Namtan had known Lingling for years—best friends, confidantes, partners in academic crime—but something was definitely off today. They sat in their usual study spot, a cozy corner of the library where Lingling usually dazzled everyone with her razor-sharp focus and inscrutable calm. Today, however, Lingling wasn't just quiet or absorbed in her case study—she was frowning. And not just any frown, but a full-blown, "I've just been hit by a ton of bricks" frown.

Namtan leaned forward, resting her chin on her hands like a detective about to crack a case. "Okay, what's wrong?" she asked softly.

Lingling didn't even look up from the page she was pretending to read. "Nothing," she replied flatly.

LIE.

Namtan narrowed her eyes. "You've been in a bad mood all day."

Still without glancing up, Lingling muttered, "I'm fine."

LIE, AGAIN.

With a knowing smirk, Namtan leaned back and said, "It's Orm, isn't it?"

Silence. Lingling turned another page, as unreadable as ever. But Namtan knew exactly what was going on: Lingling wasn't just annoyed—she was waiting. Waiting for Orm to make a move. And Namtan, ever the loyal friend and chronic mischief-maker, settled back with a grin. Oh, this was going to be interesting.

Meanwhile, Orm was spiraling. She could no longer live in a state of quiet humiliation. Lingling's public exit the previous day, her icy departure that had left Orm reeling, was simply unacceptable. Lingling had walked away from her like it was a casual stroll, in full public view, and Orm was not about to let that stand.

Desperate to fix the situation, Orm found herself in a bustling café with Becky and May—her two self-appointed strategists. They were huddled around a table cluttered with half-eaten pastries and half-finished coffee cups, plotting a rescue mission that only Orm could call her own.

Becky, ever the life of the group, chirped, "So let's get this straight. You ignored her."

May added, "She publicly called you out."

Becky grinned mischievously, "You tried to gaslight her into thinking it wasn't a big deal."

May shook her head dramatically, "And now the entire campus is invested in your downfall."

Orm groaned, "Yes, I KNOW."

Becky's eyes lit up. "Then there's only one solution."

May smirked, "Grand gesture."

Orm squinted, "Too risky."

Becky leaned in conspiratorially, "Lingling already called you out in public. You need to fight public with public."

Orm paused as the gravity of the idea hit her. Damn it—Becky was right. With a heavy sigh, she muttered, "...Crap."

May nodded, "You better move fast, because right now..." She gestured broadly, "the entire campus is watching."

Orm decided to kick things off with what she believed was a heartfelt, romantic, and utterly sincere apology letter. With all the gravitas of a love-stricken novelist, she penned her apology—neatly, sincerely, and with a dash of desperation. She found Lingling in the hallway, slid the letter into her hands, and waited.

Lingling took the letter, skimmed it with her usual air of detached interest, and then, without so much as a furrow of her brow, remarked, "Not admissible as evidence."

ORM. LOST. IT.

From a distance, Becky and May exchanged gleeful glances:

• Becky: "WHEW. DENIED."

• May: "She didn't even hesitate."

• Becky (laughing): "I'm obsessed with this."

Orm's grand gesture had backfired spectacularly, leaving her feeling more destroyed than before.

Not to be deterred, Orm moved on to Plan B: bribery.

At the campus café, she lined up and ordered Lingling's usual drink—a sweet, artisanal concoction that Lingling was known to favor. With newfound confidence, Orm marched up to Lingling and extended the cup as if it were a peace offering.

Lingling took the coffee with her signature cool, and Orm's heart skipped a beat—maybe this would work.

But in a twist of fate, Lingling didn't even take the cup for herself. Instead, she turned and handed it to Namtan, who happened to be lurking nearby.

Namtan took a dainty sip and said cheerily, "Oh, this is nice. Thanks, Orm."

Orm felt utterly betrayed. Becky and May nearly doubled over with laughter.

• Becky shrieked, "NOT HER PASSING IT TO NAMTAN!"

• May gasped, "SHE DIDN'T EVEN LOOK AT YOU!"

Orm's hope deflated further, and she lost all faith in humanity—if not just her own.

Desperate times called for desperate measures. Orm resorted to Plan C: the art of shadowing Lingling like a lovesick puppy. She trailed Lingling through every corner of campus. Not creepily—okay, maybe a little—but with a determined urgency. Orm sat near her in the library, trailed her between classes, and even ended up in the law department more times than necessary, all in an effort to show Lingling that she was not going to be ignored.

Lingling, unsurprisingly, did not react. Not even a flicker of acknowledgment crossed her face.

Meanwhile, Becky and May were reveling in the drama.

• Becky remarked, "This is a disaster."

• May mused, "This is ART."

The entire campus watched, as random students commented:

- "This is better than Netflix."

- "She's trying SO HARD."

- "Will Lingling ever forgive her?"

- "I'm waiting for the finale."

Orm was, quite simply, dying inside. No matter what grand gesture she executed, Lingling remained in control, winning the battle of wits and cool indifference with every move.

Orm had never worked this hard for anything in her life—not for exams, not for grades, not even for that coveted title of "Campus Princess" she'd won in a wild, unpredictable election. And yet here she was, chasing after Lingling Kwong like a lovesick puppy on a caffeine high. She'd thrown every possible tactic at her: flirty remarks that were met with cool indifference; thoughtful gifts that somehow ended up in Namtan's hands; and relentless attempts to follow Lingling around campus that were rewarded only with a faint, amused glance.

But despite Orm's frantic efforts, one thing was clear—Lingling was enjoying this cat-and-mouse game. Every time Orm attempted something bold, a tiny smirk played on Lingling's lips.

Every time Orm's heart pounded with panic, there was that barely-there glint of amusement in Lingling's eyes. And every time Orm thought she might finally break through, Lingling deliberately ignored her just enough to make her suffer. Lingling was clearly playing and poor Orm was losing by a landslide.

It wasn't long before the entire campus became an unwitting audience to this absurd drama. Orm and Lingling were no longer merely two individuals—they had become a full-on campus saga, the kind that fueled whispered bets and fevered speculation in every corridor. Students huddled in groups, eagerly placing bets:

"How much longer before Orm gives up?"

"How much longer before Lingling cracks a smile—or even a frown?"

"Is this a slow-burn drama or just plain painful?"

Becky and May had naturally assumed the role of ringleaders.

Over iced coffees and scribbled notes, Becky announced with theatrical gusto, "Alright, today's episode of Orm vs. Lingling—Orm tries again. Let's see how she fails this time!"

May, flipping through her "progress report" on Orm's antics, chimed in,

"Current statistics: 3 direct attempts, 5 indirect attempts, and 2 dramatic monologues about how unfair life is."

Orm, red-faced and desperate, shot back, "I CAN HEAR YOU!"

Without missing a beat, Becky quipped, "Good. Then you can hear how badly you're losing."

All the while, Lingling maintained her unruffled exterior. She acted as though none of this public spectacle fazed her at all, but Orm could see the tiniest spark of amusement in her eyes. Lingling was thoroughly enjoying every moment of Orm's struggles—and that realization only fueled Orm's determination to win, even though, at that moment, it seemed she was losing, and losing badly.

The day's relentless tension finally reached its boiling point when, later that afternoon, Orm and Lingling found themselves alone. Exhausted from a day of failed grand gestures and mounting humiliation, Orm was at her wits' end. She had tried everything—apologizing with heartfelt letters, bribing with coffee, even shadowing Lingling around campus like a lovesick detective. Nothing had worked. Lingling remained unshaken, cool, and disturbingly amused by Orm's antics.

In a moment of pure, desperate frustration, Orm cornered Lingling—not with dramatic flair, but with raw, unfiltered desperation. "What do you WANT from me?!" she demanded, throwing her hands in the air as if expecting an answer to magically appear.

Lingling, with that trademark calm that made Orm's heart sink, raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?" she replied, almost too politely.

Orm's exasperation boiled over. "I have done EVERYTHING!" she huffed. "I've apologized. I've bought you coffee. I've followed you around campus like a lovesick idiot! You keep ignoring me, but you won't let me leave you alone either! I—"

And then, without warning and without a hint of hesitation, Lingling stepped forward.

Orm's breath hitched. In one breathtaking, unexpected moment, Lingling kissed her—soft and quick, yet loaded with an intensity that sent Orm's brain into complete shutdown mode. For an eternity of seconds, Orm's entire body froze: her thoughts vanished, her sense of self was obliterated, and her ability to function as a normal human being was, for that moment, permanently deleted.

Just as suddenly as it began, Lingling pulled away. She remained as calm and composed as ever. Orm stood there, mouth agape and eyes wide, her brain screaming error messages.

And then, with the faintest hint of a smirk and a voice so soft it might have been mistaken for a secret, Lingling said, "Call me."

And then—without another word—she turned and walked away, as if she hadn't just upended Orm's entire existence in that one, explosive moment.

Orm was left standing there, frozen and trying desperately to process what had just happened. Her body felt warm, her heart raced uncontrollably, her lips tingled with the ghost of that kiss, and her mind? Her mind was a chaotic jumble of shock and despair.

Lingling had kissed her.

Lingling had said, "Call me." And in that moment, Orm thought, "Oh, I'm so screwed."