Chapter 26 - Cold Shoulder

Orm had been frustrated with Lingling before—annoyed by her smug teases, exasperated when she stayed too calm in a crisis, even mildly furious on the rare occasion Lingling pushed her too far. But this was different. This was pure, unfiltered anger, stoked by hurt and disappointment that she hadn't anticipated.

Lingling's words kept replaying in Orm's mind:

"You like the attention, don't you?""Flirting with me, then flirting with everyone else—what are we even doing?"

That last line stung the most, as though Lingling were questioning the legitimacy of their entire relationship. It wasn't just a careless remark; it struck at the heart of Orm's biggest insecurity: Did she truly value what they had or was it just fun and flirting to her?

So Orm did something she'd never done since this relationship began: she decided to ignore Lingling.

Entirely.

She didn't text her goodnight or good morning.

She didn't seek her out after class.

She didn't even glance her way when they were in the same lecture hall.

Becky and May immediately noticed the shift. When Lingling walked by Orm's table at lunchtime, Orm pretended not to see her. May raised a brow and Becky shot Orm a questioning look. But Orm didn't comment, just dug into her food as if unbothered.

Inside, she was anything but unbothered. Her chest felt tight, her thoughts racing with the memory of Lingling's accusation. She hated that it lingered in her mind, that it made her question whether she'd been unintentionally leading Lingling on. And as much as she tried to focus on her day—on classes, on Becky's gossip—Lingling was always there, an ache at the back of her thoughts.

Whenever Orm caught sight of Lingling across campus, she forced herself to look away. A sharp pang of guilt tugged at her, but the anger was stronger. Why should I feel guilty when she was the one who accused me of playing around? Orm wondered, her emotions swirling into a storm of resentment.

At the same time, she sensed Lingling's confusion. Lingling wasn't used to being ignored—least of all by Orm. Usually, if they argued or clashed, Orm would at least attempt a conversation, or Lingling would make the first move. But now, Orm remained silent, refusing to extend an olive branch.

Becky approached her in the hallway at one point, clearly uneasy. "So, you and Ling... everything okay?"

Orm forced a small, tight smile. "I'm fine," she said curtly, then changed the subject. Becky didn't push, but her worried glance spoke volumes. Everyone around them could sense something was off.

Orm tried to pour her energy into routine tasks: reading for class, scanning her notes, grabbing coffee alone. But each time she remembered the look on Lingling's face—cold, accusing—her stomach churned with fresh anger. She couldn't bring herself to forgive that easily.

On the other side of the campus, Lingling felt like the ground had shifted beneath her. She was accustomed to Orm's occasional annoyance or even the small spats they had when Orm's flirtatious nature got under her skin. But this? This was clearly beyond a simple spat.

Orm was mad and Lingling had never seen her so determined to keep her distance.

At first, Lingling convinced herself Orm was just stewing and would cool off in a day or two. But as hours turned into a full day, and then another, the silent treatment continued. She spotted Orm in the library, who turned away and pretended to be engrossed in a book. She saw Orm walking out of class, ignoring the way Lingling lingered by the door.

A dull ache settled in Lingling's chest. She had messed up, and she knew it. She replayed their fight, the words she'd hurled in a jealous rage:

"You love the attention.""Flirting with me, then smiling at everyone else—what are we even doing here?"

She regretted each word. She regretted letting her insecurities twist her tongue and wound Orm. She regretted implying Orm didn't value their relationship. Because she knew that was a lie. Orm did care—she just also happened to be friendly, bright, and occasionally oblivious about how her warmth drew people in.

Lingling wasn't oblivious to her own flaw in this, either: her jealousy, which she usually controlled so well, had exploded the moment Ryu appeared. She realized she'd lashed out at Orm for something that was hardly a crime—Orm had a past fling, but that didn't mean she was disloyal. In her anger, Lingling had let that irrational fear speak for her.

Now, Orm's cold shoulder felt like a knife in Lingling's side. She missed Orm's teasing messages, her fleeting smiles in the hallway, the way she'd lean on Lingling's shoulder when she was tired. The silence hammered home just how much she cherished those small touches of affection.

One afternoon, Lingling caught a glimpse of Orm through the window of a classroom, sitting between Becky and May. Even from that distance, she could see Orm's tense posture, the fatigue in her eyes. Lingling's heart clenched. She wanted to stride in there, pull Orm aside, and apologize, but she wasn't sure how to break through the wall she'd inadvertently created.

Guilt gnawed at her. "I need to fix this," she told herself, pacing in a quiet corner of the library. But how? She wasn't the type to craft elaborate apologies or chase someone down with frantic explanations. That didn't change the fact that Orm deserved better—better than her jealousy, better than her anger.

So Lingling made a decision: she would find a way to make it right. Even if it meant stepping out of her comfort zone, admitting her fear and insecurity. The thought made her stomach twist, but losing Orm would be worse.

For now, though, she had to face the truth: she was the one who'd crossed a line. And until Orm was ready to talk, she had no choice but to wait—and prepare to swallow her pride, if that's what it took.

Because if there was one thing Lingling knew for certain, it was that she couldn't stand the idea of losing Orm. And if that meant apologizing, confessing her vulnerability, or even confronting the messy reality of her jealousy, then she'd do it—no matter how un-Lingling it felt.

Lingling tried subtlety first. In their shared lecture, she sat next to Orm, hoping to at least catch her eye. Under normal circumstances, Orm would lean in close, complain about the professor's monotone voice, or maybe steal Lingling's pen just to be annoying. Today, though, Orm sat stiffly, arms crossed, eyes locked on her laptop. Not once did she glance Lingling's way.

Lingling felt a knot tighten in her stomach. So this is how it's going to be, she thought, pulling out her phone. If Orm wouldn't look at her, maybe a quick text could break the ice.

Lingling typed:

Lingling: Orm.

Lingling: Talk to me.

She hit send, waiting for some kind of reaction. A few seconds later, Orm's phone lit up in the corner of her desk. She saw the notification. She ignored it. Didn't even flinch. Lingling watched in dismay as Orm's expression stayed cold, her focus unshifting.

So much for subtlety.

It was unsettling how completely she was being iced out. Orm was stubborn—that much Lingling knew—but she'd rarely seen her this unyielding. Usually, Orm couldn't hold a grudge to save her life. Now, she sat like a statue, dismissing Lingling's quiet attempts as though they didn't exist.

For the remainder of the lecture, Lingling felt each passing minute weigh on her. She was used to controlling her environment, used to being the calm center of a storm. But at this moment, she felt anything but calm. The professor droned on about complex theories, but Lingling couldn't process a single word. Her mind was too occupied with the one seat over, where Orm continued to act like Lingling wasn't even there.

After class, Orm ended up in the campus café, idly stirring her coffee, her gaze distant. Becky and May had stepped away to grab more drinks, leaving her at the table alone. Lingling spotted her chance and approached quietly, a pastry in hand.

Carefully, she placed the tray on the table in front of Orm. Orm glanced up, eyes betraying a momentary flicker of surprise, then went blank again. Lingling offered the pastry. "I got your usual," she said softly, trying not to sound too desperate.

Orm looked from the pastry to Lingling, then picked up her own half-finished coffee instead, sipping without meeting Lingling's eyes. The message was loud and clear: I don't want whatever you're offering.

Lingling exhaled slowly. Don't lose your patience, she reminded herself.

She took the seat across from Orm, the scrape of the chair sounding far too loud in the tense silence. "You're really going to keep ignoring me?" Lingling asked, voice hushed.

For a heartbeat, Orm didn't move.

Then, she finally looked up.

The anger Lingling expected wasn't there—instead, there was something worse: hurt.

A pang of regret shot through Lingling's chest. Orm's eyes shone with disappointment.

"I don't know," Orm said flatly, her voice lacking its usual warmth. "Maybe I'm just 'entertaining' you. Isn't that what you said?" She let out a hollow laugh. "That I like the attention?"

Lingling's stomach twisted. Hearing her own accusations thrown back at her felt like a punch to the gut. "Orm, I didn't mean—"

But Orm cut her off, shaking her head. "Yes, you did. You basically said I don't take us seriously. That I'm just playing around."

The guilt overwhelmed Lingling. She wanted to explain that she'd been blinded by jealousy, that she regretted every harsh word. But her mouth felt dry, words clumsy. "I was... wrong."

Orm gave a short, harsh laugh, though it held no real amusement. "No kidding." She sipped her coffee, her gaze distant. "After all the crap we went through to get here? You accuse me of not being committed. It's insulting. And it hurts," she added softly, voice trembling on the last word.

Lingling's breath caught. She opened her mouth to apologize again, but Orm stood abruptly, grabbing her bag. Lingling reached out instinctively, but Orm pulled away.

"Good to know you're sorry," Orm muttered. Her eyes flashed with a mixture of sadness and anger. Then, without another word, she left the café.

Lingling didn't have it in her to stop her. She sat there in stunned silence, watching Orm's figure retreat. The damage, it seemed, was done.

Seconds after Orm disappeared, Becky and May arrived, juggling drinks and looking puzzled. They spotted Lingling's lost expression and plopped down at the table. Becky set her drink aside with a heavy sigh. "Oh my god."

May blinked. "Did we just miss something big?"

Lingling rubbed her temples, feeling drained and helpless. She could still see the hurt in Orm's eyes. It was a look she'd never wanted to provoke. "You could say that," she murmured.

Becky leaned forward, no trace of her usual joking smile. "You messed up." Her tone was blunt, but not unkind.

Lingling shot her a glare. "Thank you for that very helpful insight."

May sighed, folding her arms. "Look, Ling, we get it. You were jealous. But Orm's mad—really mad. And she's hurt. And if you want to fix this, you need a real plan."

Lingling exhaled, shoulders slumping. "I don't know how," she admitted, voice lower than usual. This was a vulnerable admission for her—the always-composed Lingling, queen of logic, at a loss for once.

Becky and May exchanged a knowing look. Then Becky grinned, but this time it was sympathetic. "Lucky for you, we might have an idea," she said.

Lingling raised an eyebrow, skeptical. "Should I be worried?"

May nodded vigorously. "Definitely. But trust us... Orm's worth it, right?"

Lingling stared at the half-empty coffee cup Orm had left behind, the memory of Orm's pained expression flashing in her mind. "Yes," she said at last, "she's worth it."

A flicker of determination sparked in her eyes. If she had to step out of her comfort zone and fight for Orm's trust, she would. After all, she'd risk far worse than a bruised ego to set things right.

And with Becky and May's help, maybe she could convince Orm that she never wanted to push her away—or doubt her commitment—again.