Chapter 9 - Kiss, Chaos, and Caffeine

Orm took a deep, overly dramatic breath before strutting into the café—because nothing screams "I'm totally normal" like a pre-café power pose.

This was fine.

Everything was fine.

She had spent all night rehearsing her "normal" self in the mirror. The plan was simple: walk in, order her coffee with the precision of a caffeine-obsessed ninja, sit down, and act so perfectly mundane that Becky and May wouldn't suspect that her life was more soap opera than sitcom.

Mission? Erase last night's fiascos from existence.

The accidental kiss? Non-existent.

Her own emotional meltdown? Off the agenda.

Coffee in hand, Orm exhaled one last puff of faux-calm and made a beeline for Becky and May's usual table. There they were—chattering away like nothing was off-kilter.

Perfect. No scandalous whispers...yet.

Orm slid into the chair with the grace of someone who'd practiced "casual" in front of the mirror a dozen times. She kept her shoulders relaxed, her smile as fixed as a mannequin's, and hoped the café's background jazz drowned out any inner monologue of panic.

For three gloriously ordinary seconds, nothing happened.

And then—

Becky and May burst into peals of laughter that nearly sent Becky's latte flying. Becky slapped the table in delight, while May clutched her mouth, shaking like a maraca in a salsa band.

Orm's stomach did a nosedive worthy of a bad carnival ride.

"Oh my god," Becky gasped between giggles, "YOU LOOK LIKE YOU HAVEN'T SLEPT!"

May gave her a knowing smirk. "Becky, do you think something happened?"

Orm's eyes went wide as a kid caught with a half-eaten cookie. "Nothing happened!" she blurted out too quickly, as if that made it all better.

Becky and May gasped in unison.

"Oh my god," Becky whispered dramatically, "She said it."

Orm blinked. "Said what?"

"That nothing happened," May said, her smirk growing mischievous. "Even though we didn't ask."

Cue the awkward silence—so thick you could cut it with a coffee stirrer.

Orm's stomach sank faster than her hopes of a smooth morning.

She had, without warning, walked right into their trap.

Becky and May exchanged a conspiratorial look and simultaneously smirked like they'd just won a round of trivia.

"Oh, sweetheart," May sighed theatrically, "Do you really think you can hide something like this from us?"

Orm's hands tightened around her cup. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Becky leaned in, eyes glittering. "So, you're saying there's absolutely nothing interesting about last night?"

"Yes!" Orm chirped, clinging to that word like a lifeline.

May rested her chin on her hand. "No reason to believe you were... let's say, accidentally kissing someone?"

"WHAT?!" Orm shrieked as if a ghost had possessed her latte.

Becky clapped her hands in delight. "THERE IT IS."

Orm's soul practically did a somersault.

"I—THAT'S NOT WHAT I MEANT—" she stammered.

But before she could elaborate further, a voice, smooth as a well-aged scotch and equally unreadable, sliced through the mayhem.

"Got who?"

Orm's entire body froze as if someone had announced free pizza at a diet convention.

That voice. That unbelievably calm voice.

It belonged to Lingling.

There she stood behind Orm, the picture of composure. Her expression was as neutral as a weather report—no surprise, no judgment, just a polite observation.

Becky and May's eyes sparkled with mischief as they glanced at each other like two kids who'd just discovered the secret cookie stash.

Orm, however, was a bundle of nerves on the verge of disintegrating. Every muscle screamed, "Don't panic!" while her brain politely refused to participate.

Lingling's dark eyes flickered between Becky, May, and finally—Orm.

Orm forgot how to breathe.

This was very bad.

Lingling was perceptive—dangerously so. If Orm did anything remotely suspicious, Lingling would unravel her like a cheap sweater.

She had to act normal. She had to—

"Orm?"

Lingling's voice was smooth as silk, but now with a pinch of expectation, as if waiting for the punchline to a joke only she knew.

Becky and May practically vibrated with excitement.

Orm's body nearly combusted as she tried to muster a good response. Her mouth opened—only to blurt out:

"I KISSED YOU."

Silence.

The kind of silence that makes you question every life choice you've ever made.

Becky choked on her air, and May's jaw clattered against the table. Orm immediately wished she could disappear into a cup of coffee.

"I—I MEAN—THAT'S NOT—"

But it was too late.

Lingling's expression remained unchanged—no flicker of surprise, not even a quiver of amusement.

Then, she blinked. Just once. Slowly. Like she was confirming the time on a broken clock.

With the same deadpan tone, as if reciting a grocery list, she said:

"Yes. We kissed."

Becky dropped her spoon like it was a hot potato. May gripped the table edge as if it were her only lifeline.

Orm?

Orm's heart nearly left her chest in a hasty retreat.

"WHAT?!" Becky screeched.

Lingling nonchalantly sipped her coffee. "As they said," she gestured lazily toward Becky and May, "it's obvious."

OBVIOUS?! OBVIOUS?!

Orm was on the verge of collapsing. She turned to Lingling, her voice strangled with panic.

"YOU CAN'T JUST SAY IT LIKE THAT."

Lingling tilted her head with an air of feigned innocence. "Why not?"

"BECAUSE—" Orm began, then spiraled, "NOW EVERYONE THINKS WE'RE A THING."

Lingling blinked again. "We're not?"

A silence fell, heavy enough to make the café's background music sound like a mariachi band on holiday.

Becky and May exchanged a look that screamed, "This is getting good."

"WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?!" Orm shrieked, utterly confused.

Lingling's face remained the textbook definition of unreadable.

After a pause that felt like an eternity in sitcom timing, she took another sip of her coffee and said, "You ran before I could ask."

At that moment, Orm's existence went into a full-on meltdown.

Silence.

Pure, suffocating, 'everything-is-ruined' silence.

For the first time in their entire friendship, Becky and May were left completely speechless. No teasing, no gasps—just staring in utter disbelief.

Meanwhile, Orm was practically vibrating with anxiety.

Her soul tried to leap out of her body, her pulse drummed like an overenthusiastic drummer, and her brain was so fried it might as well have been on permanent vacation.

Lingling, as cool as a cucumber in a bowl of hot sauce, gathered her things. "We'll talk later, Orm," she said as if reminding her to return a library book.

Then, with that same infuriatingly calm expression, she turned and walked out of the café, leaving chaos in her wake.

Becky and May gaped after her.

Then Becky, ever the drama queen, threw her head back and SCREAMED, "So who's taking bets on when Lingling is gonna say it?"

May nodded vigorously. "I give it two days, tops."

They clinked their coffee cups like it was the most normal conversation ever.

Outside, Orm leaned against a wall, undergoing a meltdown of epic proportions.

Back inside, Becky leaned back with crossed arms. "I mean, what if she was going to ask...?"

May interjected, "Like, a confession or something?"

Orm, red-faced enough to double as a warning sign, suddenly stood up and bolted out of the café.

"NO, I DO NOT!" Orm shouted back as she stormed away.

"Wait, wait, wait," cried Becky and May simultaneously, "She was going to ask something about the kiss! Maybe ask her to be her girlfriend!"

Orm's face practically melted.

"STOP. TALKING."

But Becky and May couldn't contain their excitement.

Becky declared, "She was gonna ask something!"

May insisted, "And she said she'll tell you later!"

Becky added, "Which means she's gonna bring it up again!"

May finished, "ORM, YOU'RE TOTALLY DOOMED!"

Orm, now a walking disaster of nerves, grabbed her coffee, took one last sip as if to drown her sorrows in caffeine, and stomped out of the café.

Becky and May watched her retreat, then turned back to each other.

Becky, with a grin, said, "So, who's taking bets on when Lingling is gonna drop the next bomb?"

May nodded emphatically. "I'm putting two days on it."

They clinked their coffee cups once more, as if nothing out of the ordinary had just occurred.

Meanwhile, outside the café, Orm stood against a wall, crying in a way that would've made a soap opera star jealous—and she couldn't help but think, Well, that's just my luck.