1️⃣7️⃣

ORM

That was... awkward.

I don't think anyone has ever made such a bold claim over me before, and it definitely wasn't romantic.

The way Eric said it—Orm is mine—made my skin crawl. I've never heard his voice sound like that before. Granted, I don't know him all that well in the first place, but I never would've imagined he'd be capable of sounding so crude and arrogant.

Even though I'm proud of how sharply I bit back at him, I still feel icky. Icky, disappointed, and deeply, deeply annoyed.

As the maid of honor, I really shouldn't be slipping away from the party like this, but I need air. I don't want to think about the fact that Elijah's been reunited with a relative who turned out to be a complete weirdo. I also do not want to think about the people who probably overheard that altercation and are now quietly whispering about it. Not maliciously, but still—it's attention I absolutely do not want.

I just need a minute alone. A single minute to reorganize my thoughts. After that, I'll be fine. Ready to party, smile, and give my cousin the perfect send-off into her happily ever after.

"Orm, wait!"

I flinch at the sound of Lingling's voice echoing behind me, but I don't stop walking. I'm not mad at her; she looked just as shocked by Eric's outburst as I felt, which definitely means she wasn't in on that weird display of possessiveness.

If anything, I'm embarrassed. Lingling and I might have some kind of inexplicable attraction between us, but I'm sure she doesn't have actual feelings for me. Therefore, the fact that some guy she doesn't even know would approach her and start... bickering over me like I'm a prize to be won is mortifying.

"Orm, slow down!"

"I'm fine!" I call over my shoulder as I turn the corner of the grand hallway. I find myself in a slightly narrower corridor, one that branches off away from the ballroom and the conservatory. Marigold Manor is so massive that I know I could get lost if I wander too far.

"Orm, I'd really like to talk to you if you'd just—"

"You really don't have to say anything," I interrupt again, still not turning around. My embarrassment is sizzling under my skin, and I can't meet her eyes—not after that.

Mine, Eric called me. As if there was ever any reality where Lingling would think of me as hers.

I turn another corner and yank open the nearest door, desperate to disappear into some quiet space where I can catch my breath.

Except...

Oh no.

I'm in a supply closet.

My hand fumbles against the wall, searching for a light switch, but my fingers come up empty.

"Crap."

Before I can think of an exit strategy, the door swings open again. Lingling storms in after me, her expression a mix of frustration and determination. The door shuts behind her with a soft click and then... darkness.

Not for the first time.

"I thought it was... well, I didn't realize this was a closet," I mutter, trying to deflect my own embarrassment.

"Where's the light?" she asks.

"I don't think there is one."

Lingling sighs heavily.

The faint moonlight filtering through a tiny, frosted window above gives just enough illumination for me to see the outline of her face, the sharp angle of her jaw, and the faint gleam of her dark eyes locked onto mine.

I shift awkwardly, trying to move around her, desperate to escape this cramped space before history repeats itself. But Lingling steps into my path, blocking my way.

"Wait," she says, her voice firm but not unkind. There's something almost... hesitant about it.

"Lingling, you really don't need to trap yourself in another tiny room with me. Especially after—"

"Orm, just listen." Her voice softens, breaking slightly. "Just... listen. Please."

I pause. She stares down at me. It's so quiet and dark in here, it's like we're miles away from the party. Miles away from Earth, really. Or, that's what I might be inclined to think, if not for the cardboard box full of Clorox wipes right next to me.

"I'm already embarrassed enough," I tell her. "Let's just go back to the reception. Maybe a couple shots of tequila will help."

"Why would you be embarrassed?"

I snort. "Because Eric thinks you like me. He thinks you like me enough to act like a macho idiot and try to claim his territory."

There's a long beat of silence. Lingling's shoes shuffle quietly on the tile floor.

"I do like you, Orm."

I shake my head. "No, you hate me."

"No, I don't. I really, really don't. I already told you that."

"Well, great. You don't hate me. Confirmed. Are we done here?"

"No, we're not."

I can hear when Lingling swallows hard, as if there's a substantial lump in her throat.

"I don't know what it is about this town, but I swear I've been thinking more clearly since I arrived here. And ever since I saw you... or, I guess, ever since I ran into you, I feel like my entire life has been flipped upside down."

I slump back against the far wall, though that still doesn't leave much space between us. "That doesn't sound pleasant, Ling."

"It's a good thing, Orm. I've been living my life on autopilot for years. Maybe my whole life, honestly. When I was a kid, I knew how stressful my parents' careers were, so I took the path of least resistance. I never fought back when my father tried to dictate my future. I didn't argue when my mother asked me to suppress parts of myself to make others comfortable. I didn't even bother trying to fight it when they decided to send me to some middle-of-nowhere camp that summer. I think the only rebellion I've ever performed—if you can call it that—is going to Caltech."

I understand what she means. I was the same way. When my mom died, I did everything I could to minimize the weight on my dad's shoulders. I never misbehaved in school. I tried my best to get good grades, to convince him that I was perfectly fine.

Going with the flow. Being sweet and charming and easy to get along with. I never let any of my pain show because I knew how hurt everyone else around me already was.

Maybe that's why I was fantasizing about having my own wedding this morning. Maybe, for the first time in my life, I'm letting the pain and regret and yearning creep through the cracks. I can only choke down my desires for so long.

That's why I've avoided love at all costs—because of the pain I've learned to associate with it.

"I understand," I tell her softly. "I mean, I get what you're saying, but I also don't quite know where you're going with this."

A gentle breath of laughter escapes her lips. She inches closer, and in the faint light filtering in through the frosted window, I can just make out the determined set of her jaw and the vulnerability in her eyes.

"What I'm saying is that I'm tired of just letting life happen to me, Orm. I'm tired of being the person on the sidelines. The one who never speaks, never draws attention to herself. I want to be different. I want..."

She trails off. My heart is pounding again, and it's so loud I swear she can hear it.

I hear her take a deep breath.

"I want you, Orm."

She steps closer. Her suit jacket brushes against the satin of my dress, and I can feel the heat of her presence like a slow-burning ember, ready to catch fire.

"I want to know what it's like to love someone. I want to fall in love with you. I know we have all that animosity in our past, and I know I'm hardly the kind of person you deserve. I know I'm grouchy and difficult to deal with and standoffish more often than not. I know that you'd probably much rather be with someone who makes you smile and laugh all the time. Someone who can match your energy and be just as carefree and bright as you are, but—"

"I'm not that happy, Ling," I force myself to say, cutting her off before she spirals further. It's a truth I've never dared to acknowledge. Not even to myself.

"What?"

"I'm not as happy as I seem to be. A lot of it is fake. You know the phrase 'fake it until you make it'? I'm, like, the poster child for that."

I exhale slowly, my throat tight as I gather the courage to finally admit these words aloud.

"I'm not unhappy, of course. That's not really what I mean. I have my friends and my family. I love where I live. And, yes, I do tend to be stubbornly optimistic about most things, but I don't need someone who's just as good at pretending to be happy all the time. If anything, I could really use somebody who can give me a healthy dose of reality."

Lingling goes still. Her brows knit together, her dark eyes soft and searching.

"Oh."

"Yeah, oh."

"I just thought—well, you're always so bubbly and sociable. You seem so... untouchable, sometimes. Like nothing ever really bothers you."

"I like socializing. That's true. But I'm not the perfect little sunshine you seem to think I am, Ling. I can be difficult, too."

Lingling lets out a breathless laugh, her shoulders sagging slightly as if she's releasing some of the weight she's been carrying.

"Well, I know that. In fact, I might be the only person who really knows that for sure."

A laugh bursts out of me. "You're probably right. You're the only person I've ever really consistently butted heads with. Otherwise, I'm pathologically determined to get along with everyone I meet."

"So, what you're saying is that I'm incredibly unique and special?"

I laugh again. "Look at you, telling jokes."

"I can be funny. I can be a lot of things, I think. I've never really tried."

"If it helps, I think I'd like you no matter what."

"But you hate me." This time, however, the words come out teasing and playful.

We've moved past our history. We never really hated each other. We were just young and confused and a little lost. We saw each other and recognized a part of ourselves—like looking into a mirror. Perhaps the real problem was that we highlighted each other's biggest fears.

When I looked at Lingling, I saw someone who didn't seem to care what others thought. She was quiet, observant, and comfortable lingering on the outskirts. As someone whose survival mechanism was being everyone's best friend, that terrified me.

I understand now. When Lingling looked at me, she probably saw someone who was effortlessly warm, sunny, and loud—someone who moved through life with ease. What she didn't know was that half of it was an act, and I was just as lost as she was.

The masks are off. There's nothing left to fear.

"Lingling," I whisper.

She's close. So much closer than she was half a second ago. I feel her hand brace against the wall beside my head. My body, still leaning back against the wall, screams for her to close that last tiny bit of distance.

"Hm?" she replies, sounding vaguely distracted.

"I think I want to know what it would feel like to fall in love with you, too."

All the air rushes out of her. I feel her warm breath, scented like spearmint and champagne, ghosting along my jaw.

"I guess we should do it, then," she murmurs. "Try to fall in love."

"I think it might be easier than we imagine."

"I think so, too."

"Lingling?"

"Orm."

"How will you love me all the way from LA?"

"Oh. Well. See, the thing is, I'm thinking about moving to San Francisco."

I jerk back slightly, which is hard to do, considering the back of my head is already touching the wall. "Seriously?"

In the sparse glow of the light creeping through the cracks in the doorway, I can see Lingling biting her lip.

"Is that weird?" she asks softly.

"Why would that be weird?"

"Because it's quite random. And I'm mostly doing it because it means I'll be closer to you."

"And you made that decision, like, prior to this moment?"

She chuckles. "Yes, Orm. As I said, I've been trying to make sense of my life for days now."

"And this makes sense to you?"

"Does it make you uncomfortable that you are my primary motivation for wanting to move across the state?"

Should that make me uncomfortable? If so, there must be some mechanism inside me that's broken. Honestly, I find it unbearably, sickeningly romantic.

Which is not something I ever thought would enter my mind. Especially not in regard to Lingling Kwong.

"Not at all," I tell her. "I just don't want you to regret it. Or something like that."

"I won't regret it," she murmurs into my ear. Goosebumps ripple across my skin.

"How do you know?"

She presses a soft kiss to the underside of my jaw. "I just know, Orm."

"Right."

My fingers trail up the front of her crisp suit, slipping underneath her jacket, feeling the warmth of her body through the smooth fabric of her blouse.

Another kiss along the side of my neck. My breath catches.

"I should have brought a bottle," she whispers against my collarbone.

"What?"

"A bottle to spin." A kiss on my bare shoulder. "Spin the bottle." A kiss just underneath the pearls resting against my throat. "For old time's sake."

I almost laugh, but it comes out more like a shaky exhale. "I think we can skip that part this time."

"Agreed."

The first brush of Lingling's lips against mine feels electric. It feels like everything those over-the-top romance novels Josie used to read describe. It feels like I never want to move on from this moment. I want to be suspended in time, right here, with her.

When the kiss deepens, I lose myself completely. There's no hesitation, no second-guessing. Lingling kisses me like she means it—like she's been holding back for years. Her hand cradles my face, thumb brushing gently across my cheekbone as if she's memorizing me by touch.

My arms wrap around her waist, pulling her impossibly closer. Her jacket feels cool under my palms, but her body radiates warmth—steady, anchoring warmth.

This is right. This is what I didn't even know I'd been waiting for all these years.

And maybe, if things were different, this is what would have happened that night twelve years ago. Or maybe not. Who knows?

All I know is that I'm happy we found our way back to each other.

Here, in the shadows, no longer afraid.