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Epilogue: LINGLING

[Three Months Later]

With a grunt, I lift a box full of cables and tangled chargers onto the kitchen counter of my new apartment in San Francisco. It's mid-September, and the city feels like it can't decide if it wants to cling to summer or fully embrace autumn.

The golden afternoon sun filters in through the wide bay windows, casting long, soft shadows across the hardwood floors. A faint breeze carries the scent of something fried—probably from the Irish pub down the street—and mingles with the distant tang of the harbor.

I've been here for three hours. The movers are gone, the apartment smells faintly of cardboard and fresh paint, and Stacy gave me an entire week to settle in before I need to show up at the office.

But I'm not alone.

Because just as I'm slicing open another box with a box cutter, a familiar honk echoes from the street below.

I freeze for a moment, a grin already tugging at the corners of my mouth as I stride over to the window.

Sure enough, parked slightly askew on the narrow street below, is Orm. She's leaning against the hood of her car, arms crossed casually, her blonde hair catching the late afternoon sunlight like spun gold. She's wearing ripped jeans and an oversized sweater, looking effortlessly radiant in that infuriating way only she can manage.

"Parallel parking isn't my strong suit!" she calls up, squinting against the sun as she looks up at me.

"Nobody's perfect!" I call back, smirking.

She twirls her car keys around one finger and tilts her head. "Well? Are you going to invite me up or what?"

"What are you, a vampire? The door's open!"

Her laugh carries up through the crisp fall air, echoing between the brick facades of the neighboring buildings. It's the kind of sound that makes your chest feel light, like a weight you didn't even know you were carrying has suddenly lifted.

I make it to the front door just in time, but Orm isn't far behind. The moment I swing it open, she steps inside, drops her bag on the floor, and throws her arms around me. I catch her easily, lifting her off the ground like she weighs nothing.

"Ling!" she shrieks between laughs, her voice muffled as she presses her face against my neck. "Put me down! You're too strong for your own good!"

"Nope," I reply, spinning her in a slow circle before finally setting her back on her feet. My arms stay securely wrapped around her waist, and I can feel her laughter vibrating through her chest.

"You're going to throw your back out one day," she huffs, though she's grinning up at me.

"I'll take my chances." I lean in slightly, smirking. "Besides, you're not exactly tiny either, Orm."

"Excuse me! I'm perfectly average height for a woman!"

"Average? You're taller than most of the guys at the gym back in L.A."

She rolls her eyes but doesn't step out of my arms. Her emerald eyes sparkle with amusement as she looks up at me. "Our kids are going to be giants. Like, seven-foot-tall awkward giraffes."

I freeze. Our kids? Did she just say—

Orm's eyes widen as she seems to realize what she said. For a split second, I see a flash of panic cross her face, but then she bursts into laughter, throwing her head back as if it's the funniest thing in the world.

"You're not wrong," I say, laughing softly along with her.

When she leans back slightly, her necklace catches the light filtering in through the window. Three tiny stones—an emerald, a pearl, and a polished rose quartz—dangle from the delicate silver chain. It's the same set of stones Miss Maisie gave me that night at Josie and Elijah's wedding. She's been wearing them ever since I sent them to her in a small velvet box a few weeks after she visited me in L.A.

"What are you staring at?" Orm asks, tilting her head to the side, her smile softening.

"You," I answer without hesitation.

She rolls her eyes, but her cheeks turn the softest shade of pink. "Are you in love with me yet?"

It's our game. The same question we've been exchanging since that night in the Marigold Manor supply closet. Through text messages, phone calls, and postcards, we've been asking each other the same thing for months.

Almost, she'd always reply.

Maybe just a tiny bit, I'd always answer.

But this time is different. I'm here. She's here. And there's no distance, no phone screens, no time zones between us anymore.

"Most definitely, yes," I say.

Her smile falters slightly, her amber eyes widening. "What?"

"I'm in love with you, Orm Thanomchai."

For a moment, she just stares at me, lips parted, her arms still loosely draped around my neck.

"But... you haven't seen me since August," she stammers, blinking rapidly.

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"I don't know," she mutters.

"It's true, Orm. I love you."

Her lips twitch, but her voice is barely above a whisper. "Are you sure?"

Instead of answering, I guide her gently backward until the backs of her knees hit the edge of the sofa. I sit down and pull her into my lap, my arms still wrapped securely around her waist.

"Of course, I'm sure," I tell her softly. "Loving you isn't hard. It's the easiest thing I've ever done. If I'd known how good it would feel, I would've started a long time ago."

Orm's lips tremble as if she's about to say something, but no words come out. Her amber eyes shine with something I can't quite name—something soft, something vulnerable, something beautiful.

How is it possible for one person to change so dramatically in such a short amount of time? Does it really come down to the simple, corny answer that love makes all things possible?

My entire life, I never believed that true love was real. It was a chemical reaction, a blend of hormones and biology—something logical, something scientific. Love wasn't some unstoppable force that could move mountains or heal wounds; it was a marketing gimmick, a trope for romance movies and paperback novels.

But now, I know I was wrong.

I can't explain it, but I know it's love when Orm scrunches her nose when she smiles, and it feels like my chest is going to burst. I know it's love when I'd rather listen to her ramble about wedding logistics than sit in silence in my own peaceful solitude. I know it's love when every moment with her feels brighter, sharper—like the world itself is clearer.

I know it's love because every time I picture my future, she's in it. She's there, walking barefoot on the Point Reyes beaches with me at sunrise. She's there, sitting across the table in our cozy kitchen, laughing at something ridiculous I said. She's there when I imagine road trips and lazy Sundays, or fighting over what to watch on TV, or bickering about who left the bathroom light on.

She's there when I imagine something bigger—a ring, a wedding, a house filled with love and laughter. And maybe someday, kids with her amber eyes and stubborn streak.

But right now, I'm starting to think I've gotten way ahead of myself. I've leaped into the deep end, and Orm might still be dipping her toes in.

She's still here, though, her arms draped around my shoulders, looking at me with those emerald eyes, studying me like she's trying to decode something impossible.

"You're in love with me?" she asks softly, her voice so fragile it might shatter if I breathe too hard.

"It's okay if you don't feel the same way," I rush to reassure her. My hands tighten on her waist, instinctively trying to keep her close. "I mean it. I didn't say it because I expected you to say it back. I just... I wanted you to know. Because I'm happy about it. Loving you makes me happy, Orm."

Her eyes shimmer. Oh no. Have I made her cry? I didn't mean to make her cry.

"Ling," she whispers.

And then she kisses me.

Sweet and soft, her lips brush against mine like a whispered promise. Her hands slide up to cup my face, her thumbs brushing against my cheekbones. There's so much unspoken in this kiss—her hesitation, her hope, her affection.

I lose myself in her, in the warmth of her touch, the faint smell of vanilla lingering on her skin, the softness of her lips moving against mine. Time stretches and bends around us, and for a moment, it feels like we exist in our own universe.

When she pulls back, her forehead rests gently against mine, and her lips hover close enough that I can still feel her breath.

"I love you, Ling."

The words are so soft I almost think I imagined them.

"What was that?" I ask, my voice barely more than a whisper.

"I'm in love with you."

"You don't have to be."

"I want to be."

"You're not just saying that?"

In response, Orm surges forward and kisses me again—fierce, insistent, her lips saying all the things she doesn't have words for. The doubts and insecurities in my mind vanish instantly. She means it. She means every word.

When we break apart again, we're both breathless. Orm is smiling—grinning, really—and it's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

"I think I like being in love," she says, her voice still breathless. "It feels... ridiculous, but in a good way. Like I want to run outside and shout it from the rooftops. I want to tell strangers, 'Hey, everyone! This is Lingling Kwong, and I'm in love with her!'"

I burst into laughter, my chest feeling light and warm in a way I've never felt before.

"As sweet as that is, I don't think the people of San Francisco are going to care that much."

"I'll make them care," Orm promises, her voice full of playful determination. Then, with a gasp, she jumps up from my lap, clapping her hands together. "Oh! I almost forgot—I brought you a present!"

"A present?" I echo, bemused as she dashes across the room.

She scurries over to where she dropped her duffel bag by the door right before launching herself into my arms earlier.

"Close your eyes!" she commands.

I chuckle but comply, shutting my eyes tight. I hear the familiar sound of a zipper, some rustling fabric, and Orm's soft footsteps as she makes her way back to the couch. The cushion dips beside me, and I can feel her buzzing with excitement.

"Okay, open them!"

I crack one eye open, then the other, and... oh no.

In her hands is a neon green throw pillow, the kind of green that practically vibrates. Smack in the center is a familiar logo: two pine trees, a log cabin, and the slightly faded words Camp Hannefort.

"What... is that?"

Orm grins ear to ear. "It's a housewarming present!"

"Where on earth did you even get this?"

"I made it! From one of my old camp t-shirts!"

"You still have those shirts?"

"Of course, I do! For the memories—and for opportunities like this, obviously."

I take the pillow from her hands, turning it over and inspecting her handiwork. It's... slightly lopsided. Some of the stitching is uneven, and there's one corner that's distinctly more puffed out than the others. It's not perfect, but somehow, it's the most perfect thing I've ever seen.

It's silly, and it's bright enough to hurt my eyes, but it's us. Camp Hannefort wasn't exactly a joyful place, but it was where our story started—where we planted the seeds of whatever this is now.

"Do you like it?" Orm asks, her voice softer now, nervous even.

"It's the best present I've ever received," I tell her honestly. "But I have to ask—are you seriously expecting me to keep a neon green pillow on my stylish beige couch? And when people ask about it, do I just casually say, 'Oh yeah, this is a keepsake from therapy camp?'"

Orm bursts into laughter, clutching her stomach. I can't help but laugh along with her—it's impossible not to when she's so unapologetically herself.

"Well, hey!" she says between giggles. "If we ever get divorced one day, at least we know where to send our kids."

I freeze for half a second, my mouth hanging open, and then I'm laughing so hard I think I might pass out.

"Don't even joke about that," I manage to say through the laughter.

Orm smacks me playfully in the chest with the neon pillow. "Relax! Now that I'm in love with you, you're stuck with me. They'll have to invent something stronger than divorce if you ever want to get rid of me."

"Is that a threat?"

"It's a promise."

I grin as I pull her back into my lap, her arms slipping easily around my neck.

"I'll hold you to it, Orm."

She tilts her head up to meet my eyes, her emerald gaze shining with something soft and endless.

"I hope you do, Ling."

I kiss her then, slow and unhurried, the kind of kiss that speaks louder than any words ever could.

The neon green pillow ends up clutched between us, squished awkwardly against my side, but neither of us cares.

Because in this moment, nothing else matters but the two of us—here, in my half-unpacked apartment, surrounded by cardboard boxes and open windows and the hum of a city we're about to build a life in together.

And honestly? I think this might just be the beginning of something extraordinary.

A/N - And that's a wrap!! 🎉 I know, I know, but I decided to keep this story PG for a twist! Hope you enjoyed the ride!