Lingling sat on the cold wooden floor of her condo, surrounded by the remnants of a life that no longer felt real. Orm's clothes, untouched and still carrying her scent, were scattered around her. The closet door hung open, half-empty, as if Orm had just stepped out for a moment and would be back any second. But she wouldn't be.
Trembling, Lingling reached for one of Orm's favorite sweatersâa soft, oversized gray hoodie that she used to wear on lazy Sundays. She pulled it close to her chest, burying her face in the fabric, inhaling deeply.
It still smelled like her. A mix of fresh linen and that floral perfume Orm always used.
A choked sob escaped her lips. "Orm..."
She clutched the hoodie tighter, as if holding it hard enough would somehow bring Orm back. But the warmth was gone. It was just fabric now, just an empty reminder of everything she had lost.
Tears dripped onto the fabric as she rocked back and forth, whispering apologies into the silence.
"I should have answered you."
"I should have told you I loved you more."
"I should have been there."
But no matter how much she apologized, Orm would never hear her again.
Her vision blurred as she looked around the condoâthe home they were supposed to share, the place where they had planned their future. Wedding invitations they never got to send out were still stacked on the counter. A half-burned candle from their last date night sat untouched on the coffee table. The life they had built together was frozen in time, while Lingling was trapped in the wreckage of what could have been.
She curled up on the floor, hugging Orm's hoodie tighter.
She didn't care about work. She didn't care about eating. She didn't even care about living anymore.
All she wanted was one more moment.
One more chance to tell Orm she loved her.
But that was impossible.
Wasn't it?
ââ-
The days blurred together. Lingling wasn't sure how much time had passed since Orm's death. The world outside continued on as if nothing had happened, but inside the four walls of her condo, time had stopped.
She barely ate. She barely slept. She barely existed.
Her entire life had been reduced to the scent of Orm's clothes, the empty side of the bed where she used to sleep, and the aching hole in her chest that refused to heal.
And yet, despite her self-imposed isolation, Koy never stopped checking on her.
The first time she knocked on the door, Lingling didn't answer.
The second time, she knocked longer. Still, Lingling remained curled up on the couch, hugging Orm's sweater to her chest, pretending not to hear.
By the third time, Koy used the spare key.
The door creaked open, and Koy stepped inside. The condo was dark, the curtains drawn, the air heavy with the scent of alcohol and untouched food. She sighed, her heart aching at the sight before her.
Lingling sat on the floor, knees pulled to her chest, wrapped in Orm's hoodie. Her hair was unkempt, her eyes swollen from days of crying. She looked like a ghost of the woman she used to be.
Koy approached carefully, her voice soft. "Lingling..."
Lingling didn't move. She just stared at the floor, as if Koy wasn't even there.
Koy sighed and walked further inside, picking up empty bottles and discarded takeout containers. "You can't keep living like this."
A bitter laugh escaped Lingling's lips. "Why not?" Her voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. "There's nothing left for me."
Koy's heart clenched. She had lost her daughter, and now she was watching the woman Orm loved slowly destroy herself.
She placed a gentle hand on Lingling's shoulder. "You loved Orm, didn't you?"
Lingling flinched at the question. Loved? The word felt too small to describe what she felt for Orm.
"I still do," she whispered. "I always will."
Koy gave her a sad smile. "Then don't do this to yourself. If Orm were here, she wouldn't want to see you like this."
Lingling squeezed her eyes shut. "She's not here."
"I know." Koy's voice trembled slightly. "But I also know my daughter. And I know how much she loved you."
Lingling's breath hitched.
"She wouldn't want you to blame yourself," Koy continued. "She wouldn't want you to waste away in grief. You think this is what she would have wanted for you?"
Lingling didn't answer. Because deep down, she knew the truth.
Orm had always been the one to remind her to take breaks. To make sure she ate when she was too busy working. To drag her out of the office when she was overworking herself.
If Orm were here, she'd be furious at the state Lingling had let herself fall into.
Tears welled in Lingling's eyes. "I don't know how to live without her."
Koy gently pulled Lingling into a hug. "You don't have to figure it out all at once. But you have to try."
For the first time in weeks, Lingling allowed herself to be held. She buried her face in Koy's shoulder, sobbing like a child.
She had been drowning for so long, lost in an ocean of regret, but Koy's presence was like a lighthouseâa small reminder that she wasn't completely alone.
They sat there for a long time, the silence filled with nothing but Lingling's quiet cries.
And for the first time since Orm's death, Lingling felt something other than pain.
She felt warmth.
ââ
Days and weeks passed, but nothing changed.
Lingling had returned to work, but it was only a shell of an existence. She sat through meetings, staring blankly at presentations she used to lead with confidence. Her assistant, Nene, was the only reason she hadn't completely crumbled in front of the board.
Nene had worked with Lingling for years. She knew her habits, her work ethic, and, most importantly, she knew when Lingling was struggling. But thisâthis was something she had never seen before.
Lingling was drowning. And no matter how much Nene tried to keep her afloat, she kept slipping further and further down.
That night, as usual, Lingling found herself in a bar.
The dim lights, the smell of alcohol, the mindless chatter of strangersâit was the only place where she could silence her thoughts, even if just for a few hours. Drink after drink, she let the burn of whiskey numb her senses.
Nene sat across from her, arms crossed, watching her with concern. "You know this isn't helping, right?"
Lingling let out a bitter laugh, swirling the amber liquid in her glass. "Maybe not. But it makes everything quieter."
Nene sighed. "You're going to destroy yourself if you keep this up."
"Maybe I deserve to."
Nene clenched her jaw. "Orm wouldn't want this."
At the mention of Orm's name, Lingling's grip on the glass tightened. "She's not here, Nene." Her voice was sharp, but beneath it was nothing but pain.
Nene exhaled, rubbing her temples. She knew pushing Lingling wouldn't work. Instead, she did what she always didâshe stayed.
And when Lingling could barely walk, Nene was the one who took her home.
She unlocked the condo door, guiding Lingling inside. "You should eat something," Nene said, but Lingling was already stumbling toward the bedroom, lost in her own world.
Nene sighed, setting a glass of water on the bedside table. She adjusted the blanket slightly before heading for the door. "Get some rest, okay?"
Lingling didn't respond.
Once the door clicked shut, leaving her alone in the silence, Lingling's steps were unsteady as she walked toward the closet.
Orm's scent still lingered there, faint but unmistakable. She ran her fingers over the neatly hung clothes, her heart aching.
Her eyes landed on a small stuffed bear sitting on the top shelf. It was one of Orm's favoritesâsomething she had since childhood. Lingling pulled it down, hugging it tightly, as if it could somehow bring Orm back.
But then, something fell from the shelf.
A notebook.
Lingling froze. She recognized it immediatelyâit was Orm's personal journal. She hesitated before picking it up, her fingers tracing the edges of the worn pages.
With a deep breath, she sat on the floor, turned on the bedside lamp, and flipped it open.
The words on the page were messy yet full of life, just like Orm herself. Lingling let her eyes skim the entries until one caught her attention.
May 27, 2023
This is one of my happiest birthdays. Lingling finally asked me to marry her. I cannot contain how happy I am. She made me the happiest person. I have never imagined we would reach this far.
Lingling's breath hitched.
Tears blurred her vision as she traced Orm's handwriting with her fingertips. She remembered that dayâthe way Orm cried when she proposed, the way she had laughed through her tears, saying "It's about time!"
She turned the page, unable to stop herself from reading more.
And thenâsomething slipped from between the pages.
A small, delicate four-leaf clover.
Lingling stared at it, her heart pounding.
Orm had always believed in luck. She would always stop to pick up clovers whenever she saw them, saying they would bring good fortune. Lingling had always laughed, calling it silly. But now...
She picked up one of the leaves between her fingers.
A broken whisper escaped her lips. "I wish Orm was alive."
She didn't expect anything to happen.
She didn't expect magic.
She didn't expect fate to listen.
But as exhaustion and alcohol pulled her into unconsciousness, the last thing she saw before her eyes closed was the soft glow of the bedside lampâand, for a split second, a faint golden shimmer dancing across the clover leaf in her hand.
Then, darkness.
And silence.
_____
Lingling woke up with a throbbing headache, her mouth dry from last night's alcohol. She groaned, rubbing her eyes as she shifted under the covers.
The room was dim, the bedside lamp still on. She vaguely remembered falling asleep on the floor, hugging Orm's stuffed bear, Orm's journal still clutched in her hands.
Then, the memory struck her.
The four-leaf clover. The wish.
Her breath hitched. It had been a drunken plea, a desperate whisper to a world that had already taken too much from her.
She sighed, shaking her head. It was just a dream.
But thenâ
A sound.
The faint clatter of dishes. The sizzle of something cooking.
Lingling's body tensed.
Her condo had been eerily silent for weeks. No visitors, no distractionsâjust her grief and the emptiness Orm had left behind.
So why was there noise coming from the kitchen?
She sat up slowly, listening. The distant hum of a familiar voiceâhumming?
Her heart pounded.
It must be Koy.
She swallowed hard and slid out of bed. She didn't rush. Her movements were sluggish, still tangled between sleep and waking.
Barefoot, she walked toward the door, her fingers brushing against the wall as she steadied herself.
"Koy...?" she mumbled sleepily.
But when she stepped into the kitchenâshe froze.
The sight before her stole the breath from her lungs.
Standing at the stove, dressed in one of Lingling's oversized T-shirts, was Orm.
Lingling's world tilted.
Her mind screamed that it wasn't real. That it couldn't be real.
But there she was. Orm, alive. Orm, standing in their kitchen, casually flipping eggs in a pan like it was any other morning.
Orm turned to her and smiled. That same soft, sleepy smile Lingling had memorized.
"Good morning, my love," she said as if nothing had changed. "Are you hungry?"
Lingling's knees nearly buckled.
This wasn't happening.
It couldn't be happening.
Her throat tightened, her chest aching as she whispered, "Orm..."