Cracks In The Calm

Lingling stirred awake to the faint hum of the city outside, her mind already racing with thoughts of work. She reached for her phone on the nightstand, squinting at the screen as emails and notifications flooded her inbox. Another long day ahead, she thought, suppressing a sigh.

Sliding out of bed as quietly as she could, Lingling padded to the kitchen to make coffee. She wanted to get a head start on a few urgent tasks before Orm woke up, hoping to avoid any tension about her work spilling into their morning.

But as she worked, tapping furiously on her phone while sipping coffee, she didn't notice Orm shuffle into the kitchen, still half-asleep.

"Morning," Orm murmured, rubbing her eyes and yawning.

Lingling looked up briefly, her fingers still typing. "Morning," she replied distractedly, her tone distant.

Orm poured herself a cup of coffee, watching Lingling carefully. "Everything okay?"

"Just busy," Lingling said curtly, not looking up from her screen.

Orm's brow furrowed. She leaned against the counter, taking a slow sip of her coffee. "You know, you've been saying that a lot lately."

Lingling sighed, her frustration bubbling to the surface. "Because it's true, Orm. Work's demanding, and I have to keep up. It's not like I'm doing this for fun."

"I'm not saying you're doing it for fun," Orm said carefully. "But you've been slipping back into old habits—checking emails constantly, skipping breakfast, staying late at the office..."

Lingling put her phone down with a little too much force, the clatter echoing in the quiet kitchen. "Orm, I'm trying, okay? I'm doing my best."

Orm held up her hands, her voice calm. "I know you are. I'm just... worried. I don't want us to fall back into what we had before."

Lingling's shoulders tensed. "I'm not falling back into anything. I'm handling it."

Orm sat at her desk in the studio, a sketchpad open in front of her, her pencil hovering above the page. The design she had been working on earlier—a flowing evening gown inspired by the botanical garden trip—remained half-formed, her thoughts too tangled to focus.

She stared at the unfinished sketch, frustration building in her chest. It wasn't the design itself that troubled her, but the nagging feeling she couldn't shake since breakfast. Lingling's sharp tone, her distracted behavior, the way she had barely looked up from her phone—it was all too familiar.

Orm leaned back in her chair, letting the pencil drop onto the desk with a soft clatter. Am I overreacting? she wondered, pressing her fingers to her temples. It's just one morning. She's busy; she didn't mean to snap at me.

But even as she tried to reason with herself, the old fears crept in, uninvited. She could still remember how it had felt during the worst of their relationship—the loneliness, the feeling of being invisible, the quiet heartbreak of trying so hard to connect only to be dismissed. It wasn't like that anymore, not really. Lingling had been putting in the effort, trying to balance her work and their relationship. Orm knew that. But this morning had still stung.

She glanced at her phone on the edge of the desk, debating whether to text Lingling. What would I even say? she thought. I don't want to make her feel worse. She's already under so much pressure.

The sound of footsteps broke her train of thought. Becky, her friend and colleague, peeked her head into the studio. "You okay in here? You look like you're about to set that sketchpad on fire."

Orm let out a small laugh, grateful for the interruption. "Just... distracted," she admitted, gesturing to the half-finished design.

Becky walked in, taking a seat on a stool nearby. "Lingling?" she asked knowingly.

Orm sighed, running a hand through her hair. "Yeah. She was pretty stressed this morning, and I guess I took it personally. It just brought back a lot of old feelings."

Becky nodded, her expression sympathetic. "That makes sense. You two have been doing so well lately, but it's normal for things to get rocky sometimes. Healing isn't a straight line."

"I know," Orm said, her voice quieter. "It's just hard not to fall into old habits—feeling like I need to fix everything, or that it's my fault when things go wrong."

Becky leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. "You've grown so much, Orm. You're not the same person you were back then, and neither is Lingling. She's trying, just like you are. Maybe today was just a bad day."

Orm nodded slowly, Becky's words sinking in. "You're right. I know she's trying. I just... I don't want to lose this, you know? What we've been building."

Becky smiled softly. "You're not going to lose it. You've both put in too much work to let one rough morning undo everything. Just talk to her when you're ready. She'll understand."

Orm took a deep breath, feeling the weight on her chest ease slightly. "Thanks, Becky. I needed that."

"Anytime," Becky said, standing and giving Orm's shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "And hey, don't forget to eat something. You can't fix the world on an empty stomach."

Orm laughed lightly, the tension in her shoulders easing as Becky left the studio. She turned back to her sketchpad, her pencil moving across the page with renewed focus. The design began to take shape, its soft lines and flowing curves reminding Orm of the steady progress she and Lingling were making.

As she worked, Orm let herself reflect on their journey. She thought about the small, tender moments—Lingling's laughter during their recent park visit, the way she had taken Orm's hand at the café, the quiet nights they had spent rediscovering each other. Those moments weren't gone, even if today had been hard.

We're stronger than this, Orm reminded herself. One bad morning doesn't erase all the progress we've made. I just need to be patient—with Lingling and with myself.

Still, a small part of her couldn't help but worry. What if we're slipping? What if this is the start of something bigger? She pushed the thought aside, focusing instead on the lines of her sketch. Lingling deserved her patience and understanding, just as Orm deserved the same in return.

When she finally set down her pencil, the dress on the page seemed to mirror her feelings—soft but strong, delicate yet resilient. It wasn't perfect, but it was a step forward.

Orm glanced at her phone again, hesitating before typing out a quick message:

Hey. I hope your day's going okay. Let me know if you want to talk later.

She hit send, exhaling slowly. She wasn't sure how Lingling would respond, but she hoped the message would remind her that Orm was there, waiting, ready to face whatever came next—together.

Lingling leaned back in her office chair, her gaze fixed on the ceiling as the buzz of her phone vibrated softly against the desk. Her assistant had just dropped off a stack of files—last-minute changes to a presentation scheduled for the following week. Normally, Lingling would tackle the revisions without hesitation, but today, the weight of the morning lingered, clouding her thoughts.

She picked up her phone and glanced at the message from Orm.

Hey. I hope your day's going okay. Let me know if you want to talk later.

A lump formed in her throat as she read the words. The warmth and care in Orm's tone were unmistakable, but Lingling couldn't help but feel undeserving of it. She's always so patient with me, Lingling thought, her chest tightening. And what do I do? Snap at her like she's an interruption.

The morning replayed in her mind: Orm's quiet attempts to connect, her gentle reminders, the way her voice had softened with concern. Lingling had brushed it all aside, consumed by her own stress. She had meant to apologize before leaving, but instead, she'd thrown herself into her work, hoping the tasks ahead would drown out the guilt gnawing at her edges.

But now, sitting in her office, surrounded by reminders of the career she had fought so hard to build, Lingling felt the hollowness of her priorities. She stared at the files on her desk, the glowing screen of her computer, the perfectly arranged pens and notebooks—all the trappings of success—and realized they meant little without Orm.

Lingling leaned forward, pressing her hands to her face. "What am I doing?" she muttered to herself. "I promised her... I promised us that this wouldn't happen again."

She thought back to the night they had sat together in therapy, their hands entwined as they talked about rebuilding their relationship. She had told Dr. Junji that she was committed to making Orm her priority, to finding balance between work and love. And for a while, she had succeeded. They had laughed more, spent time together, and rediscovered the joy they once shared. But this morning felt like a step back, a reminder of how easily old habits could resurface.

Her assistant, Nicha, peeked into the office, a hesitant smile on her face. "Lingling? Just checking in. I know you've got a lot on your plate, but I can handle the revisions if you want. You've been working nonstop."

Lingling looked up, startled by the offer. "You... you'd take care of this?" she asked, gesturing to the files.

"Of course," Nicha said. "That's what I'm here for. You don't have to do everything yourself."

Lingling blinked, the weight on her chest easing slightly. "Thank you, Nicha. I really appreciate that."

Nicha nodded and picked up the stack of files, leaving Lingling alone with her thoughts. For the first time in hours, she felt like she could breathe. The knot in her chest loosened, and clarity began to settle in. I don't have to let work consume me. I can delegate. I can make space for Orm.

She picked up her phone again, her fingers hovering over the screen. This time, she didn't hesitate:

I'm sorry for snapping at you this morning. I'll try to leave work earlier tonight. Let's have dinner together?

Hitting send, Lingling exhaled deeply. The message felt small compared to the hurt she might have caused, but it was a start—a way to show Orm that she was still trying, still committed.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur, but Lingling made a conscious effort to stick to her boundaries. She turned off her email notifications, delegated the less urgent tasks to her team, and scheduled time to review the remaining files tomorrow instead of tonight. For once, she didn't feel guilty about prioritizing her personal life.

As the clock neared 6 PM, Lingling packed her things and left the office, ignoring the lingering buzz of activity around her. Her colleagues gave her curious glances—Lingling rarely left before 8—but she didn't stop to explain. She had something more important waiting for her at home.

On the way, Lingling stopped by their favorite takeout place, carefully selecting dishes she knew Orm loved. As she waited for the order, she thought about the progress they had made, the trust they had rebuilt. The thought of jeopardizing all of that terrified her. She deserves better than a distracted wife who puts work first, Lingling thought. She deserves to know how much I value her.

Lingling's mind wandered back to their early days—the way Orm had been her biggest cheerleader, her unwavering source of support. It wasn't just Orm's patience that Lingling admired; it was her quiet strength, her ability to weather storms without losing sight of what mattered most. Lingling wanted to emulate that strength, to show Orm that she could be just as steadfast.

As she drove home, takeout bags balanced carefully on the passenger seat, Lingling rehearsed what she wanted to say. She knew it wouldn't be enough to simply apologize—she needed Orm to feel seen, to understand that Lingling recognized the depth of her love and dedication.

When she stepped into the condo, the lights were dim, and the soft hum of Orm's music echoed from the studio. Lingling set the bags on the counter, her heart pounding as she prepared to face Orm.

Lingling stood outside Orm's studio, her fingers gripping the takeout bags tightly. The muffled sound of music filtered through the door—one of Orm's instrumental playlists that she often worked to. Lingling hesitated, her heart pounding as she rehearsed her apology in her head. You're not going to make this worse. Just tell her the truth.

With a deep breath, she nudged the door open. Orm was seated at her drafting table, her back turned, pencil in hand as she sketched fluid lines across a large sheet of paper. The glow of the desk lamp cast a soft halo around her, highlighting the slump of her shoulders and the tension in her posture.

"Hey," Lingling said quietly, her voice tentative.

Orm stiffened for a moment before glancing over her shoulder. Her expression was calm but guarded, her lips curving into a faint, polite smile. "Hey."

Lingling stepped inside, setting the takeout bags on a nearby table. "I brought dinner," she offered, her tone uncertain. "Your favorite... I thought we could eat together."

Orm put her pencil down and turned fully toward Lingling, crossing her arms loosely. "Thanks," she said simply, though her voice lacked its usual warmth.

Lingling's chest tightened. She had expected this—Orm wasn't one to hold grudges, but she wasn't quick to brush things under the rug, either. Lingling appreciated that about her, even if it made moments like this harder to navigate.

Lingling took a step closer, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her blazer. "Look, Orm, I'm sorry about this morning. I shouldn't have snapped at you. You were just trying to help, and I... I let my stress get the better of me."

Orm's gaze softened slightly, but she didn't respond right away. Lingling pressed on, her voice trembling with sincerity. "I know I've been distracted lately, and I know it must feel like I'm slipping back into old habits. But I promise you, I'm trying. I'm really trying, Orm."

Orm leaned back in her chair, studying Lingling carefully. The silence stretched, the weight of Lingling's words settling between them. Finally, Orm spoke, her tone measured but kind. "I know you're trying, Ling. I see it. But sometimes, it's hard not to feel like I'm... competing with your job."

Lingling flinched at the honesty in Orm's voice. "You're not competing," she said quickly, taking another step forward. "You've never had to compete. You're my wife, Orm. You're the most important person in my life."

Orm uncrossed her arms, her expression softening further. "Then why does it feel like I'm always the one waiting for you to notice me? Waiting for you to put me first?"

Lingling's breath caught in her throat. The raw vulnerability in Orm's words cut through her, leaving her momentarily speechless. She thought of all the moments she had been too consumed with work to notice Orm's quiet attempts to connect, the times she had promised, just one more meeting, only to break those promises again and again.

"I don't want you to feel that way," Lingling said finally, her voice cracking. She closed the distance between them, kneeling beside Orm's chair so they were eye level. "You shouldn't have to wait for me to see you, Orm. I'm sorry I made you feel like that. It's not fair to you."

Orm's eyes glistened, her resolve softening as she reached out to cup Lingling's face. "It's not just about fairness, Ling. It's about feeling like we're in this together. I don't want to lose what we've been building."

Lingling placed her hands over Orm's, leaning into her touch. "You won't lose it. You won't lose me," she whispered. "I don't care how stressful work gets—I'll find a way to make this work. For us. I'll do better, Orm. I promise."

Orm's thumb brushed gently against Lingling's cheek, wiping away a tear Lingling hadn't realized had fallen. "You don't have to be perfect, Ling," Orm said softly. "I just need to feel like I matter. Like we matter."

"You do matter," Lingling said, her voice firm despite the emotion thickening her throat. "More than anything. I know I've said it before, but I mean it, Orm. You're my home. You always have been."

Orm smiled faintly, the tension in her shoulders easing as she pulled Lingling into a gentle embrace. Lingling melted into her, the familiar warmth of Orm's arms grounding her in a way nothing else could.

After a moment, Orm pulled back, her eyes searching Lingling's. "You've been working so hard to change, Ling. I see it, even on the days you fall short. And I want you to know—I appreciate it. I appreciate you."

Lingling's lips trembled into a smile. "Thank you for saying that. It means everything to me."

Orm nodded, her smile widening. "Let's eat before the food gets cold."

Lingling laughed softly, brushing a stray tear from her cheek. "Okay. But only if you let me pour the drinks. It's the least I can do."

Lingling placed the last of the takeout containers on the coffee table and flopped onto the couch beside Orm, letting out an exaggerated sigh. "Okay, full disclosure," she began, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. "I panicked at the restaurant and ordered way too much food. I think I blacked out when I saw the dessert menu."

Orm raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching with amusement. "Ling, there are only two of us. Did you plan on feeding the entire building?"

Lingling held up her hands in mock defense. "In my defense, you love their dumplings, and I wasn't sure how hungry you'd be."

Orm smirked, reaching for one of the containers. "Well, I appreciate the overcompensation. Let's see what culinary chaos you've brought home this time."

As Orm popped open the lid, the rich aroma of steamed dumplings filled the air. She inhaled deeply, her expression softening. "Okay, I take back the snark. You know me too well."

Lingling grinned, grabbing a pair of chopsticks. "See? Panic ordering is a skill. You never know when it might save the day."

They dug into the meal, their conversation easing into a comfortable rhythm. Lingling told Orm a funny story about her assistant Nicha's reaction to Lingling leaving work early—something about Nicha nearly dropping her coffee in shock. Orm, in turn, shared a small victory she'd had earlier in the day, finally nailing the design she'd been struggling with.

"Becky told me it looked like something out of a dream," Orm said, her voice tinged with pride. "I think it's one of my best sketches yet."

Lingling paused mid-bite, her expression softening. "I'm so proud of you, Orm. You've been putting so much heart into your work lately, and it shows."

Orm smiled shyly, looking down at her plate. "Thanks, Ling. That means a lot."

Lingling reached out, nudging Orm's shoulder playfully. "Hey, you should be used to my compliments by now. You're brilliant, and I'm not shy about saying it."

Orm rolled her eyes but couldn't hide the faint blush that crept up her cheeks. "Okay, okay, stop before I get too big of a head."

Lingling grinned, taking another bite of her food. "Too late."

As they polished off the main courses, Lingling reached for one of the takeout bags, pulling out a smaller container. "Now for the pièce de résistance," she announced dramatically, placing the container in the center of the table. "Mango sticky rice."

Orm's eyes lit up, but she quickly narrowed them in suspicion. "Wait. Did you get one... or two?"

Lingling's grin faltered. "Uh... one?"

Orm gasped, feigning betrayal. "You know I love mango sticky rice! How could you order just one? Are you planning to share or hoard it?"

Lingling leaned back into the couch, sighing dramatically as Orm finished the last bite of mango sticky rice. "I can't believe I just sacrificed half of my dessert. The things I do for love."

Orm smirked, placing the empty container on the coffee table. "Half? You definitely ate more than half. I'm pretty sure I only got a third."

Lingling gasped, clutching her chest in mock offense. "How dare you accuse me of such treachery? I am nothing if not a fair dessert distributor."

Orm arched an eyebrow, her lips quirking into a playful smile. "Fair? Ling, you were guarding that last piece like a dragon hoarding treasure."

Lingling rolled her eyes, though she couldn't suppress her grin. "Okay, fine, maybe I was a little protective. But can you blame me? It's mango sticky rice. That stuff's sacred."

Orm chuckled, shaking her head. "You're ridiculous."

Lingling scooted closer, resting her head against Orm's shoulder. "And yet, here you are, stuck with me."

Orm wrapped an arm around Lingling, pulling her closer. "Yeah," she murmured softly. "And I wouldn't want it any other way."

Lingling shifted slightly, tilting her head to look up at Orm. "You know, I really mean it when I say I'm going to do better. I don't ever want you to feel like you don't matter to me."

Orm smiled, her eyes soft with affection. "And I mean it when I say I see how hard you're trying. You don't have to be perfect, Ling. I just need you to keep being you."

Lingling felt her throat tighten with emotion. "I love you," she whispered, her voice barely audible but carrying the weight of her heart. "I love you so much, Orm. Even when I get caught up in everything else, that never changes. You're... you're everything to me."

Orm leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to Lingling's forehead. "I love you too," she said, her voice steady and sure. "I've always loved you, Ling, and I always will. No matter how hard things get, you're it for me."

Lingling closed her eyes, letting Orm's words wash over her like a balm. She reached up, cupping Orm's cheek with her hand, her thumb brushing softly against her skin. "You're it for me too," she murmured. "Thank you for never giving up on us."

Orm smiled, leaning into Lingling's touch. "We're not giving up. Not now, not ever."

Lingling sat up slightly, closing the small distance between them to press a lingering kiss to Orm's lips. It wasn't rushed or desperate—it was soft, unhurried, and filled with the quiet promise of their love. When they pulled apart, Lingling rested her forehead against Orm's, her fingers lacing through hers.

"We're okay," Lingling whispered, more to herself than anyone else.

Orm squeezed her hands gently. "Yeah, we are."

They settled back into the couch, Lingling snuggling closer to Orm as the hum of the city outside provided a soothing backdrop. Orm reached for the remote, scrolling through movie options until she landed on an old romantic comedy they used to watch in their early days together.

"This one?" Orm asked, glancing down at Lingling.

Lingling nodded, her smile soft. "Perfect."

As the opening credits rolled, Lingling couldn't help but glance up at Orm again, her heart full. "I love you," she said quietly, as though testing the words, savoring the way they felt.

Orm looked down, her expression tender. "I love you too, Ling. Always."

They shared a small, contented smile before turning their attention back to the screen, the warmth of their embrace a reminder of how far they'd come—and how much further they could go together.