Shadows and Contrasts

Lingling's office lights buzzed overhead, a sterile glow that did nothing to ease her pounding headache. She glanced at the clock on her computer screen—6:14 a.m. Another early start. Her inbox flashed with bolded subject lines, each demanding immediate attention. She rubbed her temples, stifling a yawn. One more night of sleeping too little, worrying too much.

She clicked open her first urgent email of the day, grimacing at the laundry list of revisions from a high-profile client. They wanted a complete overhaul of the contract's terms, some big changes that might take her the entire morning—if not longer—to finalize. Behind her, the broad window showcased a still-dark skyline. Dawn was creeping in, painting the tips of skyscrapers with a faint glow, yet Lingling felt trapped in perpetual night.

A soft knock on the glass door startled her. Nicha, her tireless assistant, peeked in. "Morning, Mrs. Kwong. I grabbed you coffee—black, two sugars. I know you have a meeting at eight with the Pegasus team."

Lingling mustered a small smile as Nicha set the steaming cup on her desk. "Thanks," she said, lifting the paper cup to her lips. The warmth soothed her throat, but not the tension nesting in her shoulders. "Could you forward me the updated schedule for today? I need to see if we can squeeze in any more calls."

Nicha nodded. "Sure thing. Is... everything okay?"

Lingling stilled at the question. Everything okay? She hadn't told anyone about her fraying marriage, but perhaps the exhaustion on her face revealed more than she intended. "I'm fine," she lied with practiced ease. "Just busy."

Nicha left, and Lingling exhaled a heavy breath. She scanned her phone for any texts from Orm. There was a single message sent hours ago—"Hope you rested well. Miss you." Something clenched in Lingling's chest. She typed a quick reply—"I'm at the office. Talk later."—then set the phone aside, half wishing she could say more.

Her inbox pinged again. Another urgent request, another crisis to manage. Lingling swallowed the last of her coffee, squared her shoulders, and prepared to tackle the chaos. She told herself that once the workload lightened, she'd make time for Orm. One more big push, she thought. Then everything will settle. But deep down, she wasn't sure she believed her own promise.

Orm rolled her chair away from the drafting table, flexing her stiff fingers. The half-finished sketch before her depicted a flowing evening gown with sharp, geometric cutouts—an elegant juxtaposition of soft and edgy. Usually, she'd be brimming with excitement over a new design, but lately, her enthusiasm felt blunted.

She looked around her small studio, a cozy space lined with fabric bolts, mannequins, and racks of her past collections. The morning sunlight streamed in through tall windows, highlighting dust motes dancing in the air. Despite the bright setting, Orm felt an undercurrent of gloom tugging at her heart.

She reached for her phone, thumb hovering over the screen. No new messages. Last night, she'd sent Lingling a simple "Miss you" text, hoping to spark a conversation. Lingling had replied in the early morning—"I'm at the office. Talk later." Concise. Formal. It left Orm feeling both relieved that Lingling had answered and stung by the distance in her words.

A soft knock on the studio door broke her reverie. Her friend and fellow designer, Kiera, poked her head in. "Morning, star," Becky teased gently. "Need a second opinion on that new piece?"

Orm stood up, forcing a smile. "Sure. Though I'm still figuring out the silhouette."

Becky walked over to the drafting table, scrutinizing the lines. "You've got something here," she said, tracing the flowing skirt's curve with a fingertip. "But your usual spark is missing. What's up?"

Orm tensed, fiddling with the corner of the paper. "Just... feeling a bit off," she admitted. She wanted to confide about Lingling—how the woman she loved felt more like a roommate these days—but the words caught in her throat. "Maybe I'm burning out, too."

Becky studied her for a moment, concern etched on her face. "If you need to talk—"

"Thanks," Orm cut in gently, "I appreciate it. I'm okay, really. Just gotta push through."

Becky nodded, not entirely convinced, but she didn't press. She offered a supportive pat on Orm's shoulder before leaving to check on another project.

Alone again, Orm sank onto her drafting stool, staring at the incomplete gown. In her mind, a flood of memories surfaced—Lingling cheering at her first runway show, gushing about Orm's knack for blending colors and shapes. Back then, Lingling's praise had fueled Orm's creativity. Now, Orm couldn't recall the last time Lingling showed real excitement for her work.

She inhaled slowly and picked up a pencil, forcing herself to focus. If Lingling was swamped, maybe Orm could be the strong one—for a while, at least. I just hope she remembers to lean on me again, she thought, sketching in a determined line. I'm still here.

That evening, Orm found herself under the bright lights of a highly anticipated fashion event—a launch party for her newest collection. The venue was a sleek, modern gallery downtown, its stark white walls offset by vibrant spotlighting on each piece. Models milled about in partial ensembles, stylists fussed with hair and makeup, and a soft hum of electronica played in the background.

Orm smoothed her tailored black suit jacket, taking a steadying breath. This event was crucial: potential buyers, press, and influencers would be here, and she needed to make a strong impression. Yet her mind kept drifting to whether Lingling would show up. Lingling had promised she'd attend, though it had been a half-hearted "I'll try, if work doesn't explode."

Shortly after the doors opened to invited guests, Orm spotted Lingling at the entrance—looking composed in a fitted beige dress, her posture exuding quiet confidence. Relief and a flicker of excitement coursed through Orm's veins. She came.

Orm stepped away from her conversation with a fashion blogger and hurried toward Lingling. Up close, she could see faint lines of fatigue around Lingling's eyes, but to the outside world, she appeared impeccable.

"Hey," Orm greeted, a warm note in her voice. "You made it."

Lingling offered a small, polished smile—one Orm recognized as her professional face. "I said I'd try. Couldn't miss seeing your work, right?"

Orm's heart fluttered, wanting to lean in for a kiss, but the swirl of cameras and watchers made Lingling stiffen slightly. Orm settled for a brief, gentle touch on Lingling's shoulder. "Thank you. It means a lot that you're here."

Lingling nodded, gaze drifting toward the runway area. She mumbled something about grabbing a drink, and Orm watched her slip into the mingling crowd. As Orm turned to greet other attendees, her eyes kept darting back to Lingling, noting how effortlessly she chatted with a small group of professionals. She's so charming in public, Orm thought with a pang. I miss that warmth at home.

An hour passed in a blur of introductions, compliments, and flashes from photographers. Orm felt the usual rush of pride when a journalist praised her designs, but a persistent ache lingered: each time she looked for Lingling, her wife was deep in conversation with strangers—or tapping furiously on her phone.

Finally, Orm decided to approach Lingling again. She sidled up just as Lingling was finishing a polished conversation with a buyer who seemed more interested in real estate than fashion. "Hey," Orm said gently, "doing okay?"

Lingling tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Yeah. It's a nice event, though I keep checking my email," she admitted, glancing at her phone. "Sorry. Work's crazy."

Orm forced a reassuring smile. "I understand." She tried to add some levity. "Any chance you can put it away, at least for a bit?"

Lingling hesitated, then sighed. "I'll try."

Orm was about to say more when a flash of red caught her eye—a woman stepping through the crowd with confident strides, camera slung around her shoulder. Her hair was cropped short, framing high cheekbones and a knowing smile. The woman's gaze locked onto Orm, and her lips curved in a delighted grin.

"Orm!" she called, weaving expertly between guests. "Look at you, star of the show!"

Orm's brow furrowed in brief confusion before recognition dawned. "Ying?" she asked, voice lifting in surprise. "Wow, it's been... years."

Ying laughed lightly, adjusting the camera on her shoulder. "I'm freelancing for a couple of fashion blogs. Saw your name on the list, so I couldn't resist stopping by."

There was a familiarity in Ying's tone that made Lingling's posture go rigid. Orm noticed it immediately and slid a hand over Lingling's arm in an attempt to reassure her.

"Ying, this is my wife, Lingling," Orm said, smiling politely.

Lingling inclined her head, expression reserved. "Nice to meet you. Orm's told me a little about her college friends."

Ying's eyes sparkled with amusement. "We go way back," she said, focusing on Orm again. "I always knew you'd make it big." She glanced at the models wearing Orm's designs. "These pieces are breathtaking, Orm. It's no wonder you're so successful."

Lingling's mouth tightened, but she kept her composure. "Yes, she's brilliant," she interjected, voice cool. "I see it every day at home."

Orm's cheeks heated. She couldn't help feeling like an invisible current of tension swirled around them. She gently squeezed Lingling's arm, hoping to defuse the situation. "Ying's an amazing photographer, too," she offered. "We collaborated on a few shoots back in college."

Ying's grin widened. "And I'd love to collaborate again. You know, if you're open to it. I have some fresh angles in mind."

Out of the corner of her eye, Orm caught Lingling's brief flicker of annoyance. "We'll see," Orm responded carefully. "I'll have to check my upcoming schedule."

Ying winked, then lifted her camera. "I'll let you two catch up. But first, a quick shot for my blog?"

Orm nodded politely, while Lingling offered a tight smile. With a click and a flash, Ying captured them standing stiffly side by side. Then Ying excused herself to snap photos of the collection, leaving Orm and Lingling alone—yet more uneasy than before.

A short while later, Orm found herself stuck in conversation with an enthusiastic buyer, forced to replay the event's highlight reel: her inspiration for the collection, projected sales, and marketing angles. The moment she extricated herself, she spotted Lingling hovering near the refreshment table.

Lingling's expression betrayed thinly veiled tension. She was clutching a champagne flute as though it were her lifeline. Orm wove through the crowd and gently touched Lingling's shoulder.

"You okay?" Orm asked, searching Lingling's face.

Lingling took a small sip of champagne, eyes scanning the room. "I'm fine," she said curtly. Then her gaze fixed on a distant corner where Ying was chatting with a model, occasionally glancing in their direction. "So that's Ying," she added, forcing a smile that didn't reach her eyes.

Orm let out a breath, sensing the undercurrent of jealousy. "She's just an old friend, Ling," she said in a low voice. "We haven't been in touch for ages."

Lingling's laugh was brittle. "Funny how she appeared now, right when your name's getting bigger."

Orm shook her head, trying to keep her tone calm. "She's a photographer. It's not surprising she'd show up at a fashion event."

Lingling looked away, her jaw set. "She clearly still has a thing for you."

Orm frowned. "I'm married—to you," she emphasized, brushing a hand over Lingling's. "No one's taking me away."

For a moment, Lingling's tense posture softened. She squeezed Orm's fingers, though her grip felt more desperate than comforting. "Let's just get through the rest of the night," she murmured. "I'm tired."

Orm nodded, heart heavy. She led Lingling away from the spotlight, hoping to salvage a moment of closeness. But the crowd was thick, the music loud, and her responsibilities as host endless. Lingling stood by her side, or behind her, or sometimes drifted off to check her phone. And through it all, Orm felt Ying's presence like a subtle flash on the periphery, capturing photos that might hold more than just fashion in their frames.

By the time Orm wrapped up the event, her feet ached, and her mind buzzed with exhaustion. The main lights dimmed, signaling the after-party shift, but Orm wasn't in the mood to celebrate. She found Lingling near the entrance, scrolling through her phone.

"How about we grab a quiet dinner?" Orm asked, her voice subdued. "I know a late-night bistro that serves amazing soup. We could decompress and talk."

Lingling looked up, her eyes clouded with fatigue. "I'm exhausted, Orm," she said. "All I want is to go home and sleep."

Orm's shoulders slumped. She'd hoped this evening might end with even a sliver of normalcy—holding hands over a shared meal, exchanging tired smiles that said, At least we're in this together. But Lingling's tone was sharper than usual.

"We can go home," Orm offered, trying not to sound disappointed. "Maybe we can still talk there?"

Lingling gave a noncommittal shrug, and they walked to the parking garage in weighted silence. The drive home felt interminable. Streetlights flashed across the windshield, illuminating the distance etched on Lingling's face.

Once inside their condo, Orm slipped off her heels, wincing at the soreness in her arches. "Want some tea or anything?" she asked.

Lingling shook her head, already pulling out her phone. "I need to send an email before I lose the thread on this contract."

Orm clenched her jaw. The frustration she'd been repressing all night bubbled up. We're never going to talk if she's always working, she thought. But she forced her voice to remain level. "Ling, can we at least debrief about the event? I'd like to know what you thought of the collection..."

Lingling let out a short laugh, devoid of humor. "You seemed busy enough getting feedback from everyone else—and from Ying."

The name hung in the air like a spark on dry tinder. Orm's pulse kicked up. "Is that what this is about?" she asked, keeping her tone even.

Lingling's jaw tightened. She set her phone on the counter, crossing her arms. "Forget it. I'm too tired for a fight."

Orm exhaled, stepping closer. "I'm not looking for a fight. But you've barely spoken a word to me all evening. Then you mention Ying like she's a threat—"

"Isn't she?" Lingling shot back, voice low. "She shows up out of nowhere, acting like she knows you better than I do. And you—" She paused, frustration flickering across her features. "You kept talking to her, letting her fawn over your work."

Orm's heart twisted. "She's a photographer, Ling. That's what she does. And yes, she's an old friend, but that's it. You're my wife. I've been dying for your attention all night."

Lingling's gaze faltered, guilt mingling with anger. "I had to answer work emails—"

"Work," Orm echoed, voice trembling. "That's always the excuse, isn't it?"

Silence fell, thick and uncomfortable. Lingling pressed her lips into a thin line, as if steeling herself. Then she snatched up her phone and turned toward the bedroom. "I can't do this right now. I'm done."

Orm watched her retreat, heartbreak swirling in her chest. She wanted to chase after Lingling, to yell "Don't shut me out!"—but a deep weariness anchored her feet. I can't keep begging her to see me, she thought.

The bedroom door clicked shut. Orm leaned against the counter, mind churning. She heard the muffled sound of Lingling's voice—likely responding to that email—and felt a pang of despair. They were stuck in a cycle of half-spoken truths and wounded silences, inching closer to a precipice she wasn't sure they could avoid.

Tears prickled at Orm's eyes as she stared at the closed bedroom door. To keep them at bay, she let her mind drift to one of her favorite memories—their trip to Tokyo during the cherry blossom season, just after they got engaged.

In the flashback, the air was fragrant with the scent of sakura petals. Pink and white blossoms lined the riverbank, a delicate canopy overhead. Lingling had been quieter than usual that day, her eyes fixed on the fluttering petals. Orm recalled slipping her hand into Lingling's, feeling her wife's grip tighten in a moment of silent awe.

They stopped by a small tea house near the water. The owner, an elderly woman, welcomed them with warm hospitality, guiding them to a wooden deck overlooking the blooming trees. They sipped matcha, the soft breeze carrying stray petals onto their table.

"Look at us," Orm had said, eyes shining. "Halfway around the world, discovering new beauty together."

Lingling smiled, a tender curve of her lips that melted Orm's heart. "I never thought I'd actually travel this far," she admitted quietly. "You push me to see the world in ways I never would on my own."

Orm remembered the thrill coursing through her, the knowledge that Lingling felt safe enough to share such vulnerability. "I'll always be by your side," she promised. "No matter how busy or crazy life gets, let's keep finding moments like this."

Lingling's reply was barely above a whisper: "I want that too." She leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to Orm's cheek, leaving the taste of sweet tea and sincerity on Orm's lips.

The memory of that day glowed in Orm's mind—a testament to a time when work demands and unstoppable ambitions hadn't overshadowed their togetherness. It was a vow of sorts, a promise they made to each other: to never lose sight of life's gentle wonders, to explore not just the world but each other's hearts.

Blinking back to the present, Orm rubbed her arms against the condo's chill. The house was silent now—Lingling in the bedroom, Orm in the kitchen, worlds apart. What happened to us, Ling? she thought bleakly. We once found such beauty in everything.

Midnight had come and gone by the time Orm found the courage to head to the bedroom. She nudged the door open gently. Lingling lay on her side, facing the window, her breathing slow and steady—either asleep or feigning sleep to avoid another conversation.

Orm stepped inside, the soft glow of the streetlights filtering through the curtains. She could see the faint outline of Lingling's form, the subtle rise and fall of her shoulders. Is she okay? Orm wondered. Does she cry when I'm not around? Does she even care that I'm hurting?

She changed into pajamas quietly, her mind replaying the eventful night: Ying's sudden appearance, Lingling's forced smiles, the tension that escalated into a near-fight. Her heart clenched with worry. She thought about the trip to Tokyo, the closeness they had shared. If she's slipping away, how do I pull her back?

Careful not to make noise, Orm slid under the covers. Lingling didn't stir. The mattress dipped slightly beneath Orm's weight, but still, there was no acknowledgment. Finally, Orm mustered the courage to whisper into the darkness, "Ling... I love you. I'm sorry if tonight felt like a mess."

Only silence greeted her. Whether Lingling was asleep or ignoring her, Orm couldn't tell. Exhaustion seeped into her bones, yet her mind raced. She was running out of ways to mend a relationship that felt dangerously frayed.

Minutes ticked by, morphing into an hour. Sleep remained elusive. Orm stared at the faint shadows on the ceiling, trying to find comfort in the steady rhythm of Lingling's breathing. I vowed to fight for us, she reminded herself. But I can't do it alone.

Just as she began to drift, Orm heard a subtle shift from Lingling's side of the bed. Lingling inhaled, a sound closer to a trembling sigh than a peaceful breath. Was she awake? Did she hear Orm's whispered apology? Or was she wrestling with her own guilt in the darkness?

Orm's chest tightened with a renewed surge of longing. Talk to me, please, she pleaded silently. But Lingling remained still, her back turned.

Eventually, Orm felt her eyes grow heavy. She resigned herself to another night of restless half-sleep, haunted by the memory of blossoming sakura in Kyoto and the promise they'd once made. We'll keep finding moments like this.

But right now, neither of them knew how.

As Orm's thoughts blurred at the edge of slumber, one final question echoed in her mind: How long can we pretend we're okay before everything falls apart?