Orm's Crisis

It was a normal morning at Blooming Beans. The machines hummed, customers bustled in and out and the scent of freshly brewed espresso filled the air. The usual atmosphere of controlled chaos thrived.

But then...

Something felt off.

Becky noticed it first.

She had been behind the counter, halfway through preparing a latte when she realized the café was missing something. Something crucial.

Something Orm.

The sass. The teasing. The dramatic retelling of her morning struggles (usually involving Lingling withholding coffee kisses). The blatant tormenting of Becky's terrible latte art.

None of it.

Instead, Orm was just... sitting there. Silently. Stirring her coffee. Staring into nothingness like a woman deep in existential dread.

Becky froze, her hand gripping the milk frother like a weapon.

Becky, whispering to Freen: "Did Orm hit her head? She hasn't said a single snarky thing all morning."

Freen, who had been scrolling through her phone, paused mid-sip of her iced Americano and frowned.

Freen, peering at Orm from behind the counter: "I think she's sick. Or possessed. Should we call an exorcist?"

Becky turned her attention fully to Orm, narrowing her eyes.

Orm was sitting in her usual corner booth, stirring her coffee endlessly. Not drinking it. Just stirring. Her usual confident, lazy sprawl was replaced by a calm, eerily still posture.

Becky shuddered.

Freen nudged her. "Should we do something?"

Becky squared her shoulders. "We're her best friends. It's our duty to intervene before she loses all personality and becomes a—" She glanced back at Orm, whispering in horror: "—a normal person."

Freen gasped.

Operation: Provoke the Menace was a go.

Becky wiped her hands on her apron and sauntered over, casually leaning against Orm's table like a detective in a crime drama.

Becky, testing the waters: "Hey, Orm, you look like you had a great night's sleep. Feeling super energized?"

Orm blinked. Once. Slowly.

Then, in the most monotone voice Becky had ever heard:

"Mhm."

Becky stumbled back like she had been physically struck.

Freen, standing behind her, clutched her chest dramatically. "Oh my god. It's worse than we thought."

Becky, whisper-yelling: "She didn't even correct me! She ALWAYS corrects me! Where is the dramatic Orm??"

A barista passing by overheard and whispered: "Should we call Lingling? If anyone can fix this, it's her."

Becky shook her head. "No. We have to be sure it's a crisis before we get the wife involved."

Freen, crossing her arms: "One more test."

She stepped forward, her expression dead serious, and delivered the final strike.

Freen, smugly: "Wow, Orm. Lingling was right. You are getting softer after marriage."

Normally, this would result in a dramatic monologue about how Orm was still the sassiest queen to ever exist, followed by a passionate rant about how Lingling was the one who was soft for her.

But instead...

Orm just blinked again.

And smirked.

Smirked. SILENTLY.

Becky grabbed Freen's arm.

"CALL LINGLING. IMMEDIATELY."

Lingling, unimpressed but mildly curious, sighed and grabbed her blazer. If it was Becky and Freen, it was probably nonsense. But if Orm was involved... well. That required at least a 5% level of concern.

Lingling was in the middle of reviewing some reports at Kwong Corp when her phone started blowing up with messages from Becky and Freen.

Becky: EMERGENCY. CODE RED. SEND BACKUP.

Freen: It's bad, Ling. It's REALLY BAD.

Becky: It's about Orm. Something's wrong with her.

Freen: Please respond before Becky throws holy water on her.

Becky: NO TIME FOR EXPLANATION. JUST COME TO THE CAFÉ. NOW.

When Lingling arrived, she was ambushed at the door.

Becky and Freen yanked her to a corner, their expressions grave.

"Ling, it's an emergency."

Lingling arched a single, unimpressed brow. "You said that already. Explain."

Becky inhaled sharply. "It's Orm."

Lingling's brow barely twitched. "...And?"

Freen grabbed her arm, voice dropping to a whisper. "She's silent."

Lingling blinked slowly.

Then, very calmly: "And?"

Becky, panicked: "She hasn't roasted anyone in five hours. Not even me."

Freen, nodding urgently: "She's just sitting there. Thinking."

Lingling froze.

Thinking?

Orm?

No. That was not normal.

She narrowed her eyes. "You're right. That's suspicious."

Becky, already spiraling: "What if she's... self-reflecting?"

Lingling exhaled sharply, her professional demeanor masking the faintest hint of concern.

"Enough of this."

She straightened her posture and marched toward Orm's table, her heels clicking with purpose.

Becky and Freen watched like nervous bystanders witnessing a bomb-defusal attempt.

Freen, whispering: "Godspeed."

Becky, whispering back: "If she fails, we evacuate."

Lingling strode confidently to Orm's table, but the moment she sat down across from her wife, all of that confidence wavered.

Orm was staring into her coffee.

No greeting.

No kiss.

No sarcastic remark about how Lingling looked extra CEO-ish today.

Nothing.

Lingling's brow furrowed. Okay... this is weird.

She tilted her head slightly, studying Orm's expression like she was analyzing a complex business report. But the problem was—there was nothing to analyze. Orm's face was unreadable.

Which was a first.

Lingling, carefully: "Orm?"

Orm hummed in response.

Didn't look up.

Didn't react.

Didn't even smirk.

Lingling's stomach tightened.

Okay, this was officially concerning.

Lingling, now actually worried: "What's wrong?"

Orm finally looked up, her dark eyes locking onto Lingling's.

Lingling stilled.

Because there was no teasing there.

No amusement.

Not even a hint of her usual I'm-about-to-mess-with-you energy.

Orm, flatly: "Nothing."

Lingling's jaw clenched.

She wasn't buying that.

Not for a second.

Lingling, narrowing her eyes: "Orm, I know you. You don't just sit and stare into the abyss unless something's wrong."

Orm sighed, finally speaking.

Orm, voice softer than usual: "I've been thinking."

Lingling's heart stopped.

Oh.

No.

Not thinking.

Orm never thought.

Orm acted.

Orm did things on impulse.

Orm created chaos first and asked questions later.

If Orm was thinking, then something had to be very, very wrong.

Lingling, hesitant now: "...About what?"

Orm leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. Her gaze was steady. Unshaken.

Orm, calmly: "About life. The future. Us."

Lingling suddenly felt nervous.

She wasn't used to this version of Orm.

The serious, calculating Orm.

The Orm who wasn't joking.

Lingling, carefully choosing her words: "Us?"

Meanwhile, in the Background...

Becky and Freen were blatantly eavesdropping from behind the counter.

Becky, whispering urgently: "Oh no. She's serious."

Freen, equally concerned: "Yeah, this is bad. Orm and 'serious thoughts' do not mix well."

Becky: "You think she's gonna drop something life-changing? A crisis? What if she's thinking about—"

Freen: "Shut up, I wanna hear."

Both of them leaned in further, eyes locked onto the scene unfolding.

Back at the table, Lingling steeled herself.

Orm wasn't looking away.

Lingling, voice softer now: "What exactly about us?"

Orm took a deep breath.

The tension in the air was palpable.

Lingling braced for impact.

And then—

Orm spoke.

Silence stretched between them.

Lingling, still bracing for impact, stared at Orm as if expecting her to drop a life-altering revelation.

Maybe she wanted kids right away?

Maybe she wanted to move to a new country?

Maybe she had some grand existential dilemma that would change the course of their entire marriage?

Orm, sighing deeply, voice low and serious: "Ling, we're married now. And I just realized... our whole dynamic has changed."

Lingling's heart pounded. Changed how? Was she regretting something? Did she not like—

Lingling, holding her breath: "Changed how?"

Orm, staring at her coffee like she's contemplating the meaning of life:

"Before, when we were dating, you were the cool, scary CEO, and I was your charmingly sassy café owner. But now? Now, Ling. I'm not just your wife. I'm..."

Orm paused dramatically, gaze dark and serious as if unveiling some groundbreaking truth.

Lingling swallowed nervously. Becky and Freen leaned in, hanging onto Orm's every word.

Orm, dead serious: "I'm the trophy wife."

Silence.

Lingling...

Completely speechless.

Becky, choking on her coffee: "She's WHAT?"

Freen, actually wheezing: "I CAN'T—"

Lingling blinked rapidly, her brain short-circuiting.

Lingling, slowly: "...Orm. Are you serious right now?"

Orm, nodding solemnly: "Yes. I've spent all morning thinking about this. I bring nothing to the table except my good looks and charm."

Lingling rubbed her temples.

Lingling, exasperated: "You literally saved my company months ago."

Orm, completely unbothered: "Yeah, but I didn't have to. That was just me being supportive. But functionally? I am a glorified, ridiculously attractive housewife."

Lingling, on the verge of losing it: "You literally run a business."

Orm, ignoring logic: "Yes, but your business is bigger. Therefore, I'm the hot one in this marriage."

Becky was wheezing. Freen actually had tears in her eyes from laughing too hard.

Lingling, deadpan, rubbing her temples harder: "You're an idiot."

Orm, dramatically placing a hand over her chest: "An idiot wife."

Lingling sighed. Deeply.

Orm, finally cracking a smug smile: "Got you worried, didn't I?"

Lingling glared at her.

Lingling, flatly: "I'm considering divorce."

(Narrator: She was, in fact, not considering divorce.)

Orm, smugly: "But then you'd lose your hot wife."

Lingling, muttering to herself: "Why did I marry you?"

Orm, grinning, leaning closer: "Because you love me."

Lingling rolled her eyes, but the small smile tugging at her lips completely betrayed her.

Freen, wiping away a tear, gasped between laughs: "She really just spent hours panicking over this?"

Becky, shaking her head in awe: "I actually thought she was going to have a breakdown. But no. Trophy wife crisis. That's what we're dealing with."

Lingling, pinching the bridge of her nose, muttering: "I don't get paid enough for this."

Orm, smirking, whispering: "I think you do. CEO and all."

Lingling glared harder.

Freen, laughing: "Oh, this is definitely her Trophy Wife Era."

Becky, nodding seriously: "I, for one, welcome it."

Lingling groaned.

Orm, smugly sipping her coffee: "This is gonna be fun."

Becky was still wiping her tears, struggling to catch her breath. Freen had completely given up, head on the café table, shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

Becky, sniffling dramatically: "I can't believe we actually thought she was having a real crisis."

Freen, nodding, voice hoarse from laughing too much: "I was ready to write a eulogy. Like, full-on speech prepared. 'Here lies Orm Setharatanapong—gone too soon, taken by existential dread.'"

Becky, mocking Orm's earlier dramatics, clutching her chest: "'I am a trophy wife.'"

Freen, wiping a tear away, nodding solemnly: "'I bring nothing to the table but hotness.'"

Becky, mimicking an exaggerated sigh: "'Functionally useless except for my charm and bone structure.'"

Freen, dead serious: "I actually think I lost brain cells listening to that."

Becky, shaking her head: "God, we were so dumb for worrying."

Lingling, completely exhausted, rubbing her temples: "You should worry. I have to live with this."

Orm, completely unbothered, sipping her coffee, smirking smugly: "Lucky you."

Becky and Freen exchange a look.

Freen, leaning forward, whispering loudly: "Do you think it's too late for an annulment?"

Becky, grinning: "Lingling, blink twice if you need help."

Lingling glared. "You're both next."

Becky shrugged. "As long as I don't have a Trophy Wife Crisis, I'll survive."

Orm leaned back in her chair, stretching like a cat. "You say that now, but just wait until you wake up one day and realize your only job is to be hot and adored."

Freen, deadpan: "Becky already thinks that's her job."

Becky, smirking: "And I do it well."

Lingling, groaning into her hands: "I'm leaving."

Orm, grinning, reaching for her hand: "You'd miss me too much, Mrs. Kwong."

Lingling paused... sighed... then kissed her on the cheek. "Unfortunately, yes."

Becky, mock-gagging: "Ugh, get out of here, you disgustingly in-love people."

Freen, shaking her head, sighing dramatically: "The worst part is... they're actually perfect for each other."