Chapter 13 - The Call

Orm wanted nothing more than to run.

Her body was screaming at her, every muscle urging her to turn on her heels and bolt out the door, yet her feet remained stubbornly rooted to the spot.

There, in the doorway of her own terror, stood Lingling—cool as a cucumber in a freezer, composed beyond belief, and with an expression so unreadable it might as well have been carved in stone.

Lingling's gaze was fixed on Orm, and the way she had said those little words—"Are you ready to talk now?"—was as direct as a judge's gavel and twice as final. There was no wiggle room, no escape hatch in that statement; it was a declaration of war, or at least a firm ultimatum, leaving no doubt that this time, there was no running away.

Orm tried to play it cool. She puffed out her chest, cleared her throat in a feeble attempt at nonchalance, and managed, "Uh... talk about what?"

Lingling did nothing but stare. Her eyes, dark and calm, seemed to say, "I'm giving you one last chance to stop pretending you don't know what's happening." The silence that followed was as heavy as a legal brief laden with subpoenas, and inside, Orm's mind went into overdrive.

Oh god. This was really happening. Orm's internal panic crescendoed like an off-key orchestra as she stood frozen. The room felt too small, the air too thick, and every second dragged on like a torturous trial. Lingling's presence was inescapable—a constant, cool reminder that Orm had just stepped into a no-win situation.

With no way out of the moment, Orm crossed her arms, trying to muster whatever remaining shred of dignity she had left. "Listen," she began, voice trembling with the mix of defiance and defeat, "if this is about me being terrible at flirting, I already know—"

Before she could finish, Lingling's smooth voice cut in, "I don't mind."

Orm froze. For a full five agonizing seconds, her brain staggered, trying desperately to catch up with what she had just heard. "You... don't mind?" she repeated, her voice barely audible, as if she were confirming the unthinkable.

Lingling's eyes sparkled with a flicker of amusement—an expression so rare from her that it sent shockwaves through Orm's already crumbling defenses. "You are trying to get my attention," Lingling clarified with a slight tilt of her head, as if the very idea were as obvious as a legal precedent.

At that moment, Orm's internal operating system, which had been running on autopilot through endless social defeats, crashed spectacularly. She blurted the first thing that came to mind, "I WASN'T TRYING TO GET YOUR ATTENTION."

Lingling raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, as if to say, "Oh, really?" in the most nonchalant, yet cutting manner possible. "Oh?" she replied, a single word laden with implication.

Orm wanted to scream. Her inner monologue roared: You KNOW you started this! But before she could put it into coherent words, she found herself in a verbal free-fall. "You KNOW EXACTLY WHAT YOU'RE DOING!" she insisted, pointing an accusing finger in the direction of Lingling, who continued to remain unruffled.

Lingling simply watched her for a moment—each second stretching out like the longest minutes of a courtroom drama—then dropped the first bomb that would change everything: "If I did, wouldn't that mean I wanted yours too?"

The silence that followed was nothing short of catastrophic. It was as if the entire universe paused in a breathless moment of disbelief. Orm's entire being went silent. Her heartbeat seemed to vanish; her knees weakened as if they were made of jelly; and for a brief, horrifying second, she felt her very soul begin to depart from her body.

Lingling's words were dangerous, a verbal coup de grâce, delivered with such disarming calm that it was impossible not to be both terrified and oddly fascinated. And worse yet, she looked completely unbothered—as if confessing such a truth were the most natural thing in the world.

The bombshell had been dropped, and Orm's reaction was instantaneous and all-consuming. Her voice cracked with a mix of shock and indignation.

"WAIT. WAIT. WAIT. What are you saying right now??" she demanded, her arms flailing as she tried to piece together the rapidly unraveling conversation.

Lingling, seemingly unfazed by the outburst, took a slow sip of her drink as if she were savoring the calm after a storm. "Nothing," she said with the same measured tone that had punctuated every moment of their exchange.

"THAT'S NOT nothing!" Orm protested, her frustration mounting with every second that passed in Lingling's cool presence.

"You're overthinking," Lingling stated with a casual shrug, as if Orm's spiraling anxiety were nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

Orm's exasperation boiled over. "HOW CAN I NOT OVERTHINK WHEN YOU SAY THINGS LIKE THAT?!" she shouted, her arms flailing as if to physically repel the very idea of Lingling's nonchalance.

Lingling simply shrugged again, a gesture so casual and effortless it was as if she were stating a fact rather than mocking Orm's panic. "I suppose that's your problem, then," she replied, each word delivered with the icy precision of a practiced litigator.

Orm wanted to scream. She wanted to flip the nearest table, hurling it across the room in a fit of righteous indignation. She longed to crawl into a hole and never come out, yet, above all else, she wanted to win. Even if she had no idea what game they were playing anymore, she was determined to find a way to reclaim some semblance of control.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Orm decided it was time to make a stand—a direct, no-nonsense move that might force an end to this maddening back-and-forth. If Lingling was going to play mind games, then Orm would fight back with a straightforward approach. With a surge of defiant energy, she pulled out her phone.

"Your number. Now," she commanded, her voice edged with desperation and authority.

Lingling's eyebrow arched imperiously, as if the very notion of being demanded a number was beneath her. "Demanding, aren't you?" she replied coolly.

"YES, BECAUSE YOU ARE DRIVING ME INSANE," Orm snapped back, her emotions spilling over in a torrent of raw, unfiltered frustration.

Without missing a beat, Lingling reached for Orm's phone, tapped in her own number with a few swift keystrokes, and then handed it back as if it were nothing more than a casual text message. Just like that, in an instant that felt both victorious and devastating, the number appeared on Orm's screen.

Orm stared at it, hardly daring to believe what she saw. "Lingling Kwong," she read aloud, her voice a mix of incredulity and defeat. "No fake names? No secret codes?"

"You asked, didn't you?" Lingling said softly, her tone laced with a subtle challenge as she watched Orm struggle to find words.

Orm blinked rapidly, her thoughts scrambling. "I—yeah, but—" she stuttered, utterly lost for a proper retort.

Lingling's gaze remained fixed on her, as if waiting for the next move in this high-stakes game. And then, with the smallest, most devastating smirk—the kind that could shatter an already fragile ego—she said, "I'll be waiting for your call, then."

And with that, she walked away. Just like that. Without fanfare, without a backward glance—leaving Orm standing there, phone in hand, completely and utterly destroyed.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Orm woke up without the usual storm of disaster swirling around her. It was as if the universe had finally pressed pause on the endless series of chaotic encounters, cryptic lawyer remarks, and soul-crushing smirks that had defined her recent days. Today, there was only peace. She stretched luxuriously in bed, feeling as if she had just been reborn. Yesterday's fiasco—Lingling's relentless mind games, the cruel verbal parries, and the heart-shattering ultimatum—was nothing more than a bad dream, already erased from her memory.

Her phone buzzed with a reminder: Lingling's number was saved. But today, that number was just a number. It would not dictate her mood, and it wouldn't force her into any more awkward encounters. No, today was going to be normal. Or, as normal as life could get for a self-proclaimed Campus Princess whose reputation for drama was as legendary as her charm.

Orm dressed with an air of determined nonchalance. She wanted nothing more than a day free of surprises or existential crises. Arriving at her favorite café, she chose her usual table, one with a clear view of the entrance but tucked away enough to feel like her own little safe space. With a steaming cup of coffee in hand, she allowed herself a rare moment of quiet satisfaction—this was her haven, where the only thing on the agenda was a good, easy day.

Not long after she settled in, Becky and May, her ever-loyal sidekicks and sometimes unintentional commentators on her life's drama, plopped down in front of her. Becky's eyebrow arched inquisitively as she leaned forward. "So... did you call her?" she asked, her tone a mix of teasing and genuine curiosity.

Orm took another slow, deliberate sip of her coffee, savoring the fleeting normalcy. "Nope," she replied casually, as if the weight of that one word could somehow banish all the remnants of yesterday's calamities.

May tilted her head, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "So, just to be clear—you got Lingling Kwongs's number after she literally said she'd be waiting for your call, and you... just ignored her?"

Orm shrugged as though she were discussing the weather. "It's not a big deal."

Becky's gaze hardened, a look of incredulity crossing her features. "You're playing a dangerous game, Orm."

Orm couldn't help but smirk in return. "No, no. I'm just... taking my time."

Becky and May exchanged a look—the kind of look that promised this calm would be short-lived and that the universe was setting up a spectacular comeback. Deep down, they knew that Orm's newfound peace was as temporary as a pop quiz on a Monday morning.

The campus was buzzing under a brilliant sun, and for once, Orm was thriving. Lunch at the campus canteen had never tasted so good. As Orm sat with Becky, May, and a few other friends, the atmosphere was light and filled with laughter. Every bite of food seemed to affirm that life could indeed be pleasant without the constant barrage of Lingling's calculated provocations. Today, Orm allowed herself to smile genuinely, to relax and enjoy the simple pleasure of sharing a meal with friends who cared.

"Wow. Look at you," May smirked as she observed Orm leaning back in her chair with a relaxed grin. "Finally relaxing for once."

Orm's smile widened, and she replied with a self-assured nod, "See? I told you, nothing to worry about."

Becky, ever the skeptic, raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, I'll believe that when—"

Before Becky could finish her sentence, the atmosphere shifted. It was subtle at first—a slight dip in the temperature, a collective intake of breath among the nearby students. Orm felt a chill ripple through her, and she froze mid-bite. She didn't even have to turn around to sense it; the heavy presence of Lingling was already there, like a shadow cast by an overzealous spotlight.

Orm slowly put down her fork. Her gut told her that something was terribly off. When she finally mustered the courage to look up, her heart nearly stopped. There, standing right next to their table with her arms crossed, was Lingling. But this wasn't the usual impassive, cold version of Lingling that Orm was used to. No—this time, Lingling looked... sulking. Pouting, even.

Orm's mind reeled. Lingling? Pouting? That was a concept so foreign that Orm's brain struggled to process it. What was happening? The entire table fell into an awed silence, every set of eyes fixed on Lingling. She was supposed to be untouchable, composed, the master of cool indifference. And yet, here she was, standing with a look of genuine upset etched on her face. And, as if adding salt to the wound, Lingling's gaze was locked directly onto Orm.

Becky's grip on her drink tightened as she whispered, "Oh, this is about to be good."

May elbowed Orm under the table, teasing, "Fix your posture. You look guilty."

Orm felt a surge of shame, though she wasn't even sure what crime she'd committed yet.

Before anyone could break the silence, Lingling's presence seemed to electrify the room. Every whispered conversation in the canteen halted, every fork and spoon froze mid-air. Lingling, with that rare display of raw emotion, had cast a spell of anticipation over the entire room.

Then, as if the tension couldn't possibly escalate further, Lingling spoke. And everyone in the canteen heard her—her voice clear, calm, yet brimming with a power that silenced every chatter. "You didn't call."

The collective gasp from the crowd was instantaneous. Orm choked on her drink as if the words had been laced with acid. A fork clattered to the floor somewhere in the background, and even the lunch lady paused mid-service, her eyes wide with shock.

Becky and May leaned in, their expressions wide and animated as they awaited Orm's response. In a panicked rush, Orm stuttered, "Uh. What?"

Lingling's eyes narrowed, each word deliberate and slicing through the silence: "You. Didn't. Call."

At that moment, the canteen exploded into chaos. Whispers erupted like a runaway wildfire:

"WHAT—WHAT DID SHE JUST SAY?""LINGLING KWONG. IS THROWING A TANTRUM. IN PUBLIC.""SHE WAS WAITING FOR ORM'S CALL?!"

Orm felt as if her mind was short-circuiting. She looked around wildly, noticing too many eyes, too many judgments. In a desperate attempt to save face, she tried to play it cool, managing a shaky, "Uh. Yeah. I was... busy?"

But her words fell flat, swallowed by the deafening silence that followed. Lingling tilted her head slightly, her expression one of quiet disbelief. The entire canteen seemed to hold its breath, waiting for Orm to either defend herself or crumble completely.

Orm knew, in that moment, she was in deep, deep trouble. The consequences of her earlier nonchalance were now catching up with her in the most spectacular fashion.

Orm had never felt more publicly humiliated in her life. Sure, she'd tripped in front of important professors, fallen asleep in a lecture only to be unexpectedly called on, and even accidentally waved back at someone who wasn't waving at her—but none of that compared to what was happening right now.

Because Lingling Kwong—that cold, calculated, unshaken Lingling—was sulking. And not just sulking in private. Oh no. Lingling was sulking in public. And she was sulking directly at Orm, in front of the entire campus. In that moment, Orm felt as if she was on trial. Lingling stood there with her arms crossed, staring at Orm like a misbehaving child who had just been caught red-handed. The entire canteen had fallen dead silent, every pair of eyes glued to the spectacle.

Becky leaned forward and whispered dramatically, "Ohhh, she's mad mad."

May grinned and nudged Orm under the table, "Wow. I didn't think I'd live to see the day."

Inside, Orm's mind was spiraling. This isn't happening. I must be dreaming. I've died, and this is hell. But it was all too real. And Orm knew, with sinking certainty, that she was completely screwed.

Desperate to salvage even a shred of dignity, Orm tried to recover. She cleared her throat and forced a smile as she attempted to explain, "Uh. I was going to call! I just—"

Before she could finish, Lingling cut her off with a sharp, "When?"

Orm froze. Her mind went blank; her soul felt as though it were slipping away. Becky's eyes went wide, and she grabbed May's arm, exclaiming, "OH MY GOD. DIRECT HIT." May shook with barely contained laughter, "SHE DIDN'T EVEN LET HER FINISH!"

Orm scrambled for an answer. "Uh... later?" she stuttered.

Lingling raised a perfectly arched eyebrow. "It's already later."

And then the canteen exploded. Gasps, stifled laughter, and outright shock filled the room. Somewhere at the back, someone stood up in pure disbelief. Becky clapped her hands like a fan at a concert, "SHE'S GOT YOU IN A CORNER!" May wiped an imaginary tear and said, "Beautiful. Simply beautiful."

Orm felt her pride slipping through her fingers. She knew she had to fix this, to somehow wrest back control of the narrative. She forced another laugh, trying to play it off coolly, "I mean, it's not a big deal, right?"

That was a very bad move. Almost immediately, Lingling's eyes narrowed ever so slightly. Then she tilted her head, and in a voice so calm it was downright dangerous, she said, "So if I didn't call you, it wouldn't be a big deal either?"

Orm stopped breathing. Becky dropped her spoon. "WHEW," she managed in a hushed tone. May gasped, "SHE GOT YOU THERE." The entire canteen erupted—gasps, whispers, even shouts:

"OH, SHE DID NOT JUST SAY THAT."

"Is this a CONFESSION?! Are they dating?!"

"Orm is about to CRY."

Orm was on the verge of tears. Lingling had completely flipped the script, turning the accusation back on her. Now, all eyes were on Orm—the one who now looked undeniably guilty. The canteen had transformed from a mundane lunch spot into a makeshift courtroom, and Orm was losing the trial by a landslide.

Around her, factions had already formed. Team Lingling seemed to murmur,

"She deserves better. Orm messed up."

Someone joked, "Imagine making someone like Lingling K. wait—criminal behavior!" Meanwhile, Orm's supporters—if you could call them that—whispered, "Maybe she just forgot?" but even they admitted, "No, Orm looks like she's in the middle of five stages of grief."

Becky, ever the instigator, declared, "I'm just so happy we're witnessing history."

May added, "This is better than any K-drama I've ever seen."

Orm was frozen—staring into space, processing, spiraling deeper into humiliation—while Lingling continued to stare back, unwavering, as if daring Orm to salvage her pride. Orm had never felt so small.

And then, as if to cap off the humiliation, Lingling sighed—a low, disappointed sound that sealed Orm's fate. In that moment, with a voice that dripped with finality, Lingling said, "Forget it." And then she walked away.

The canteen erupted into chaos once again. Shouts and whispers rang out:

"She's mad, mad!"

"Orm, you better fix this!"

"How are you just gonna let her leave?!"

Becky grabbed Orm's arm. "Get up. You can't just sit here."

May nodded vigorously, "You need to do something."

But Orm remained seated, frozen—processing, broken, utterly and completely ruined.