Chapter 27 - A Quiet Apology

Late at night in Lingling's dimly lit apartment, the world outside had quieted to a gentle hum. Lingling lay awake in bed, the ceiling above her a canvas for her racing thoughts. In the silence, every harsh word from the argument with Orm replayed over and over—like a broken record she couldn't silence.

"You like the attention, don't you?"

"Flirting with me, then flirting with everyone else—what are we even doing?"

Those phrases burned in her mind, each repetition a reminder of how she'd let her jealousy spiral out of control. Lingling turned over, staring blankly at the ceiling as regret flooded her senses. She reached up with trembling fingers to rub her face, trying to soothe the ache of guilt that had taken hold.

In a hushed whisper barely audible in the dark room, she murmured, "...I messed up."

She never intended to hurt Orm with her words; she had never doubted Orm's feelings—only her own. Lingling had always prided herself on her calm, rational approach, on the way she could deconstruct any argument with clinical precision. But now, for the first time, she felt the heavy sting of her own vulnerability.

And Lingling felt the silence where Orm's presence used to be—a silence so profound it made her realize just how much her harsh words had cost her. In that quiet, lonely moment, Lingling understood what it was like to be on the receiving end of silence and it pained her more than any argument ever had.

Lingling turned her head again, as if searching for an answer in the darkness. How can I fix this? she wondered, her heart aching with every slow tick of the clock on the wall. But in that moment, all she knew was that she had to try to make things right.

The next morning, the campus was already alive with the usual bustle, though for Lingling, the past night's heavy regret still weighed on her. As she made her way along a quiet campus hallway, Lingling spotted Orm in the distance. Orm was engaged in conversation with Becky and May, her posture relaxed, her smile polite but distant—a stark contrast to the warmth Lingling longed for.

Lingling took a deep, steadying breath and began walking toward them, her heart pounding with both hope and apprehension. With every step, she rehearsed what she might say, how she could bridge the growing distance that had settled between her and Orm.

Orm, however, seemed to sense her approach. The moment Orm's eyes caught sight of Lingling, they narrowed slightly and she tensed. The conversation between Becky and May fell silent, as if the hallway itself paused to watch the unfolding drama.

Lingling stopped a few feet away, hesitating for a long, heavy moment. "Orm..." she said softly, almost pleading. She waited, her eyes searching Orm's face for even a flicker of acknowledgment. But Orm merely looked at her with a cool detachment that sent a sharp pain through Lingling's chest.

Finally, in a tone that was almost a whisper, Orm said, "...I have class."

Without giving Lingling a chance to respond, she turned and walked away, her steps brisk and determined.

Lingling stood rooted in place, feeling as though the ground had shifted beneath her. Becky, who had been nearby, winced audibly. "Ouch," she murmured under her breath, while May let out a resigned sigh. "Yeah... you're in trouble, Ling," May added, her eyes reflecting the same disappointment Lingling felt.

Lingling's heart sank. She had known this might happen—the silence, the cold dismissal—but it still hurt more than she'd imagined. Standing in that campus hallway, she felt the full weight of her mistakes. She had let her jealousy and harsh words drive a wedge between them.

Now, Orm was actively ignoring her and every step Orm took away was a blow to Lingling's carefully maintained composure.

Lingling's mind raced with desperate thoughts. How do I fix this? How can I show her that I never meant to hurt her? Her usual calm, measured responses were failing her now, replaced by an urgency she hadn't experienced before.

Lingling knew one thing for sure: if Orm wasn't going to look back or speak a word, then she'd have to force a reaction somehow. Even if it meant exposing her own vulnerability in front of everyone. But as she stood there, watching Orm's retreating figure, the silence was deafening.

Lingling took another deep breath, the cool morning air filling her lungs. "I have to try," she thought, steeling herself. She wouldn't let this be the end—not when the possibility of repair still lingered in the air like the promise of a fresh start.

With determined steps, Lingling began walking after Orm, knowing that her next move might very well determine whether she could salvage their relationship—or lose it forever.

Later that day, outside Orm's lecture hall, Lingling stood leaning against a sun-warmed wall. The late afternoon light cast long shadows across the campus, and despite the hustle of students heading into class, Lingling's heart pounded with quiet urgency. She waited, phone clutched in one hand, eyes fixed on the path that Orm always took after class.

At last, Orm emerged from the lecture hall. Dressed in her usual campus attire, she walked with a determined stride. Yet the moment she saw Lingling waiting there, Orm's steps faltered and a deep sigh escaped her lips. "Seriously?" Orm muttered under her breath, clearly annoyed and confused by Lingling's silent vigil.

Lingling nodded, her tone low and measured. "Seriously," she replied, the single word laden with meaning.

Orm resumed walking, attempting to dismiss Lingling by keeping her focus fixed straight ahead. But Lingling was not so easily ignored. With deliberate steps, she fell into step beside Orm, matching her pace until the distance between them was nearly zero.

"Can we talk?" Lingling finally asked in a soft, tentative tone as they walked down a quieter corridor.

Orm's response was cool and dismissive. "We are talking," she said, eyes still fixed forward. For a few moments, the hallway was filled with silence, punctuated only by the sound of their footsteps. Then Orm walked a few more steps before hesitating. She glanced over her shoulder and found Lingling standing there, her usually composed features now softened and tinged with vulnerability.

Lingling's voice dropped to a quiet plea: "...Please."

Something about the earnest tone in Lingling's voice made Orm's resolve waver. She exhaled slowly and, after a long pause, finally nodded toward a nearby bench in a secluded corner. "Fine. Five minutes," Orm agreed, her tone tired but conciliatory.

They sat together on the quiet bench, away from the clamor of the campus crowd. For several long minutes, neither spoke. The only sound was the distant murmur of students and the soft rustling of leaves. Lingling fidgeted with her hands—a rare sight that spoke volumes about her inner turmoil.

After what felt like an eternity, Lingling took a deep, steadying breath. "I shouldn't have said what I said," she finally admitted, her voice low and trembling with regret.

Orm remained silent, her gaze fixed on the tip of her coffee cup as she struggled to process Lingling's words.

Lingling's eyes shimmered with a mixture of guilt and fear as she continued, "I knew I was wrong the moment you walked away." Her voice softened further, barely above a whisper. "I wasn't doubting you, Orm. I was doubting myself."

At those words, Orm's posture softened just a little. Lingling, still looking down at her intertwined fingers, murmured, "I know I can be... difficult. And I've never—never felt this way before." She paused, then added almost in a whisper, "It scared me."

Silence settled between them again, heavy and charged. Lingling finally lifted her eyes and met Orm's gaze directly. Her expression was firm, yet tender. "But what scared me more," she said, voice resolute now, "was the thought of losing you."

Orm's heart clenched, and for the first time since their fight erupted, she saw the truth in Lingling's eyes. Lingling wasn't just jealous—she was truly afraid.

Orm's voice softened, barely audible, "...You were an ass." It was a reluctant admission, the frustration laced with affection.

Lingling let out a small, rueful laugh. "I was," she agreed, her tone apologetic.

Orm sighed, the tension easing just a fraction. "...But I was an ass too," she confessed, a bitter smile tugging at her lips.

Lingling looked momentarily surprised by the admission, then Orm quickly averted her eyes, rubbing her arm as if to shake off the discomfort. "I liked seeing you jealous, you were kinda hot" Orm muttered sheepishly, the words laced with an embarrassed confession.

Lingling raised an eyebrow, a teasing glimmer returning. "Say that again?" she challenged softly.

Orm glared, a blush deepening on her cheeks. "Don't push it," she grumbled, the playful edge in her tone mingling with genuine hurt.

After a long, quiet pause, the atmosphere around the bench began to ease. Lingling reached out slowly, her fingers searching for Orm's until they intertwined again—this time, with a sincerity that was hard to ignore.

"Let me make it up to you," Lingling said softly, her voice carrying an earnest note of apology and determination.

Orm studied Lingling for what felt like an eternity. The hurt in her eyes was slowly giving way to uncertainty—perhaps a small hope that things could be set right. Finally, Orm spoke, her voice low. "...What do you have in mind?"

A small, dangerous smirk played on Lingling's lips. "Wouldn't you like to know?" she teased, her tone light yet undercut by something deeper—an invitation wrapped in mystery.

Orm groaned and shook her head. "I take it back. I should've stayed mad," she muttered under her breath, a trace of wistfulness in her tone.

Lingling didn't let go of their intertwined fingers. Instead, she pulled them closer, her gaze soft and pleading. "Too late, baby," she whispered, a quiet command that held a promise and a threat in the same breath.

Orm rolled her eyes in reluctant amusement but didn't pull away. Their eyes locked, and in that charged silence, they shared a deep, intimate kiss—a kiss that said everything: apology, regret, love, and a promise to try again. In that moment, both knew that though the fight was far from over, there was a glimmer of hope in rebuilding what had been shaken.