Chapter 5 - Rain

Orm was in the middle of one of her trademark café rants with Becky and May when her phone buzzed unexpectedly. The topic had shifted from campus gossip to one of her most enduring frustrations—Lingling's absolute indifference. Today, however, fate decided to deliver a plot twist in the form of an email.

"Orm, check your email," May said with a mischievous glint as she slid her phone across the table.

Orm frowned and hesitated a moment before tapping her inbox. "I do check my email... sometimes," she mumbled defensively.

Becky, always the blunt truth-teller, added, "Maybe you should check it more often. Who knows what life-changing news you might be missing?"

Scrolling through her messages, Orm's eyes suddenly widened when she saw an official university announcement:

Interfaculty Debate Challenge: Law vs. Business

Student Pairings Have Been Assigned

Her heart pounded as she scanned the list—and then, there it was: her name paired with Lingling's. The email listed the pairing simply as:

Orm Sethratanapong  –  Lingling Kwong

Orm nearly dropped her iced latte. "No... it can't be!" she exclaimed, her voice trembling between disbelief and excitement.

Becky practically shrieked, "That's insane! You two are debate partners?"

May smirked knowingly. "Fate has spoken, Orm. This is your moment."

Orm stared at the screen, determination sparking in her eyes. Slowly, she set her drink down and slammed her hand on the table.

"New mission: Make Lingling acknowledge me," she declared with dramatic conviction.

Becky shook her head in playful exasperation, while May simply smiled—as if this were the beginning of something both inevitable and irresistibly entertaining.

Later that afternoon, Orm strode into the debate study room with every ounce of confidence she could muster. The room was softly lit by desk lamps and quiet murmurings, while diligent students were scattered about, buried in their preparations. In one neat corner—where the comforting aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the rustle of papers—sat Lingling. She was the epitome of composure: perfectly arranged notes, a steaming cup of coffee at hand, and a laptop glowing with organized research.

Orm took a deep breath and approached, trying her best to ignore the butterflies dancing in her stomach. As she stepped closer, Lingling looked up from her laptop.

"Orm," Lingling said in a clear, measured tone.

That single word made Orm's heart leap. It wasn't a curt dismissal or a blank stare—it was a genuine greeting that, to Orm, felt like a tiny, triumphant victory.

"Wow," Orm managed, easing into the seat opposite Lingling. "So you do know my name."

Lingling resumed her work for a brief moment before replying, "You're my debate partner. It would be inefficient not to acknowledge that."

Orm grinned broadly, savoring the small win. "Alright, partner. Let's strategize. How are we going to obliterate our competition?" she declared, leaning forward as if about to unveil a master plan.

"We should divide the research," Lingling said succinctly. "I'll handle case law and related legal precedents. You focus on economic theory and analysis."

Orm raised an eyebrow. "You don't trust me with the legal arguments, do you?"

"Correct," Lingling replied evenly.

Orm gasped dramatically, placing a hand over her heart. "That was so fast—no hesitation at all."

"It wasn't necessary," Lingling said matter-of-factly.

From behind a bookshelf, Becky and May—who had stealthily entered the study room under the guise of "just passing by"—exchanged victorious glances and subtle high-fives. Every small victory in this room felt like a step closer to breaking through Lingling's guarded exterior.

In the days that followed, Orm observed a curious change. Every interaction with Lingling, though still brief, now came in full, concise sentences rather than curt monosyllables. It wasn't warmth pouring out, but it was progress—and Orm treasured every measured word.

One afternoon in the study room, Orm decided to test the waters.

"Do you think I'd make a good lawyer?" she asked, her tone both hopeful and teasing.

Without missing a beat, Lingling replied, "You would be good at persuasion, but you would disregard legal procedure."

Orm blinked. "So... yes?"

Lingling's response was as measured as always: "No."

Another time, Orm tried a different approach. "What do you do for fun?"

Lingling looked up from her book, her expression unchanged. "I read."

Orm pressed gently, "Anything else?"

"...More reading," Lingling replied after a brief pause, adding, "I find it most efficient."

Orm smirked. "You're an enigma, Ling."

Lingling's eyes narrowed slightly. "I'm a law student."

Each measured reply, each succinct sentence, felt like a tiny crack in the ice around Lingling's guarded demeanor. For Orm, every word was a treasure—a sign that perhaps Lingling was slowly, imperceptibly, letting her in.

The night before the debate, after a marathon session of final preparations that stretched well past midnight, Orm and Lingling finally stepped out of the study hall into the cool, quiet evening. The campus lay nearly deserted, save for a few late-night stragglers hustling between buildings.

Orm stretched and said, "Alright, partner, I'll admit it—you're actually really good at this law stuff."

Lingling glanced up briefly from her phone as she adjusted the strap of her bag. "You're not bad either," she replied—this time, her tone held a hint of warmth that made Orm's heart flutter unexpectedly.

Orm paused, processing the rare compliment. "...Wait. Was that a compliment?"

"Yes," Lingling answered simply.

Orm grabbed the nearest wall for support. "Oh my god. I need to sit down."

Before Lingling could react, a loud rumble of thunder shook the sky.

Seconds later, the heavens split open.

It wasn't just rain—it was a full-blown, torrential downpour.

Orm groaned. "Are you kidding me?! This is some horror movie level sudden rain!"

The streets were instantly drenched. The nearby streetlights reflected off the slick pavement, turning the campus into a blurry watercolor painting of golden lights and raindrop ripples.

While Orm flailed dramatically, Lingling, ever the picture of unbothered efficiency, calmly reached into her bag.

She pulled out a sleek, black compact umbrella and, with a mechanical smoothness, flipped it open.

Orm sighed in relief. "Oh, thank God—"

And then Lingling handed the umbrella to Orm.

Orm blinked.

"...What?"

"Here," Lingling repeated, pushing the umbrella into Orm's hands.

Orm instinctively grabbed it but made no move to open it, too stunned to process what just happened. "Wait, what are you—?"

Then, without a single word of explanation, Lingling turned on her heel and sprinted away into the rain.

Orm could only watch as Lingling—still impeccably composed despite being completely exposed to the rain—dashed off, her ponytail bouncing slightly as she disappeared into the distance.

Orm stared.

"...Did she just—?"

She looked down at the umbrella in her hand. Still unopened.

Then she slowly turned toward the parking lot.

Her car was parked RIGHT. IN. FRONT.

A sharp exhale left Orm's lips. She dragged her hand down her face.

"...THAT WAS COMPLETELY UNNECESSARY."

A laugh bubbled up inside her.

Was it stupid? Yes.

Was it the most unexpectedly adorable thing Lingling had ever done? Also yes.

Shaking her head, she finally opened the umbrella, stepped under it, and briskly walked three steps to her car.

With a click, she unlocked it, slid into the driver's seat and let out an exasperated yet thoroughly smitten sigh.

Lingling had just performed one of the most unnecessary dramatic gestures in history and Orm was absolutely going to use it as an excuse to talk to her again.

The next morning, Orm arrived at the campus café completely smitten.

It was almost embarrassing.

The memory of Lingling's ridiculous umbrella hand-off had played in her head all night.

Orm had replayed it at least 50 times, each time getting increasingly more flustered about the entire thing.

And unfortunately, the universe had other plans for her peace.

As soon as she walked into the café, a loud screech came from Becky's table.

Becky, eyes wide with excitement, practically threw her phone onto the table.

"ORM. EXPLAIN."

Orm, still groggy from her lack of sleep (because of a certain someone running away in the rain), blinked at the phone screen.

Her soul left her body.

It was a photo.

A very well-timed photo.

In it, Orm stood alone under the umbrella, mid-turn, watching as Lingling sprinted into the night.

The lighting from the streetlamps made the scene look unrealistically beautiful—like a poster for a drama movie.

The caption underneath the photo?

K-Drama moment or real life? You decide.

The post already had hundreds of likes and comments.

Orm grabbed Becky's phone and stared in horror. "WHO—WHAT—HOW?!"

May, sipping her drink as if this were her favorite TV show, smirked. "Some junior must've taken it. Apparently, the whole campus has declared it the 'Umbrella Scene of the Year.'"

Orm died a little inside.

"I hate everything," she muttered, sinking into her chair.

Becky, on the other hand, was having the time of her life. "ORM. EXPLAIN. DID SHE REALLY JUST HAND YOU THE UMBRELLA AND RUN?!"

Orm, dragging her hands down her face, groaned. "Yes. And my car was parked RIGHT IN FRONT."

Silence.

Then—

May choked on her coffee.

Becky HOWLED.

"SHE DRAMATICALLY RAN OFF FOR NO REASON?!" Becky wheezed, clutching her stomach. "OH MY GOD, THAT'S EVEN BETTER!"

Orm, covering her face, mumbled, "I know."

May, barely containing her laughter, wiped a tear from her eye. "This is the greatest thing that's ever happened. She didn't even stop to check?"

"NO," Orm groaned. "SHE JUST. LEFT."

Becky fell backward in her chair. "Oh my god. She thinks you walked home in the rain."

Orm froze.

That thought hadn't even occurred to her.

Did Lingling really think she was stranded?

Did she... feel bad about it?

Did Lingling unknowingly set up the perfect excuse for Orm to go talk to her again?

Yes. Yes, she did.

A slow, mischievous smile spread across Orm's lips.

Becky and May, watching the shift in her expression, groaned in unison.

"No," May said immediately.

"Don't do it," Becky warned.

Orm's grin only widened.

"Oh, I'm absolutely going to use this," she said, a new plan already forming.

Becky banged her forehead against the table. "You're insufferable."

May sighed. "Lingling has no idea what she's just started."

Orm took a long, dramatic sip of her iced latte.

"Oh," she said, eyes twinkling with mischief, "she's about to find out."

Later that day, in a quiet corner of the campus library, Lingling settled into her usual routine.

The soft rustle of turning pages and the quiet murmur of students filled the air as she typed on her laptop.

She was calm. Collected. Focused.

And then, Namtan plopped down across from her, smirking.

Lingling barely looked up.

"You handed Orm your umbrella and ran?" Namtan asked, tone dripping with amusement.

Lingling didn't even pause in her typing. "It was practical."

Namtan raised an eyebrow. "Her car was parked right in front."

Lingling's fingers stilled.

A beat of silence.

Then, without acknowledging the statement, she resumed typing.

Namtan grinned.

"Oh, babe," she said, leaning forward, "you are so in trouble."

Lingling, expression unreadable, kept typing.

But if one looked closely—just closely enough—

A small, amused smile tugged at the corner of her lips.