The late morning sun painted the small house in golden hues as Lingling stood in the kitchen, sipping her second cup of tea. The house was quieter than it had been since her arrival, though she had a feeling it was because Orm was watching her from somewhere nearby. Lingling had started to grow used to the ghost's presence, even if she wouldn't admit it out loud.

As she set her cup down and prepared to tackle another day of renovations, a cheerful knock sounded at the door. Lingling frowned. Visitors weren't something she was accustomed to here. She walked to the door, pulling it open to reveal Film Rachanun, her overly enthusiastic neighbor, holding a basket of fruit.

"Good morning!" Film chirped, her smile as bright as the sunlight behind her. "I thought I'd stop by and welcome you properly!"

Lingling blinked, momentarily caught off guard. "Oh. Uh, thank you."

Film stepped inside without waiting for an invitation, her curious eyes darting around the room. "Wow, you've already cleaned up so much! This place used to look like it was about to fall apart."

Lingling closed the door, unsure whether to feel flattered or insulted. "It's still a work in progress."

"Well, it's looking good," Film said, setting the basket on the table. She plopped into one of the chairs, as though she'd been invited to stay. "So, how are you settling in? No strange noises or spooky happenings, I hope?"

Lingling stiffened slightly, her mind flashing to the fogged-up mirror and Orm's mischievous grin. "No," she said quickly. "Nothing like that."

"Really?" Film leaned forward, her eyes gleaming with curiosity. "Because, you know, people say this place is haunted."

Lingling forced a laugh, trying to brush it off. "I've heard the rumors. I'm sure it's just gossip."

Film's expression turned serious, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Oh, it's more than gossip. They say a girl died here. A long time ago. Her name was Orm."

Lingling's stomach tightened, but she kept her face neutral. "Orm?"

Film nodded, her excitement growing. "Yes! She was a musician, or so the story goes. She fell in love with someone, but it ended badly. Some people say she died of a broken heart; others think it was something more tragic."

Lingling glanced toward the corner of the room, half expecting Orm to materialize and add her own commentary. But the space was empty.

"I wouldn't worry too much, though," Film said, misreading Lingling's silence. "She's supposed to be a kind ghost. Lonely, maybe, but harmless."

Lingling cleared her throat, forcing a smile. "Thanks for the warning."

Film grinned, standing and brushing off her hands. "Anytime! And if you ever need help with... anything, I'm just down the road."

"Thanks," Lingling repeated, walking her to the door. As soon as Film was gone, Lingling let out a sigh of relief. "That was exhausting."

---

That evening, as Lingling sat in the living room with a book, Orm appeared without warning, her faint glow catching Lingling's attention.

"So, what did the neighbor say about me?" Orm asked, her tone teasing.

Lingling looked up, surprised. "You were listening?"

"Maybe," Orm said, floating closer and settling onto the arm of the couch. "She got some of it right, you know."

Lingling hesitated, setting her book aside. "Do you want to tell me the real story?"

Orm tilted her head, her playful demeanor softening. "It's not much of a story. Just a girl who made some bad choices."

Lingling raised an eyebrow. "That's not exactly specific."

Orm sighed, her gaze drifting toward the window. "I loved someone once. Her name was Ying. She was everything to me—bright, kind, full of life. We used to spend hours up in the attic, listening to music and dreaming about a future we thought we'd have."

Lingling stayed quiet, sensing there was more.

"But," Orm continued, her voice quieter now, "not everyone saw it that way. Loving her wasn't... safe. Not back then. I thought we'd run away, start over somewhere new. But she never showed up. I waited all night, and when the morning came... it was too late."

Lingling's heart ached at the raw pain in Orm's voice. She wanted to ask what happened, how Orm had died, but something in the ghost's expression stopped her.

"I'm sorry," Lingling said softly, the words feeling inadequate.

Orm shrugged, though her smile didn't reach her eyes. "It's in the past."

Lingling wasn't sure she believed her.

---

Over the next few days, Lingling found herself thinking about Orm's story more often than she wanted to admit. There was a sadness to the ghost that Lingling hadn't noticed before—a loneliness that lingered even in her teasing remarks and playful pranks.

Without really thinking about it, Lingling began leaving small offerings for Orm. A candle on the windowsill, a flower on the mantle, even a small plate of fruit left on the table. She wasn't sure why she did it. Maybe it was her way of showing she cared—or maybe she just didn't want Orm to feel so alone.

"Is this for me?" Orm asked one evening, gesturing to the candle burning softly on the windowsill.

Lingling shrugged, avoiding her gaze. "It's nothing."

Orm floated closer, her smile turning sly. "You're spoiling me, Lingling. I could get used to this."

"Don't," Lingling said quickly, though her cheeks warmed. "It's not a habit."

"Sure it's not," Orm teased, but her expression softened as she glanced at the candle. "Thank you."

Lingling looked at her, surprised by the sincerity in her voice. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the silence between them filled with an unspoken understanding.

As Orm drifted toward the window, her form glowing faintly in the dim light, Lingling realized something: she wasn't afraid of Orm. Not anymore. If anything, she was starting to feel something else—something she couldn't quite name.

---

To be continued...