Orientation Week
Chapter 5 – Orientation Week
The first lie of university was that everyone knew what they were doing.
They didn’t.
They just looked like they did.
Campus swallowed people by the hundreds that morning–fresh faces, backpacks too new, parents hovering with last-minute advice, suitcases rolling over uneven pavement like a chorus of small goodbyes.
Wei Ling stood at the edge of it and tried to breathe.
His palms were damp inside his sleeves.
He had chosen an outfit that felt like a compromise between courage and camouflage: a light cardigan over a plain top, a long skirt that brushed his ankles, sneakers instead of heels because he wasn’t ready for that kind of attention, and a mask that hid the bottom half of his face.
The wig sat snug against his scalp, dark hair falling past his shoulders–just long enough to frame his face and soften the angles.
He had done his makeup at dawn: light foundation, carefully shaped brows, soft eyeshadow, mascara. Nothing loud. Nothing that screamed trying.
A subtle tint on his lips.
When he looked at himself before leaving the rented room, he didn’t see a girl.
Not fully.
He saw a careful illusion.
A version of himself held together by practice and nerves.
He told himself–again–the words that were now half mantra, half warning:
Wei Ling. You are Wei Ling.
The name sat inside his chest like something delicate.
It didn’t feel fully his yet.
But it didn’t feel entirely borrowed either.
Outside, the city air was already warm.
He walked to the LRT station with his head down and his shoulders relaxed the way he’d practiced. The world moved around him–office workers, students, aunties with tote bags full of groceries–flowing with lazy efficiency.
At the ticket gate, he hesitated.
A stupid hesitation. A tiny pause that made him feel like he was about to be exposed.
He scanned his card.
The gate opened.
Nothing happened.
The train arrived with a metallic sigh.
Wei Ling stepped in, found a corner to stand, and held the pole as the carriage rocked gently.
A woman beside him watched a drama on her phone with the volume too loud.
Two teenagers in uniform laughed, shoulders pressed close.
An uncle dozed near the door.
Nobody looked at him.
Or maybe they did–briefly, the way people glance at anything unfamiliar.
But nobody stared.
That was still the strangest part.
His fear always expected an audience.
Reality rarely provided one.
At one stop, a group of freshmen entered–bright lanyards, backpacks, the same nervous energy he carried. They crowded in, speaking in a mix of Malay and Mandarin and English.
Wei Ling felt his body tense.
Then one of them bumped his elbow lightly.
“Oh sorry, kak,” the girl said without thinking.
Kak.
The word slid under Wei Ling’s skin like electricity.
He nodded quickly, unable to speak.
The girl smiled politely and turned away.
Wei Ling held the pole harder.
His throat felt tight.
The train’s movement felt too intimate.
He stared out the window at the blur of buildings and thought: This is real. This is happening. I’m doing it.
His heart beat like a drum all the way to campus.
University registration was chaos wrapped in organization.
Tables were set up under tents. Signs pointed in too many directions. Volunteers in bright shirts shouted instructions like they were trying to herd cats.
Wei Ling stood in line with his documents in a clear file.
Every time someone called out a name, he flinched.
Every time he heard a male voice behind him, heat rose up his neck.
He was terrified of being recognized.
Not by Mei Xuan.
By strangers.
Strangers were unpredictable.
Strangers didn’t have history.
Strangers could be cruel for entertainment.
But the volunteers were too busy to be cruel.
They took his documents, checked his details, stamped his forms, shoved a goodie bag into his hands.
“Okay, Wei Ling, hostel key collect at Block C,” the volunteer said, eyes already moving to the next person.
Hearing the name spoken aloud by someone else made Wei Ling’s stomach flip.
It was one thing to whisper it in his room.
It was another to have it printed on paper, confirmed by someone official.
He walked toward Block C with the key card in his pocket and a lanyard around his neck.
The lanyard felt like a collar.
Not in a humiliating way.
In a grounding way.
It declared he belonged here.
Block C smelled like detergent and fresh paint.
The corridor was lined with doors, each one a small universe.
At the hostel counter, a staff member flipped through a folder and found his name.
“Wei Ling… okay.” The woman slid a form forward. “Single room.”
Wei Ling’s breath caught.
Single room.
He had paid extra for it–called it a “quiet space” on the application, a “need to focus,” a convenient lie that sounded reasonable to adults.
But the real reason sat heavy in his throat.
A shared room meant too many risks.
Too many eyes.
Too many chances for the illusion to crack.
He signed the form with hands that shook only a little.
The staff member slid him a key card. “Level three. Please read the rules. Curfew same, okay?”
Wei Ling nodded, mask hiding his mouth.
He took the key card like it was a lifeline.
When he reached his room, he swiped in, stepped inside, and locked the door behind him.
Only then did he exhale.
The room was small.
A single bed. A desk. A wardrobe. A window facing another building close enough that he could see someone’s laundry swaying.
It wasn’t luxurious.
But it was private.
Wei Ling stood in the middle of it and felt his shoulders drop.
This–this was the first safety he had allowed himself.
He set his bag down, sat on the edge of the bed, and pressed his palms to his thighs.
His heartbeat slowed, just enough.
He wasn’t alone in university.
But here, behind a locked door, he could breathe.
He made friends anyway.
Not as a roommate.
As a neighbour.
The first time he met Aina was outside the pantry.
He had been wandering the corridor, looking for the water dispenser, clutching his bottle like a prop, when he nearly collided with a girl carrying a stack of instant noodles.
“Eh sorry!” the girl said quickly.
Wei Ling stepped back. “Sorry,” he echoed, voice soft.
The girl adjusted her hijab, then smiled. “You new also ah?”
Wei Ling nodded.
“I’m Aina,” she said brightly, shifting the noodles in her arms. “From Johor. You?”
“Wei Ling,” he said.
Aina’s eyes flicked to his lanyard. “Wei Ling–cute name! You stay which room?”
Wei Ling hesitated, then pointed down the corridor. “There.”
Aina laughed. “Oh! Same floor. I’m two doors from the pantry. If you blur, just ask me.”
The casual kindness made Wei Ling’s chest loosen.
He wasn’t used to strangers being gentle.
He wasn’t used to being offered help without suspicion.
“Thanks,” he managed.
Aina grinned. “Later dinner you want join? I don’t want eat alone first day.”
Wei Ling’s stomach flipped.
His instinct was to say no.
No meant safety.
No meant fewer chances to mess up.
But refusing too much would make him look odd.
And he needed to look normal.
So he nodded.
“Okay,” he said.
Aina clapped once, satisfied. “Good. I text you in group later. We make hostel girls group chat.”
Wei Ling forced a smile behind his mask.
Hostel girls.
The phrase hit him like a reminder.
A reminder of what he was doing.
And what he wasn’t.
Orientation Week was designed to exhaust you.
Icebreakers.
Campus tours.
Talks about academic integrity.
Talks about safety.
Talks about “finding your passion.”
By the second day, Wei Ling’s social battery felt like it was dying.
He had smiled too much.
He had kept his posture careful, his gestures gentle, his voice controlled.
He had laughed at jokes that weren’t funny.
He had nodded until his neck ached.
At night, back in his private room, he would remove the wig, wipe off his makeup, and stare at Chen Wei’s face returning in the mirror.
Each time, something dropped inside his chest.
Not relief.
Not exactly.
More like… missing something.
Then he would scold himself.
Stop being dramatic. This is a costume. A plan.
But the scolding didn’t erase the feeling.
The feeling only waited.
Like a quiet animal.
On the third day, the faculty organized an icebreaker session in a large hall.
The hall was packed.
Students sat in clusters, strangers becoming temporary allies.
Wei Ling sat with Aina and two other girls they’d met–Shu Wen, who spoke fast and laughed louder, and Kavitha, who had a calm presence and eyes that seemed to read people.
They played stupid games.
They were made to stand up and shout their names.
Wei Ling stood when it was his turn.
“My name is Wei Ling,” he said, voice steady enough.
A cheer rose from the group.
Shu Wen clapped enthusiastically. “Wei Ling! Cute name!”
Wei Ling smiled, cheeks warming.
It shouldn’t matter.
But it did.
The facilitator moved on.
More games.
More laughter.
Wei Ling tried to sink into the noise, to let himself be normal.
Then the hall doors opened.
A new wave of students entered–latecomers, guided by volunteers.
Wei Ling’s attention snapped up.
And there–walking in with a small group, looking mildly annoyed as if being late offended her principles–was Mei Xuan.
Wei Ling’s breath stopped.
For a second, the hall blurred.
All he could see was Mei Xuan.
Her hair was down today, framing her face.
Expression neutral.
But her eyes–quiet sharpness–scanned the hall like she was mapping a battlefield.
Heat flooded Wei Ling’s body.
Aina nudged him lightly. “Eh, you okay? You look like see ghost.”
Wei Ling forced himself to blink.
“I… no la,” he whispered.
Mei Xuan moved through the crowd, guided toward an empty cluster of chairs not far from them.
She sat.
She laughed once at something a friend said.
The sound hit Wei Ling’s chest like an old memory.
That laugh.
Same reluctant brightness.
Same edge of mockery.
Wei Ling’s fingers curled around his lanyard.
This was the moment.
Not confession.
Not yet.
But contact.
He had planned it in his head.
Approach as a stranger.
Introduce himself.
Act like they had never met.
Let Mei Xuan see him as Wei Ling first.
Then, slowly, become important.
Then, one day, reveal the truth.
Or maybe never.
Maybe he would just…
Wei Ling swallowed.
The plan suddenly looked messier.
Because Mei Xuan was not a character in a script.
She was a person.
A person with eyes.
A person with a history.
And Wei Ling wasn’t sure he could lie to those eyes.
The facilitator announced a mingling segment.
Students were encouraged–forced–to walk around and talk to people from other clusters.
Aina groaned. “Aduh, I hate this part.”
Shu Wen laughed. “Come la. Later no friends how?”
Kavitha shrugged. “We just pretend.”
Wei Ling’s stomach twisted.
His heart beat too fast.
But his feet moved.
Not because he was brave.
Because he was trapped.
The crowd began to shift.
People stood up, chairs scraped, laughter rose.
Wei Ling walked with Aina’s group toward another cluster.
They exchanged names.
They made small talk.
They laughed too loudly.
Wei Ling answered questions with careful politeness, his mind half elsewhere.
Mei Xuan’s cluster was only a few steps away.
He could feel her presence like heat.
At some point, Shu Wen tugged his wrist lightly.
“Eh, that group there got cute girls,” Shu Wen whispered, playful.
Wei Ling followed her gaze.
Mei Xuan’s cluster.
Wei Ling’s throat tightened.
Shu Wen giggled. “Go talk la.”
Wei Ling’s body moved before his mind could stop it.
He walked.
Each step felt like a drumbeat.
He stopped in front of Mei Xuan’s group.
Mei Xuan looked up.
Their eyes met.
The world narrowed.
Wei Ling felt his lungs forget how to work.
Mei Xuan’s gaze was steady.
Not startled.
Not confused.
Just… direct.
Wei Ling forced his mouth to shape a smile.
“Hi,” he said.
His voice came out soft.
Mei Xuan didn’t smile immediately.
She looked at him like she was measuring him.
Wei Ling’s skin prickled.
Then Mei Xuan’s lips curved slightly.
Not a full smile.
Just a small lift.
“Hi,” Mei Xuan replied.
The word was simple.
But the way it was said–calm, almost amused–made Wei Ling’s stomach flip.
Wei Ling swallowed.
“My name is Wei Ling,” he said.
Mei Xuan’s eyes flicked briefly to the lanyard where the name was printed clearly.
Then back up.
“Mei Xuan,” she said.
Hearing her introduce herself like they were strangers felt unreal.
Like stepping into a parallel universe where their kampung years never happened.
Wei Ling nodded, pretending the name meant nothing.
“It’s… nice to meet you,” he said.
Mei Xuan hummed softly. “Nice to meet you too.”
Wei Ling felt a strange wave of relief.
Mei Xuan was playing along.
Or maybe Mei Xuan really didn’t recognize him.
The thought made Wei Ling’s chest both lighter and heavier.
Lighter because safety.
Heavier because something complicated he refused to name.
Aina stepped forward and smiled brightly. “Hi Mei Xuan, I’m Aina.”
Mei Xuan nodded politely.
Shu Wen jumped in with her usual energy–asking what course they were in, where they were from, complaining about the hall’s aircon.
Mei Xuan answered easily.
Her voice had always been like that–capable of conversation, but with a guarded sharpness.
When someone made a dumb joke, she laughed.
When someone asked about home, she hesitated briefly, then said, “From Perak area.”
Perak.
Wei Ling’s heart jolted.
Their kampung.
She didn’t say the name.
She didn’t offer details.
But the word alone made Wei Ling feel like the past had reached out and touched his wrist.
He nodded as if it meant nothing.
“I’m… also from Perak,” he said quietly.
Mei Xuan’s gaze sharpened.
“Oh?” she said.
Wei Ling held his breath.
Mei Xuan tilted her head slightly, studying his face.
Wei Ling felt his skin go cold.
Then Mei Xuan asked, casually, “Which part?”
Wei Ling’s mind raced.
If he said the kampung name, it would be too risky.
If he lied completely, it would feel wrong.
He chose the safe middle.
“Near Taiping,” he said.
Not exactly a lie.
Close enough.
Mei Xuan nodded slowly.
“Taiping,” she repeated.
The way she said it sounded like she was tasting the word.
Wei Ling’s heart hammered.
Then Mei Xuan looked away and continued talking to Shu Wen.
The pressure eased.
Wei Ling exhaled silently.
Maybe Mei Xuan didn’t recognize him.
Maybe Wei Ling was safe.
The conversation moved.
Orientation events.
Food on campus.
Hostel rules.
Mei Xuan’s friend–Jia Min–complained about shower water pressure.
Everyone laughed.
Wei Ling laughed too, at the right moments.
But his attention kept snapping back to Mei Xuan.
To the way her eyes occasionally returned to him.
To the way her gaze lingered for half a second too long.
Wei Ling couldn’t tell if it was suspicion.
Or curiosity.
Or… attraction.
The idea of Mei Xuan being attracted to Wei Ling made Wei Ling’s stomach twist in a way that scared him.
Because if Mei Xuan looked at him like that–if Mei Xuan saw something in Wei Ling that she wanted–
then the plan might work.
But if the plan worked…
What did that make Wei Ling?
A deception.
A trap.
A person.
Wei Ling’s chest felt tight.
The facilitator announced the end of mingling.
People returned to their seats.
Wei Ling took a step back.
“Okay, see you around,” Shu Wen said cheerfully.
Mei Xuan nodded. “See you.”
Wei Ling forced himself to smile.
He turned away.
Then, as he walked back toward Aina’s cluster, he felt it.
A gaze.
He glanced back.
Mei Xuan was looking at him.
Not openly.
Not dramatically.
Just watching.
Wei Ling’s heart slammed.
Their eyes met again.
Mei Xuan’s expression was unreadable.
Then Mei Xuan looked away.
Wei Ling’s legs felt weak.
He sat down beside Aina and tried to focus on the rest of the icebreaker.
He couldn’t.
His mind kept replaying Mei Xuan’s voice.
Nice to meet you.
As if it were the first time.
As if their entire childhood didn’t exist.
Wei Ling didn’t know whether to feel grief or relief.
He felt both.
That night, back in his single room, Wei Ling locked the door, peeled off the wig, and finally let his shoulders drop.
He leaned over the sink and washed his face.
Water ran over his cheeks.
Mascara residue smudged on the towel.
He stared at his reflection.
Chen Wei stared back.
Tired.
Eyes too bright.
His phone buzzed.
Aina: Dinner? Cafeteria now. We wait you.
Wei Ling stared at the message.
He glanced at the wig on the bed.
The thought of putting it back on felt exhausting.
But the thought of being alone felt worse.
So he put it on again.
Reapplied a little powder.
Checked his eyeliner.
Smoothed his skirt.
He opened the door only when he was fully “Wei Ling” again.
In the corridor, Aina waved like they’d known each other for years.
“Wah, you take so long,” she teased.
Wei Ling laughed softly. “Sorry. I slow.”
Aina linked arms with Shu Wen like they were already best friends.
Kavitha walked beside them, calm as always.
They went to dinner together, the cafeteria loud and bright and full of people who didn’t care who Wei Ling was underneath.
Wei Ling laughed when he was supposed to.
Answered questions.
Pretended he wasn’t holding a secret the size of his whole life.
Later, back in his room, his phone buzzed again.
A campus group chat notification.
Someone posted photos from the hall.
In one photo, Wei Ling saw himself–standing in the crowd, half turned, cardigan hanging loose, looking like a girl who belonged.
And in the same photo, Mei Xuan was visible too, a few rows away.
Mei Xuan’s head was turned.
Her eyes were on Wei Ling.
Wei Ling stared.
His throat tightened.
He zoomed in.
Mei Xuan’s expression wasn’t mocking.
Wasn’t disgusted.
It looked… thoughtful.
Like she was holding something inside her mouth, a secret she wasn’t ready to swallow.
Wei Ling’s fingers trembled.
He turned the phone off.
He pressed it to his chest like it could steady his heartbeat.
In the dark, he whispered:
“Tomorrow… I’ll talk to her again.”
The sentence should have sounded like strategy.
But it came out like longing.
And that realization–small, sharp–made Wei Ling’s eyes sting.
Because somewhere between Chen Wei and Wei Ling, between plan and life, something had begun to grow.
Not just a scheme.
Not just a costume.
Something that had a pulse.
Outside, hostel noise softened.
Inside, Wei Ling lay very still and tried to understand the shape of his own desire.
Mei Xuan was here.
And for the first time in months, Wei Ling didn’t feel like he was chasing someone unreachable.
He felt like he was standing close enough to be touched.
That thought was thrilling.
And terrifying.
Because touch could reveal.
And revelation could ruin everything.