CHAPTER 1 – The Day We Met Again
The rain returned to the city without warning—thin at first, like mist trembling in the air, then steadily heavier, turning the evening sidewalk into a shimmering river of lights. Minh Ha stepped out of the office lobby just in time to hear the first distant clap of thunder. She paused under the awning, pressing her folders closer to her chest, watching crowds scatter toward taxis and bus stops like startled birds.
Her phone buzzed.
Khoa: I’m on my way. Stay inside. Don’t run into the rain again.
A soft smile curved her lips.
He always texted like that—half teasing, half scolding, entirely protective. Even after two years of dating, he still treated her as if she might dissolve under the rain if left unattended.
“Bossy,” she murmured, but she stepped back inside the lobby anyway.
The building was quieter than usual. Most employees had rushed out earlier, desperate to escape both the rain and the week’s pressure. Ha took a slow breath, letting her shoulders relax. Today had been everything she wished she could forget—tight deadlines, a client who contradicted himself every five minutes, and the unsettling rumor that her department might soon be downsized. The air smelled faintly of coffee and wet pavement, and for a moment she closed her eyes, imagining herself already sitting behind Khoa on his motorbike, listening to him complain about traffic while she rested her cheek against his back.
The lobby doors slid open.
A gust of cold wind swept in, scattering droplets across the marble floor. Ha turned instinctively—expecting Khoa’s familiar silhouette, his dark jacket, his impatient frown.
But the man who entered was not him.
He stood tall, a little breathless from the rain, the white shirt beneath his coat clinging lightly to the lines of his shoulders. His hair was tousled, damp at the ends, and he brushed it back with the same absent gesture she remembered far too well. His eyes—dark, steady, unmistakably gentle—scanned the lobby as though searching for someone.
The world tilted.
Her heart, which had been peacefully beating moments earlier, crashed violently into her ribs.
No. It couldn’t be.
But it was.
Ten years dissolved like smoke, leaving only the truth of the person now standing a few meters away.
Lam.
Her first love. Her almost-everything. The boy who had promised the world to her, then vanished without a single explanation. Not a message. Not a goodbye. Not even a reason to hate him properly.
The silence between them might as well have been a decade long.
He finally saw her.
Their gazes collided across the gleaming lobby floor. Something flickered in his eyes—shock, disbelief, a touch of something like guilt—but the rain kept dripping from his eyelashes, making it impossible to read him clearly.
“... Ha?” His voice was deeper than she remembered, warmer too.
It stopped her breath.
Her fingers tightened around her folders. She forced her lungs to work again, to stay steady, to stay composed.
“Hi, Lam.”
Her smile felt like porcelain—smooth, fragile, hiding everything.
Lam took a step closer. And another.
Ha didn’t move. She couldn’t.
He stopped just an arm’s length away, rainwater glistening on his sleeves. For a moment, neither of them spoke, as though words themselves might shatter the strange stillness surrounding them.
“It’s really you,” he said softly. “I wasn’t sure at first.”
“I haven’t changed that much,” she replied, though her voice betrayed a tremor.
“You have,” he said, almost too quickly. “You look… different. Stronger. But still—”
He caught himself, lips tightening. He always did that—said too much, then shut down before he revealed anything real.
Ha swallowed. “What are you doing here?”
He opened his mouth to answer.
The elevator dinged behind her.
She didn’t need to turn to know it was Khoa. His footsteps were confident, steady, familiar in a way that wrapped around her heart like a shield. He approached with an umbrella in one hand and a slight crease between his brows—the crease he got whenever he worried about her.
“Ha,” he said, reaching her side. “I told you to wait inside.”
She nodded quickly. “I did.”
Only then did Khoa notice the man standing before them.
Lam.
The air changed.
Khoa’s eyes narrowed just a fraction, assessing, curious but polite. Ha felt her throat tighten, felt something old and sharp stir inside her—fear that the past she had buried might not be as dead as she wanted it to be.
“Khoa,” she said, her voice slightly too bright, “this is… an old friend. From school.”
The lie, or half-lie, tasted bitter.
Lam’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
“An old friend,” he repeated quietly, as if testing the weight of those words.
Khoa extended a hand, ever the gentleman.
“I’m Khoa.”
A pause.
Then Lam shook it. “Lam.”
Their handshake was brief, but something unspoken passed between them—something Ha sensed even if she couldn’t name it.
Khoa turned to her. “Ready to go?”
“Yes,” she said too quickly.
But before they stepped out into the rain, Lam spoke again.
“Ha.”
She froze.
His voice was lower now, hesitant in a way she’d rarely heard from him.
“Would it be alright if we… talked sometime? There are things I should’ve explained a long time ago.”
Her heart thudded painfully.
Khoa glanced at her, confusion flickering behind his calm exterior.
Ha forced herself to breathe.
She had rebuilt her life.
She had someone who cherished her now.
She didn’t need old wounds reopening.
Yet—
When she met Lam’s eyes again, something in her—some stubborn, aching corner of her heart—twisted.
Because she had spent ten years wondering why.
Wondering what she had done wrong.
Wondering if she had ever truly mattered to him.
Wondering whether he still remembered her the way she remembered him.
The rain pounded harder outside, as if urging her to choose.
“I… don’t know,” she whispered.
Lam nodded slowly, accepting the uncertainty but not retreating from it. “I’ll wait. If you decide to.”
Khoa placed a protective hand on her shoulder, guiding her gently toward the door.
She walked with him, but her heartbeat remained behind—somewhere near the man who had once broken her heart without ever giving her the chance to understand why.
Outside, under the roar of the rain, Ha felt the past and present collide so violently she could hardly breathe.
And deep inside, something whispered:
This is only the beginning.
