Chapter 18 — Late Night Radio

Two weeks of livestream testing went more smoothly than expected. The number of live viewers was initially only a few dozen, then gradually increased to several hundred each night when Thao Nhi began posting clips telling stories about the program's journey, about Mr. Ngo, and about letters from night shift workers, attracting a surprising amount of sharing from young people who never listen to FM radio. Mr. Cao Viet Binh, when looking at the first week's data report presented by Thao Nhi, nodded, his eyes clearly revealing a glimmer of hope that he tried to hide behind his familiar calmness, telling the group to continue pushing hard but be careful, not to let a small mistake ruin the whole effort.

In the midst of that busy routine, White Night's calls still came regularly every night, but Vy noticed something different in his voice in recent days — a dull anticipation, a slower rhythm than usual at the beginning of each conversation, as if he was considering something big before letting it out in words. She didn't ask, just quietly felt it, like one feels the change in pressure in the air before an approaching thunderstorm, not knowing exactly when it will strike, but knowing it is approaching.

On Thursday night, when the program was halfway through, the anonymous line lit up later than usual, nearly a quarter to one, making Vy a bit surprised because he usually calls around midnight. "Hello, Ms. Vy," his voice rang out, there was a slight tremble that Vy had never heard before, like an over-tightened string, just waiting for a light touch to make a sound.

"Hello," Vy replied, immediately sensing something unusual. "You called later than usual today. What's going on?"

A longer silence than usual passed before he spoke. "I was sitting in the corner of the concrete yard outside the control area all this time, picking up the phone and putting it down several times, not knowing whether to call or not. In the end, I still called, because I thought, if I don't say it tonight, maybe I will never have the courage to say it again."

Vy's heart beat faster, she sat up straight in her chair, the instincts of a longtime host told her that tonight's conversation would be unlike any other night before. "You keep talking," she said, her voice trying to maintain its familiar calm even though her heart was churning.

"It's been seven months," he said, his voice slow, as if he were taking steps on a road he had never been on. "Seven months, I called in here every rainy night, then gradually every night I could. You became... I don't know the right word, you became the thing that made me want to get up to work the night shift, the thing that gave my long watch hours something to look forward to. I think you feel that too, right?"

"Yes," Vy replied, her voice soft, feeling her throat choking because of a rising emotion that was hard to name. "You're also one of the most important things in my life right now, even though we've never known each other."

"That's why," he continued, his voice trembling more clearly, "I've thought a lot, especially in recent weeks, when I heard you talk about the changes at the station, about that six-week deadline. I'm afraid, Ms. Vy. I'm afraid that if this program really has to stop, if one day this line is no longer open at eleven o'clock at night, I will lose you forever, with no way to find you again, because I have never known your face, never known your real name. besides the name on the air, and you are the same with me. I think, maybe it's time, we should... meet in real life.

That sentence fell into the silent space of the studio like a stone thrown into a calm lake, creating waves that spread throughout Vy's body. She sat motionless for a second, two seconds, feeling her heart beating so fast that it almost hurt, both a burst of joy because what she had been silently longing for many months was finally said by him himself, and also a vague, nameless fear creeping somewhere underneath that joy.

"You... you wanted to see me?" Vy asked again, her voice trembling uncontrollably, forgetting that she was on live broadcast, forgetting that thousands of listeners could be hearing this agitation in her voice.

"I want," he said, and in those two words, Vy heard both absolute sincerity and an undisguised tremble. "I've been thinking about this for a long time, but never had the courage to say it. Maybe we could... meet somewhere, a coffee shop, or somewhere you feel comfortable, on a day that's not my shift. I could..."

But then, right in the middle of his sentence, his voice suddenly stopped, like a broken string. Vy clearly heard him take a long, shaky breath, and when he spoke again, the timbre in his voice was completely different — no longer the determination that had just emerged, but a suppressed panic, like someone who has just stepped to the edge of a high cliff and then suddenly looks down, seeing its depth.

"No," he said, then stopped immediately, as if realizing that he had just said a word that was too decisive, too cruel, and quickly corrected it, his stuttering voice was rare for a person like him who was always careful with every word. "I'm sorry, Ms. Vy, I... I just said something I wasn't mentally prepared to do. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have suggested that when I wasn't ready."

"What's up?" Vy asked, trying to keep her voice calm even though it felt like someone had just pulled her from a high place to the ground. The sudden fall made her whole body cold. "You just said you wanted to see me. What made you change your mind so quickly?"

There was a long silence, heavier than any silence between the two of them so far, lasting so long that Vy had to look at the control panel to make sure the call hadn't been disconnected. Then his voice rang out, slowly, painfully, as if trying to pull each word out from a very deep place in his heart.

"I'm scared," he said, simply enough, but those two words carried a weight that made Vy hold her breath. "I'm afraid, Ms. Vy, not because I'm afraid that you'll be disappointed when you see me - although that's also a real fear - but I'm afraid that I will no longer be the person you loved through this voice, once I have a face, a name, a specific job, a specific past. For the past seven months, I have been whoever you imagined through my voice, I am the best version of myself, unencumbered by failures. I've been through, the mistakes I've made. But in real life, I'm just a normal man, doing a quiet job that no one notices, carrying a past I'm not proud of, and I'm afraid, Ms. Vy, I'm afraid that the moment you see the real me, you'll realize, the person you've trusted and been with for the past seven months, turns out to be just a voice, not a person worthy of everything you've given me."

Vy sat quietly, tears suddenly rising in the corners of her eyes, not because of anger, but because of a deep sadness for the man on the other end of the line, who was locked in his own fear. “You don't have to be the best version of yourself for me to appreciate you,” she said, her voice shaky but steady. "I don't love an imaginary perfect image. I love the way you listen, the way you speak, the way you're always there when I need someone to understand me the most. Those things aren't just your voice, they're your true self, no matter what your name is, what you do, or what your past is."

"I know you say that because you truly believe it," he replied, his voice filled with deep sadness. "But I... I need more time, Vy. I'm sorry for saying it and then taking it back like that, I know it's not fair to you. But please don't force me, at least for now. I promise, I didn't lie to you when I said I wanted to meet you, it's true, truer than anything I've ever said to anyone in my life. I just need more time to have the courage to make it happen, without fear that it will destroy the only beautiful thing." I am.”

Vy closed her eyes for a moment, trying to control the emotions swirling in her heart - pain from being pushed away right after being pulled closer, sympathy for his obviously real fear, and fatigue from the constant tug of war between hope and disappointment that had lasted for weeks in her heart. "Okay," she said finally, her voice carrying an undisguised tiredness. "I won't force you. But I also can't pretend like nothing happened tonight. You just opened a door, then closed it right in front of me. I need time to understand, to accept that, just like you need time for your fear."

“I understand,” he said, his voice quiet, filled with sincere remorse. "I'm sorry, Ms. Vy. I'm really sorry."

They didn't say much more after that, the conversation gradually subsided into short, fragmented sentences, both of them seemed to be groping their way through a new and painful space that had just opened up between them. When it was almost time to end the program, neither of them actively mentioned what had just happened, but it still hung somewhere in the air, heavy like a cloud that refused to dissipate.

“The Lamp at the Cape,” he said, his voice hoarse, taking on a different tone than before — no longer the familiar gentle reassurance, but more of a silent plea forgiveness. "See you again, at the light of the sea, Ms. Vy. I hope you will still be there, tomorrow night."

"I'll be there," Vy replied, her voice equally hoarse. "I'm always there."

A familiar melody rang out, but tonight Vy no longer felt the usual warmth from it, only a strange emptiness, as if that melody now carried a promise that had not been fully kept, a door that opened and closed right before she could step through.

When the program ended, Vy took off her headphones and sat quietly in the darkness of the turned-off studio, her hands clasped tightly together on her thighs, trying to hold back the tears that had been threatening to flow for a long time. Hai Duong walked in, saw her expression, didn't ask anything, just quietly pulled out a chair to sit next to her, leaving her alone with the emotions swirling in her heart.

"I heard everything," he said softly, after a moment of silence. "Are you okay?"

Vy shook her head, a tear finally rolled down, she didn't try to stop it anymore. "I don't know, honey. I don't know if I should be happy because for the first time I know for sure that he also wants to see me, or sad because right after that, he pushed me away again, as if the closest moment between us was the most fragile moment."

Hai Duong was silent for a moment, then spoke, his voice was low but sincere. "I think, that man, whoever he is, is carrying a real fear, not that he is playing with your emotions. There are people who, for some reason in the past, have learned to believe that they are not worthy of good things, so when good things come too close, their first instinct is to push it away, not because they don't want to, but because they are afraid they will ruin it, or afraid it will automatically leave them once they see the real you. them."

Vy looked at Hai Duong and felt a surge of gratitude mixed with pain. "You talk as if you know that person very well."

"I don't understand that person," Hai Duong replied, smiling slightly sadly. "But I've lived long enough to understand that sometimes, people are not afraid of losing something, but afraid of the happiness they have, because they are not used to life giving them more than they think they deserve." He stood up, placed a hand on Vy's shoulder, the touch was familiar and warm. "You can cry if you need to, Vy. It's okay. Tomorrow, we'll continue, like every day."

Vy nodded, looking out the small window where Cam Duong city was still in the darkness before dawn. Her heart carried a new dull pain, mixed with the worry of the six weeks counting down, and a question she didn't know who to ask - whether she was in love with a person who really existed, or was she just embracing the shadow of a voice, forever trapped behind a door that would never fully open.