Chapter 19 — Late Night Radio

For two days after that night of unfinished phone calls, Vy lived in a strange suspended state, like someone who had just been awakened in the middle of a beautiful dream but couldn't get back to sleep, nor could she wake up completely. She still worked, still reviewed the livestream data with Thao Nhi, still checked the equipment with Hai Duong every night before going on air, but there was a part of her that kept anchoring on White Night's unfinished sentence - "maybe we can... meet somewhere" - and the way it was cut off by him right after, like a door opened slightly and then slammed shut by the same hand that opened it.

On Saturday afternoon, without an appointment, Vy found herself standing in front of Ms. Xuan's porridge shop nearly two hours earlier than her shift, not really because of hunger, but because of a vague urge she didn't want to name clearly - she wanted to sit in the same place, at the same time, to see if the man with the deep voice would reappear. She knew, deep down, that it was an irrational action, the kind of stalking that she had told herself she wouldn't do, but after Thursday night, a part of her felt like she needed to do something, anything, so she wouldn't have to sit still and endure the gnawing uncertainty.

The restaurant was more empty than usual because the weather that day was unusually hot for this season, with only a few regular customers. Ms. Xuan was wiping the table when she saw Vy coming early. She was a little surprised but didn't ask much. She just scooped her a small bowl of porridge and sat down opposite her. Her eyes observed her niece with the familiar sophistication of someone who had raised a sense of concern for her family for many years.

"Are you looking for that uncle?" Ms. Xuan asked directly, without beating around the bush, making Vy a bit startled because she was read so easily.

"I... I'm just curious," Vy said, knowing full well how weak that denial sounded.

Ms. Xuan sighed softly, placed her hand on the table, her fingers lightly tapping on the wooden surface as if considering whether to say something or not. "I wasn't going to tell you because I was afraid you'd get even more confused, but I thought you should know. Last week, a girl, probably around my age, stopped by the restaurant in the afternoon and asked me if I'd seen a man working the night shift who was thin and quiet and often came to eat alone at this hour. She described it and it sounded exactly like the customer you noticed the other day, so she said yes. After listening, her face remained blank and she didn't say much more. She just asked if he or she came by often. fixed date, then thanked her, left the name of her repair shop nearby, and said if I ever saw her again, please leave a message for me."

Vy's heart skipped a beat, a feeling of both curiosity and insecurity crept into her heart. "Who is she? Why are you looking for such a stranger?"

"I don't know everything," Ms. Xuan replied, her voice low, carrying the reserved look of someone who doesn't want to judge other people's affairs. "But looking at the way she asked, I guessed that she was an old acquaintance, maybe a family member, a lover, something, not a random passerby asking. She seemed... sad, Vy. The kind of sadness of someone who is trying to find something lost, not angry and blaming someone."

Vy sat still, the disparate pieces in her head began to automatically assemble into a vague but attractive shape — a woman looking for a quiet, night-shift man who had had a close relationship with him in the past. She thought of what White Night had said, a long time ago, about "a period of time when I thought about quitting what I was doing", about a certain breakdown he had never detailed. As soon as that thought flashed, she felt foolish, but she couldn't stop it.

"Do you still have the address of that repair shop?" Vy asked, trying to keep her voice normal, even though her heart was beating much faster.

Ms. Xuan looked at her niece for a long time, her eyes were both worried and as if she had partly guessed what was going on in Vy's mind. "Yes, I wrote it down in the order book. But Vy," she said, her voice was slow, carrying a rarely seen seriousness, "what are you looking for? I'm not stopping you, you're an adult, you have the right to learn about your business. But I'm afraid, you're letting too great a desire lead you to take steps that later, when you calm down, you won't find it worth it."

"I just want to know the truth," Vy said, her voice somewhat urgent. "I can't keep living in this vicious cycle, auntie. I need an answer, no matter what the answer is."

Ms. Xuan did not say more, just quietly stood up, turned over the old order book on the counter, tore a small piece of paper, wrote down the address and gave it to Vy, her eyes still full of worry but not stopping.

The repair shop is hidden in a small alley about a fifteen-minute walk from the porridge shop, a narrow four-level house with a faded wooden sign that simply reads "Clothing Repair," no owner's name, no phone number. Vy stood in front of the door for a long time, her heart pounding, wondering what she was going to do, what she was going to say, then finally walked in, carrying an old coat she deliberately picked out from the closet as an excuse.

The woman sat behind the old sewing machine, her head slightly bowed, focusing on the thread running under the needle, only looking up when she heard the doorbell ring. She is in her late thirties, her face is thin and has the calm and tired look of someone who is used to living alone. Her eyes when looking at Vy have a slight vigilance, like the habit of someone who has been hurt and learned to keep a distance from strangers.

"What do you need to fix?" The woman asked, her voice light but not very welcoming.

"Yes, I have this shirt, the thread is chipped on the arm," Vy said, holding out the shirt, trying to keep her voice as natural as possible. The woman received the shirt, looked at it for a few seconds, nodded, then asked for her name to record in the receipt book.

"Are you Ms. Bich Van?" Vy asked, intentionally, her voice trembling slightly even though she tried to control it.

The woman paused, her eyes immediately became more alert, looking straight at Vy as if trying to assess who she was and what purpose she came here. "How do you know my name?"

"I'm Ms. Xuan's niece, the owner of a porridge shop near the main road," Vy said, choosing to be honest from the beginning because she felt that beating around the bush would only make things more confusing. "I told you, you once stopped by to ask about a regular customer of the restaurant who worked the night shift. I'm sorry for being so sudden, but I... I was also looking for someone, and I thought you might know something."

Bich Van put the shirt down on the table, her face flashed with a complicated expression - both wary and as if she was touched by an old pain that had not yet completely healed. "Who are you looking for?" she asked, her voice colder, more defensive.

Vy hesitated for a moment, realizing she had no way to fully explain it without sounding crazy. "I'm not sure how to explain it clearly," she said, choosing to speak as honestly as possible. "There is a person I only know by voice. I don't know his face or his name. A few weeks ago, I happened to hear a man at Ms. Xuan's porridge shop talking, his voice was very similar to that person. I heard you were also looking for someone to work the night shift in this area, so I... I just wanted to ask to see if it was the same person."

Bich Van was silent for a long time, her eyes looking down at the sewing machine, her fingers unconsciously twirling the thread on the table. When she spoke, her voice had softened somewhat, but still carried a heavy fatigue. "The person I'm looking for, he and I used to be husband and wife, divorced nearly two years ago. It's not because we're out of love, it's just... there are things that make it impossible to be together anymore, even though neither of us is completely wrong. I heard an acquaintance say that I recently saw him around this area, working the night shift somewhere outside the industrial park, so I went to ask, not to reconnect, just... wanted to know if he was okay."

Vy heard those words and felt a surge of sincere sympathy, mixed with a growing sense of nervousness. "What kind of person is he, if you don't mind me asking?"

Bich Van looked at Vy for a moment, as if considering whether to open her heart to a stranger or not, then finally sighed softly, her voice slowed down, carrying a mixture of nostalgia and sadness. "He rarely speaks, especially to outsiders. But the strange thing is, he often listens to the radio, especially late-night radio stations, when we were together, every night we turned it down, listening alone until late. I asked him what he was listening to, he just smiled, saying that listening to other people's voices talked to relieve sadness. He worked the night shift for many years, in a certain factory outside the industrial park, I'm not very familiar with the specific job, because he rarely talked, I only knew that the job required him to stay up all the time. night, guarding something important."

Each sentence, each word of Bich Van was like puzzle pieces falling into the empty space in Vy's mind, making her heart beat rapidly, her hands suddenly clasped together. Listen to the radio late at night. Night shift. Speak little to outsiders. All those details echoed in her head like the echo of the same voice she had heard for the past seven months, making her almost certain, beyond any doubt, that the man Bich Van was talking about was the man she saw at Ms. Xuan's porridge shop — and who knows, it was also White Night.

"Do you know his name, or is there any way for me to..." Vy asked, her voice could not hide the urgency, causing Bich Van to pause slightly, her eyes became cautious again like before.

"You ask too many questions," Bich Van said, her voice a bit sharper, as if she had just realized that she had accidentally opened up too much to a complete stranger. "I don't know what you're looking for, who you're looking for, for what purpose, and honestly I have no obligation to tell all my personal story to someone I just met for the first time." She paused, took a breath, her voice softened a bit but still kept a clear distance. "Someone he knows in this area, it seems like there is a friend from the same hometown who also works the night shift, named Tuong, who often sits and drinks coffee at a shop on the corner of Bach Dang Street early in the morning, before starting his shift. If you want to ask more, go there and ask, that's all I know. As for my story with him, I hope you don't ask any more."

Vy realized she had gone too far, Bich Van's face was now completely closed, like a door that had just been closed tightly after a short moment of opening. "I'm sorry," she said, her voice sincere. "I didn't mean to bother you personally. Thank you for telling me."

Bich Van did not answer, just bent down and continued working with the shirt Vy brought, his eyes no longer looking at her. Vy stood a while longer, feeling that the atmosphere in the small room had become stuffy. She silently thanked her again and left, leaving the woman alone with the sewing machine and the memories she did not want to share with anyone else.

Stepping out of the alley, Vy stood silently in the afternoon sun, her heart mixed between a newly awakened hope and a feeling of guilt for touching a stranger's pain just for her own desire. But above all, in her head, there was only one name echoing - Tuong - like a thin but real thread. For the first time, she had in her hands something more concrete than a vague voice over the radio waves.

She stood there, took out her phone, hastily typed a few words in the notes — "coffee shop on the corner of Bach Dang street, early morning, named Tuong" — her hands trembled slightly with excitement and fear, not realizing that it was that trembling, the desire to have an answer at all costs, that was leading her to follow a thread that she never knew for sure whether it really led to the place she wanted or not, or just another turn in the maze of similar voices, people. Men working the same night shift, these lonely lives in the city are so similar that they can easily be confused with each other, just because a heart is so desperate to find a face for the voice it has loved for seven long months.