Chapter 21 — Late Night Radio

Thao Nhi's idea, right in that Monday morning meeting, quickly turned from a spontaneous statement into a plan with a specific name: "Sleepless Wave Night — In the Heart of the City." Mr. Binh, after listening to everything Thao Nhi sketched, stood up, walked to the whiteboard still hanging in the small meeting room from previous meetings, took a pen and drew a simple diagram - a large rectangle representing the square, a dot in the middle was the stage, and lines radiating out to all four sides symbolized the possible flow of people. "If we can do it," he said, his voice low but firm, "this is not just a promotional event. This is living proof, placed right in front of Mr. Toan's eyes, before the people at the parent corporation if they bother to come down and see. No one can sit in a cold meeting room, looking at a data table, and deny that a square full of people is listening to the same voice."

But he also did not hide his caution. "This is not a small task, kids. I need a license to use public space, I need to coordinate with the ward government and the police to ensure security and order, I need to take care of sound, lighting, stage - things that a radio program within four studio walls has never had to think about. And most importantly, I only have nearly three weeks to prepare, if I want the event to take place before September 20, so that it can be part of the plan presented to the board of directors."

Vy nodded, clearly feeling the weight of what had just been said, but at the same time felt a new breath of vitality creeping into her chest, different from the feeling of being cornered over the past few weeks. "Then let's divide the work today," she said. "Mr. Binh takes care of working with Mr. Toan and applying for a government license, because he has a long-standing relationship, so talking will be more convenient. Thao Nhi takes care of the media, social networks, and design of invitation posters. Mr. Duong and I take care of the technical part, the sound, and..." she paused for a moment, "I want to personally invite each familiar listener, at least those who have been with the program for a long time. I think, if I just post a poster online, waiting for people to find it, the advertisement will be worth it." That school can still become a crowded but empty place. I want faces to appear there, faces that are truly meaningful to the program."

That afternoon, Mr. Binh asked to meet Do Bao Toan privately, bringing with him a short, concise proposal, which Thao Nhi stayed up all night to complete with specific numbers - estimated costs, communication plan, expected number of attendees based on the interaction of the two weeks of livestream testing. Vy was not present at that meeting, just waiting in the editing room, her heart beating restlessly, until Mr. Binh returned, his face both relieved and still a little tense.

"He agreed," Mr. Binh said, sitting down in his chair and letting out a long breath. "But it's not easy. He asked me very carefully - why do we have to do it on such a large scale, why not just increase online promotion, stage rental costs, sound, who is responsible if it rains, if there is a security incident in the crowd. I tell you the truth, there was a time when I thought he would outright refuse."

"So why did he agree?" Vy asked, leaning forward, attentive.

Mr. Binh smiled slightly, a thin but somewhat relieved smile. "I told him one sentence, perhaps it was the decisive sentence. He said, 'Mr. Toan, I know you work with data, and I respect that. But data can only measure what has happened, not what will happen if we dare to try. If this program is truly valuable as I believe, it will prove itself before your eyes, without needing to rely on what I say. And if I am wrong, you still have the right to make your decision after that day, I do not ask you, my lord. hand, I just ask you for a chance to see it with your own eyes.' He was silent for a long moment, then said, okay, he would approve the bare minimum budget, but there was one condition — he himself would be present that night, not as a guest, but to observe for himself, and the final decision on Article 3 of decision 47 would be based in no small part on what he saw that night, in addition to the numbers.”

That sentence made all three people in the room, when they heard it again, both happy and trembling. This is no longer an event to present mere statistics — it has become an unofficial trial, where the final verdict will be announced right on the square, in front of hundreds of eyes, not in a closed meeting room with emotionless pages.

The following days passed at an unprecedented pace since Vy took over the program. Thao Nhi rushed to work with the ward government, waiting for hours in the mornings at the City's Culture and Information Department to complete procedures for applying for a license to hold events in the Cam Duong Beach square area - a place with a stone embankment overlooking the sea, familiar to city residents because every evening there are people going out to enjoy the fresh air, there is a large yard enough to hold a few hundred people, and it is close to the ward police headquarters, so coordinating to keep order is also more convenient. The officer in charge, after listening to Thao Nhi's presentation about the purpose of the event - honoring a radio program that has been associated with the city for more than twenty years, without fees, without commercial elements - showed sympathy, promised to speed up the procedures, only requesting additional plans to ensure fire safety for the temporary electrical and lighting system.

Hai Duong, meanwhile, spent the evenings after the show making a list of necessary equipment - high-power speakers enough to cover the entire square, a mobile mixer system, backup wireless microphones, and most importantly, a stable transmission line to both broadcast live via FM radio as usual, livestream via social networks, and ensure the show's familiar anonymous phone line still operates normally at the scene, without interruption. "This is the part I'm most worried about," he told Vy one evening checking the equipment, his voice a bit thoughtful. "That line, for many years, has been a place to keep the privacy of callers. You have to plan so that even standing in the middle of a crowded square, when someone calls, their voice still only resonates through the speaker, no one sees the phone number, no one knows who they are, just like sitting in a recording studio."

When Vy heard that sentence, her heart suddenly felt a warm and worried feeling. She immediately thought about the White Night, about not knowing that night, in a noisy, crowded space different from the familiar silence of eleven o'clock at night, whether he would still dare to call in or not, or if that change would make him even more withdrawn, even more distant. But she didn't say that to Hai Duong, just nodded, telling herself that she would maintain the spirit of the show no matter how the context changed - still a listening voice, not a show stage.

Thao Nhi, along with taking care of the procedures, also started a media campaign, designing a simple poster with an image of the familiar microphone of studio B against the night sky with an imaginary lighthouse light, with the large words: "Sleepless Waves — One Night, the Whole City Listens Together." She posted it on her fanpage, along with a short video that put together the most touching moments from the calls posted during the two weeks of testing - the voice of a long-distance driver, the voice of a night shift worker, the voice of Mr. Phan Dac Ngo telling sea stories - and an invitation to all listeners, even if they have never called into the program, even if they have only heard it once by chance when they have insomnia, to come to Cam Duong Beach square on Saturday night, September 13, to listen and be heard. listen.

As for the direct invitation, Vy kept it for herself. She spent an entire afternoon going to each place she knew had the most loyal listeners - Ms. Xuan's porridge shop, where many drivers still came to eat every night, and Mr. Phan Dac Ngo's small house deep in an alley near the beach, a place she had never been to even though she had heard his voice ring out over the phone countless times over the past year.

Mr. Ngo opened the door and was so surprised that he stood still for a moment when he realized that the young woman in front of him was "Miss Vy" that he called every week. "My God, is Miss Vy really?" he said, his voice trembling with emotion, his eyes that had become dull with age suddenly sparkled with childish joy. "After so many years of hearing the voice through the small radio, now I can see my face. I see that I'm much younger than I thought."

Vy sat down on an old bamboo chair in her simple house and told her about the night of the special broadcast, about her wish to see her present, not by phone but in person, in the middle of the square, to tell a story about the sea for everyone to hear, not just her. After Mr. Ngo listened, he was silent for a long time. His sinewy hand, which had been pulling nets for decades at sea, trembled slightly. Then he nodded, his voice choked. "He will come. He will definitely come, even if he has to walk with a cane from here to the square. This radio, you know, since the day your father was still alive, it is the only thing that keeps him from feeling forgotten by the city. Now I invite him to stand in the middle of the square, among so many people, he is old, but he is not afraid, he just feels happy, so happy he wants to cry."

Vy held the old man's hand, feeling the corners of her eyes sting, a feeling of deep gratitude rose up that was hard to name. She left that small house when it was dusk, walking down the narrow alley leading to the main street, her heart filled with hope and a vague, shapeless worry - about the weather, about possible technical problems, and above all, about whether the man who called out every night under the name White Night, in the middle of such an unusually crowded night in the square, would still find the courage to raise his familiar voice, or would he choose to retreat. again, standing somewhere in the dark, just listening quietly without daring to speak, like he had done for seven months before everything started.

That evening, when the program aired as usual, Vy briefly informed the audience about the upcoming special broadcast night. Her voice tried to keep a cheerful and excited tone, inviting everyone to come. The anonymous line lit up late, near midnight, and White Night's voice rang out, somewhat deeper than usual.

"I heard about Saturday night," he said, after a short pause. "It sounds very exciting. The whole city will come to listen to you. It will be very beautiful."

"Will you come?" Vy asked, unable to hide the urgency in her voice, even though she knew that as soon as the question came out, she regretted asking too bluntly.

There was a longer silence than before, and when he spoke, his voice carried a distinct note of regret. "I don't dare to promise, Vy. I'm afraid that in such a crowd, I... I don't have the courage. But I promise, no matter where I stand or what I do that night, I will listen. I will definitely listen."

Vy nodded alone in the studio, even though she knew he couldn't see, feeling in her heart a familiar tenderness mixed with regret that had become an indispensable part of their strange relationship. "That's enough," she said softly. "If you just listen, somewhere, I feel like you're right next to me."

The call ended, Vy sat quietly for a moment before continuing the program, her heart was both warm and heavy, not knowing that promise "I will definitely listen", in just a few days, would be kept in a way that neither of them could have predicted, in the middle of a night where the whole city of Cam Duong would have to hold its breath and watch the same wave frequency.