Chapter 29 — Late Night Radio

The official invitation to the meeting arrived on Thursday morning, not through a heavy white paper envelope with a red seal like "Decision No. 47" that arrived six weeks ago, but through a brief email from the general director's office, inviting the entire "Sleepless Wave" crew to be present in the large meeting room on the fifth floor at three o'clock in the afternoon to "announce the final conclusion of the evaluation council on the plan to operate the nighttime radio program." Vy read and reread that line many times, trying to find in the dry administrative text some sign of the outcome, but found nothing but the absolute neutrality of the official language.

All morning, the atmosphere in the editing room was as tense as a string. Thao Nhi couldn't sit still, constantly stood up and sat down, her hand fiddled with the ballpoint pen to the point that it lost its cap and fell to the floor three times. Hai Duong, on the contrary, appeared unusually calm, sitting quietly checking each piece of equipment in the studio as a ritual to keep his hands busy and not have to think too much. Mr. Binh walked back and forth between departments, occasionally stopping in front of the editing room door, intending to say something to reassure everyone, but then stopped, just nodded once and continued walking.

At exactly three o'clock in the afternoon, the group entered the large meeting room, where Do Bao Toan was already sitting at the head of the table, next to him were two representatives of Vy's parent media group who had only met once at the meeting to announce the digitalization plan six weeks ago. On the large screen behind them was a slideshow, the first page had only the words: "Decision on the operating model of the 'Sleepless Wave' program — the next phase."

Vy sat down, her hands clasped together on her thighs, clearly feeling that next to her, Hai Duong and Thao Nhi were also holding their breath. Do Bao Toan stood up, not opening with numbers as usual, but with a short silence, looking around the conference table, his eyes lingering on Vy for a longer moment than the others.

"Before we get to the official decision," he said, his voice still maintaining its usual calmness, but with a different tone, softer than Vy had ever heard in any meeting before, "I want to say something personal. I came to this station with a clear mission — to optimize costs, digitize operations, and I have been looking at 'Sleepless Waves' as a loss that needs to be cut for most of the past time. But Saturday night in the square, I witnessed something that I did not see. No data sheet has ever shown me that a radio show is not just content, but the real emotional infrastructure of this city, something only living people can create, and I was wrong to value it by advertising revenue alone.

He paused, clicked to the next page on the screen, which showed a line graph that had skyrocketed after Saturday night — the number of live listeners, livestream views, number of messages, calls, and all three new sponsorship contracts officially signed in the past week. "In terms of data, the program has far exceeded the thirty percent criteria set out in Decision 47, this week alone. But the evaluation council, after discussion, agreed that number was not the main reason why we decided to retain the program. The main reason is that we realized, 'Sleepless Waves' deserves to be treated as a heritage that needs to be preserved and developed, not a cost item that needs to be cut."

Vy felt like her chest had just been relieved of a rock that had been weighing her down for the past six weeks, but she still sat still, not daring to breathe a complete sigh of relief, waiting for the rest.

"The board's decision," Do Bao Toan continued, his voice returning to a formal tone, "is that the program 'Sleepless Waves' will continue to broadcast live on the FM frequency, twenty-three hours to one in the morning as currently, without any changes in the traditional radio format. Along with that, the station will invest in building an official online platform for the program, according to the project Thao Nhi presented six weeks ago — livestream of studio photos, podcast hosting broadcast numbers, and an online interactive channel to expand access to young listeners, who are more accustomed to listening via phone than traditional radio. The budget for this expansion will be partly taken from new sponsorship contracts, the rest will be balanced in the general plan.

He looked at Thao Nhi, a rare smile flashed across his normally serious face. "Miss Thao Nhi will be appointed to be in charge of the program's digital content, reporting directly to Mr. Binh. I have reviewed all the data and projects she has prepared over the past six weeks, and it is one of the most professional analyzes I have ever seen from a young employee at this station."

Thao Nhi burst into tears on the spot, not having time to maintain professionalism, covering her mouth with her hand, her shoulders shaking, while Vy held her friend's hand tightly under the table, both laughing through their tears.

"As for technical personnel," Do Bao Toan continued, looking at Hai Duong, "Mr. Vu Hai Duong's position will be officially upgraded to head of the sound engineering department for the entire live and online broadcast segment, with a more commensurate remuneration. I read a report about you almost single-handedly handling the entire sound system for the event night at the square, and I think, this station has owed you that recognition for a long time."

Hai Duong, who rarely showed his emotions, just nodded, but Vy clearly saw his red eyes, his hand on the table trembling slightly, a trembling of a person who had silently carried the burden, silently feared, for more than a year since the day his oldest colleague collapsed right on the mixer table, and now he can finally breathe a sigh of relief.

"And finally," Do Bao Toan said, his voice slowing down, carrying a special respect, clicking on the last page of the slideshow, where an old, black-and-white photo appeared of a man sitting in front of a microphone in a studio much simpler than now - Lam Trung Hieu, much younger than the image Vy remembered, a familiar smile slightly tilted on one side of his lips. "The board also decided that, from next month, studio B, where the program has been broadcasting for the past twenty-two years, will officially be named Studio Lam Trung Hieu, as a tribute to the person who founded and spent his entire life with this program. At the same time, every year on the day he passed away, the station will organize a special broadcast, called 'Night of Inheritance Waves', to commemorate him and honor the values the program continues to preserve."

Vy sat quietly, tears falling uncontrollably, not only because the program was saved, but because her father's name, after eighteen months, was finally officially and solemnly engraved, not only in the memories of those who worked with him, but on the very door of the studio she still entered every night.

"I also want to say one more thing, just for Ms. Vy," Do Bao Toan said, his voice becoming much more personal, no longer the formality of an official report. "Six weeks ago, when I signed Decision 47, I admit, I looked at you as a mere continuation of your father, a name attached to an old brand that needed to be re-evaluated in terms of effectiveness. But through these six weeks, through the way you fought, spent the night in the square, through the way you handled the crisis right in the midst of the most tension without flinching, I realized, the voice I heard on the air every night is no longer the voice of Lam Trung Hieu echoing back. That's your voice. Only yours."

That sentence, more than any number, more than any decision that had just been announced, touched a deep place in Vy's heart that she had never dared to hope that someone, especially the person who once threatened to wipe out the program, would say out loud. She bowed her head, unable to hide her emotions, saying thank you in a choked voice, clearly feeling that eighteen long months of living in her father's shadow finally ended, not by leaving that legacy, but by stepping out of its shadow herself, carrying that legacy on her shoulders, but with her own feet.

That evening, the whole group gathered at Ms. Xuan's porridge shop to celebrate, although the program still had to air on time like every night, so the small party could only take place hastily before the shift. When Ms. Xuan heard the news, she stood silently behind the counter for a long time, then burst into tears and had to ask Thao Nhi to help her scoop the porridge because her hands were shaking and couldn't hold the spoon. "Mr. Hieu," she whispered, looking up into the distance as if speaking to her deceased brother, "your program has been kept, and the studio has been named after you. You must be very happy, right?"

Mr. Binh, sitting at the corner of the table, raised his glass of iced tea, his voice warm but full of pride. "I've been waiting for this day for a long time, from the day I had to defend a twenty-four year old girl in front of the board of directors. Looking back now, I know I made the right bet."

In the midst of that warm atmosphere, Nhat Minh, who had been quietly present since the beginning of the session, sat at a corner of the table, not quite used to being part of this crowded, noisy group of people, but his eyes, every time he looked towards Vy, carried an undisguised gentleness. Hai Duong, after a few cups of tea, turned to talk to him, asking about the job at the water plant with a sincere curiosity, without any reserve of an older brother who had been worried about his sister for many months and days waiting for a name. Mr. Phan Dac Ngo, personally invited by Thao Nhi, sat next to Nhat Minh, patted him on the shoulder, and smiled crookedly. "You were the one who called that night, weren't you, the night that saved the entire Dong Hai area? Thank you, not just for the water, but because you gave Vy what she deserved a long time ago."

Nhat Minh, at those words, could only bow his head, his face red with embarrassment and emotion, but Vy, watching from afar, clearly saw that he was no longer a mysterious name hidden behind the waves, but was gradually becoming a real part of the network of people who had accompanied her through the harshest six weeks of her life - a network that now had a new, quiet but solid link.

Before leaving the shop to prepare for the broadcast, Vy stood a moment by the door, looking at the group of people laughing and chatting behind her - Ms. Xuan was telling old stories to Nhat Minh, Thao Nhi was showing off to Mr. Binh new plans for the online platform, Hai Duong was showing Mr. Ngo a photo of studio B with a new sign about to be installed - and felt, for the first time in a long time, every piece of her life, the program, her father's legacy, and her love. Love is just budding, both are standing firmly next to each other, no part has to be sacrificed for the other, just like she always hoped but never dared to believe would come true.