Chapter 9 — Late Night Radio

Saturday night, nearly a week after the briefing with Mr. Binh, when Vy had almost gotten used to entering the studio every night without waiting for the call light to light up, the anonymous line suddenly rang at a quarter to twelve. She was in the middle of reading a letter from a new listener. Her voice paused for half a beat when her eyes glanced at the familiar words appearing on the screen. Her heart beat so fast that she had to take a deep breath before signaling Hai Duong to end the letter reading earlier than expected to make room for the call.

"Hello, this is Sleepless Wave." She tried to keep her voice calm, even though her hand holding the microphone was shaking a bit.

There was a longer silence than before, long enough for Vy to think there was a problem with the transmission, then a familiar deep voice rang out, but with a completely different tone — more tired, more hoarse, as if its owner hadn't slept for days. "Hello, Vy. It's me."

"I recognize your voice," Vy said, a feeling of relief filling her chest so much that it almost made her voice crack. "It's been a while since you called. I... I'm a little worried."

"I'm sorry," he said, and there was a heavy sincerity in those two words that made Vy sit up straight and pay full attention. "The place I work has just gone through a very stressful period, lasting nearly a week straight. There was a big incident. A few colleagues and I had to take turns being on duty almost twenty-four out of twenty-four hours, with no time to rest or think about anything other than the work at hand. There were nights when I fell asleep right on the duty chair, waking up and still hearing the sound of the machine running in my head even though I had left the shift a long time ago."

"That sounds serious," Vy said, her voice filled with genuine concern. "Is everything okay now?"

"It's okay," he replied, a sigh of relief in his voice. "The incident was resolved two days ago, everything is back to normal. But it took me a few more days to regain my strength, and... I'm also afraid to call, because I'm afraid you'll think I disappeared because of the letter the other day."

Vy was silent for a second, surprised that he had mentioned the thing she was most worried about all week without her having to ask. "I think so," she admitted, her voice quiet. "I'm afraid I read the letter on air the wrong way, making you feel exposed, losing the privacy you want to keep."

"Not at all," he said immediately, without hesitation, his voice warming. "I listened to the recording of that day's program again, through the playback application on the station's fanpage. You read it exactly as I wanted - choosing the right part that I could share with everyone, keeping the part that I only wanted you to know. I felt... respected. Truly respected, in a way I have never felt before, even with people I know in real life."

Those words made Vy close her eyes for a second, a warm feeling spreading throughout her chest. Through the glass, she saw Hai Duong quietly watching the sound wave screen, but his sitting posture was more relaxed, as if he also felt the relief spreading in the studio.

“I have a question,” White Night said after a pause, his voice becoming more reserved, like someone preparing to cross a line he had never dared to cross before. "If you don't mind. I often think about what you said, about your father, about him passing away right in the studio. I'm curious... what do you remember most about him? Not what everyone knows, about his twenty-two year career or that fateful day. I want to ask about something very small, very personal, something only you remember."

Vy sat quietly for a moment, surprised by the question, because during previous calls, most of the time she listened to him talk, he shared, and she only occasionally added a few sentences about herself. This was the first time he had proactively asked something so personal, and she realized that the question itself was a gift — a sign that he also wanted to step closer to her, not only to receive but also to give.

"There's one small thing," she said, her voice slow, giving the memory time to fully come to life in her mind. "When I was young, about seven or eight years old, there were nights when my mother was busy with work, and my father had to take me with him to the studio, sit me in the corner of the control room, and tell me to be absolutely silent while he was on air. I often fell asleep on the old swivel chair, and every time the last song of the night started playing, he would pick me up, not wake me up completely, just hold me in his arms, reading the end of the program while gently rocking me as if lulling me back to sleep. I remember that feeling - half of it. Half awake, I heard my father's voice ringing right next to my ear, warm and even, while my whole body was hugged tightly by him, absolutely safe. I thought, maybe that's why until now I still find his slow, steady voice to be the sound that makes me feel the most peaceful in the world.

The other end of the line was silent for a long moment, long enough for Vy to wonder if she had just shared something too personal, too vulnerable. Then White Night's voice rang out, more hoarse than usual, as if trying to hide an emotion that could not be completely hidden. "Thank you for telling me that. I think that's why every time I listen to you host, I always feel a strange peace, even though you never know my face, never know where I'm sitting. Maybe you're giving away the exact feeling your father once gave you, without even knowing it."

Vy bit her lip lightly, her throat was tight, she couldn't say anything for a few seconds. "And you," she asked, her voice soft, wanting to respond to the openness he had just given her with her own openness, "has anyone ever given you such a sense of peace?"

Another, longer silence, but this time it didn't look like defensive hesitation, but like someone actually searching his memory for an honest answer. "Yes," he said finally, his voice slow. "But it's been a long time. I don't want to tell the whole night, because I think, if I tell it all at once, there won't be anything left for the following nights. But I can tell you this — that feeling, I think I'm starting to find it again, every eleven o'clock night, when I turn on the radio and hear your voice."

Vy closed her eyes and let those words sink deep into her heart. A quiet but intense happiness spread throughout her body, a feeling she had never experienced in her twenty-six years of life, including in the short relationships she had previously had with several boyfriends during her student days.

"I think," she said, her voice trembling slightly but firmly, "we should have something just for the two of us. A song, for example, so that every time you call, no matter what happens, no matter how short or long the conversation is, we always end up with it. Like an unspoken promise."

"The Lamp at the Cape," he replied immediately, without thinking, as if he had already had the answer in his heart. "That song from that night. I think, from now on, every time you play that song, whether I'm calling or not, I'll know you're thinking of me. And every time I call, we'll end with it, as a way to say goodbye without saying 'goodbye' which sounds so sad."

"Okay," Vy said, a genuine smile on her lips, even though no one could see it but Hai Duong through the glass. "From tonight, that will be our song."

She signaled Hai Duong to prepare the song, his hand was already on the mixer table in advance, as if he had guessed what was about to happen. The familiar melody rang out, slowly, painfully, the story of a lonely lamp standing at the tip of the sea, its light not for itself but for guiding strange ships in the vast darkness of the night.

“I have to go,” White Night said as the song neared its end, his voice carrying a familiar note of regret. "But this time, I promise, I won't be silent for five more days. If I'm busy, I'll try to leave a message so you don't have to worry."

"Thank you," Vy said, her voice warm. "Sleep well, or... go to work well, I don't know how to express it properly with your shift hours."

He laughed softly through the phone, a familiar warm laugh. "That's enough for you to understand. Goodbye, Ms. Vy. See you again, at the sea cape lamp."

The line cut off, leaving Vy sitting there, filled with a feeling of both relief and fullness, as if a void that had existed silently inside her for the past week had now been filled again, even fuller than before. She looked through the glass, Hai Duong was smiling, not saying anything, just slightly nodding, his eyes carrying a quiet warmth as if he was witnessing something precious growing every day.

The program continued until nearly 1 a.m., Vy read the remaining letters, played a few songs as requested, but all the while, a part of her mind was still lingering on the conversation just now, on the question he asked about her father, on the answer he gave her about the feeling of peace he was finding again every eleven o'clock night. She thought of the phrase "sea cape lamp" he had just used to say goodbye, and felt that it had, in just a few short minutes, become a private code between the two of them, a small bridge across the invisible distance that still existed between them - the distance of unknown names, unseen faces, but now, that distance seemed much less cold, warmed by a melody they both chose to keep for themselves.