Chapter 1 — Stupid But Strong

The rain that night was not heavy, just enough to make the road surface slippery and vision blurry for a few seconds - those few seconds took away from Tu Bach Duy everything he once called family. That year he was sixteen years old, sitting in the classroom studying for the final exam when he received a call from the hospital. He ran to the place when everything was long over. His father and mother, who were still smiling at him on the phone at seven o'clock in the evening, by nine o'clock were lying silently under the white sheet.

The funeral took place on a pale sunny morning, the wind blowing through the trees made dry leaves fall to the yard, as if the whole world was saying goodbye to him. Bach Duy stood there, clutching the hem of his funeral robe, not crying. He had cried all his tears for the previous three days, to the point that now there was only a silent void left in his chest.

The person standing next to him during the funeral was a middle-aged man, with a neat appearance and sad eyes no less than his. That was Mr. Nhieu Trong Nhan, his father Tu Quang Binh's closest business friend for nearly twenty years. The two of them built a small company from scratch; together they went through countless times when the company was on the brink of bankruptcy and then got back up again. Mr. Nhan put his hand on Bach Duy's shoulder, his voice hoarse with emotion.

"From now on, you won't be alone anymore," he said. "I will take care of you, like I take care of my own child."

Bach Duy did not fully understand the meaning of that promise at that time. He only knew that he had no home to return to, no one to call "mom and dad", and the man standing in front of him was the only buoy in the vast sea of water that was engulfing him.

The adoption procedure was completed within a month. Mr. Nhan, as Bach Duy's new guardian, arranged all the documents so carefully that even the family lawyer had to nod in praise. But because his business often required him to travel far away, he decided to let his biological daughter - who was living alone in the family's old house - become the direct guardian who took care of Bach Duy in her daily activities.

That person is Nhieu Tang Ninh.

The afternoon Bach Duy moved in, the rain had just stopped, the yard still had a few puddles of water reflecting the pale sunlight at the end of the day. He stood in front of the gate, dragging an old suitcase and a guitar wrapped in a cloth bag, the only thing he brought with him from his old house besides a few clothes. The gate opened, a girl came out to greet him, her hair tied tightly at the back of her head, her face calm but her eyes were a bit probing, a bit confused that she couldn't hide.

"You are Bach Duy, right?" she asked, her voice soft but clear. "I'm Tang Ninh, uncle Nhan's daughter. From now on I will be your guardian."

Bach Duy bowed his head in greeting, not knowing how to properly address him. Calling her "sister" seems too intimate for a stranger; Calling her "aunt" was strange because she looked young, maybe in her early twenties. In the end he chose the safest way.

"Yes, hello Tang Ninh."

Tang Ninh nodded slightly and reached out to hold the suitcase for him, although he quickly refused. "Let me carry it myself," he said, his voice somewhat stiff with embarrassment.

"It's okay, I'm used to hard work," she replied, a smile flickering on her lips but not reaching her eyes. Bach Duy realized right from that moment that this woman carried a certain amount of caution, as if she was trying to keep just the right distance, not too far to become cold, nor too close to break a certain boundary she set for herself.

The Nhieu family's house is not too big, but cozy in its own way - small potted plants placed along the hallway, soft yellow lights in the living room, the faint smell of jasmine tea from the kitchen. Tang Ninh led him to the second floor and pointed to the room at the end of the hallway.

"This is your room. I've already cleaned it up. If there's anything missing, just let me know." She pushed the door open, the afternoon sunlight filtering through the window shone into a neat room, with a new bed and mattress, a desk close to the window, and an empty bookshelf waiting to be filled. "I don't know what you like so I haven't decorated it yet. If you want to change anything, feel free."

Bach Duy put down his suitcase, his eyes stopped at the guitar he still held in his hand the whole way. Tang Ninh followed his eyes and asked softly.

"Do you know how to play the piano?"

"Yes, just a little. My dad taught me since I was little." When talking about his father, his voice softened. Tang Ninh recognized immediately, did not ask further, just nodded slightly, her eyes softened a bit.

"Then just play freely. No one in our family will mind. Maybe... sometimes I also want to listen to you play."

That sentence, although simple, made Bach Duy feel a rare warmth creeping into his chest, which had been empty for the past few weeks. It was the first time since his parents died that he felt something akin to safety.

In the first days of living together, both kept a polite and careful distance. Tang Ninh woke up early to prepare breakfast before going to work at the family company, leaving a small piece of paper to note the things to do during the day, the living habits of the house, and her phone number in case he needed to contact her urgently. Bach Duy, an introverted boy, initially only responded with short sentences, to avoid bothering the person who raised him.

But gradually, those silences began to be filled with small conversations at dinner — about schoolwork, about a movie they both happened to watch together, about Tang Ninh's slightly sour soup that Bach Duy had to swallow while chuckling. There were evenings, Tang Ninh sat in the living room checking the company's books, while Bach Duy held his guitar and sat on the stairs, gently strumming a few sad melodies he thought of himself, no words, just notes carrying the nostalgia for his parents.

One night, Tang Ninh stood silently at the foot of the stairs listening, not speaking to break the moment until the music ended.

"Very nice," she said softly when Bach Duy was startled to realize her presence. "Did you compose it yourself?"

Bach Duy blushed and nodded shyly. "It's just some random melody, not a complete song."

"I think if you keep going, one day it will become something very worthwhile," Tang Ninh said, her eyes looking at him so sincere that Bach Duy had to lower his head to avoid it, afraid that she would see his teary eyes. It wasn't because he was sad, but because for the first time, someone, besides his parents, truly believed in what he loved.

Mr. Nhieu Trong Nhan occasionally came home between business trips, always bringing a gift for Bach Duy — sometimes a pen, sometimes a music theory book. He asked about his studies, showing proper concern, but Bach Duy noticed that every time he was at home, the atmosphere between him and Tang Ninh was a bit more tense than usual. The conversations between father and son were often closed behind the office door, his voice was quiet but serious enough for Bach Duy to understand that it was not his business so he did not inquire.

He did not know, and had never thought about it, that behind the kind appearance of the man who saved his life, there were other calculations related to the inheritance left by his biological father - something that at this time, a sixteen-year-old orphan boy was completely unaware, and did not care. For Bach Duy at that time, all he needed was a home, someone who didn't hate his presence, and a small corner quiet enough to hold the guitar and sing the unspeakable things.

Tang Ninh, caught between the responsibilities of a guardian and the family secrets she was only vaguely aware of, never expected that quiet boy holding a guitar, just a few years later, would become an inseparable part of her life — in a way that neither of them anticipated, and neither of them dared to name.

That night, after Bach Duy fell asleep, Tang Ninh sat alone in her room, opened her desk drawer and took out an old file her father gave her to keep for her - a copy of Mr. Tu Quang Binh's will. She skimmed through a few lines, stopping at the clause stating that all company shares would belong to Tu Bach Duy when he turned twenty-five years old, before which he would be managed by the legal guardian. She closed the file and put it in a drawer, telling herself it was just a normal administrative procedure, nothing to worry about.

Little did she know that nine years later, that same fragile file would become the center of an unexpected storm, engulfing both of them in its heart.