Chapter 5 — Stupid But Strong

The room Tang Ninh rented for Bach Duy was located in a small alley near the city center, only about fifteen square meters wide, enough for a single bed, a small desk, and a corner for her guitar - the only thing Bach Duy brought with her other than a few clothes and the small amount of money in the envelope she gave her. The first night there, he sat huddled on the cold floor, looking at the streetlights shining through the small window, feeling more lonely than the first days of losing his parents.

At least then, he had hope of a new home. And now, he no longer knows where he belongs.

In the first weeks, he lived on the money Tang Ninh left behind, along with a part-time job at a small coffee shop near the boarding house - a job he found by hanging a recruitment sign right in front of the shop's door. The shop owner is a kind middle-aged woman who doesn't ask much about his situation, as long as he's hardworking and polite. During the day he prepares, serves, and cleans; In the evening, when the shop closed, he sat in a corner, holding the guitar and singing to himself. Sometimes a few regular customers stayed to listen and applaud.

He still completed his final year of high school, even though he had to juggle between studying and working to the point of exhaustion. There were nights when he fell asleep on his desk, still holding a pen in his hand, his books not yet closed. But he never thought of giving up. Partly because he didn't want to disappoint his deceased parents, partly - even though he didn't want to admit it - because he still carried in his heart Tang Ninh's words from years ago, that she believed he would go very far with music.

He didn't contact her, just like she asked. There were nights when he picked up the phone, slid his finger to her number, then turned off the screen, telling himself he had to respect her decision, even though in his heart he still couldn't understand why everything had to end so suddenly and cruelly. He did not know about the calculations behind Mr. Nhieu Trong Nhan's office door, did not know that Tang Ninh's decision came from love and protection more than rejection. All he felt was the pain of being abandoned for the second time in his life.

That pain, instead of engulfing him, became a dull source of fuel that motivated him to rush into music with an unprecedented fierce determination. He began to write more music, each song carrying a piece of his heart - the longing for his parents, the loneliness of being an orphan, and an unfinished love he didn't dare name in front of anyone.

After graduating from high school, instead of taking the university entrance exam as originally planned, Bach Duy decided to apply to participate in a music talent contest organized by a famous entertainment company - Tan Thanh Am Entertainment Company. That decision made the coffee shop owner, who had treated him like a descendant of the family for nearly a year, both worried and supportive.

"Are you sure you want to follow this path?" she asked, her eyes full of concern. "This singing profession is very harsh, not everyone succeeds."

"I know," Bach Duy replied, his eyes were steadfast and he rarely showed them. "But this is the only way I feel like I can still live with myself. I have nothing more to lose."

The audition round was tougher than he imagined, with hundreds of candidates competing for just a few official training spots. But when Bach Duy sang his self-composed song - the song called "The Person Standing Behind Me" that he sang in the room at Nhieu's house many years ago, now with the lyrics edited by him to hide the most private part of his emotions - the entire jury was silent for a few seconds before applauding non-stop.

"You have an emotional voice, and more importantly, you know how to tell a story through music," one judge commented. "That's something many young singers lack today."

Bach Duy was accepted into the company as a trainee, starting a rigorous training period lasting nearly two years - learning vocals, dance, and performance skills, while facing fierce competitive pressure from dozens of other trainees vying for the official debut spot. There were days when he practiced until he was exhausted and collapsed right in the gym, but never once did he think about giving up.

During Tet of the first year away from home, when other interns asked permission to return home to reunite with their families, Bach Duy was one of the few people who stayed in the company's empty dormitory. He sat alone in the practice room on New Year's Eve, looking out the window at the bright fireworks blooming in the city sky, holding an old guitar in his hand but unable to play a single note. He remembered previous Tet holidays, when he was still with his parents, when he was still at the Nhieu family, when Tang Ninh often gave him lucky money along with a witty handwritten wish on a small card. This year, no one gave you lucky money, no one wished you a happy new year. He sat there until the last fireworks went off, then quietly wrote a new song, a song about loneliness in the midst of the days that should have been the most united.

There was a friend in his internship class, a guy about his age, who recognized Bach Duy's loneliness and often invited him out to eat a bowl of hot pho late at night after practice. He didn't ask much about his past, but simply sat next to him, sometimes telling a few funny stories to make him less quiet. Thanks to that, Bach Duy gradually learned to open up a little more to the world around him, although his heart always had a locked corner, storing the image of the woman who taught him what it was to be loved unconditionally, and then was the one who pushed him out of her arms.

He poured all the pain, all the memories, all the emotions that had never been expressed into words into each note and each verse. People often say that the most authentic art is born from wounds that have not yet healed, and perhaps that is exactly what happened to Bach Duy. Every song he wrote during this period carried a layer of deep emotion that made those around him, even the most experienced music producers, recognize his natural talent.

The night before his official debut as a solo singer, Bach Duy sat alone in the company's dormitory room and took out the leather-bound notebook that Tang Ninh gave him last year - the only item from the past that he had kept with him for the past six years even though he had never contacted her. He opened the notebook, flipped to the last blank page, and wrote down a short line.

"Tomorrow, I will officially step into the light. I don't know if you still remember me, if you still follow me. But if so, I want you to know that everything I have achieved today is in no small part thanks to the trust you once placed in me, even if it was just a simple sentence many years ago."

He closed the notebook, put it in the drawer next to the bed, then lay down, trying to get some sleep before the big day ahead. He did not know that, not far away, in a small house called Leaf Dome that he had never known, there was a woman who was silently following his every step through the phone screen, her heart tightening every time she saw his face appear on entertainment news pages, pride and pain mixed in every moment.

The official launch took place at a small stage for new artists, in front of a few hundred spectators and a number of entertainment journalists. Bach Duy stood under the stage lights, his heart beating rapidly, but when the opening music sounded, all fear suddenly disappeared, giving way to a strange feeling of peace that he had only felt when holding the guitar and singing in the small room of Nhieu's house many years ago. He sang his entire title song, his deep voice carrying a long journey of pain and maturity, causing the auditorium to fall silent and then erupt in endless applause.

After that debut night, Bach Duy's name quickly gained attention on social networking sites. People call him "the guy whose voice carries a story," although not many people know the real story behind each of his songs. Only he, alone, understands that each of those lyrics was written from the loneliest nights of his life - and from a name he never dared to mention in public, even though it was always deep in the drawer of his heart, waiting to be opened again.