Chapter 8 — Stupid But Strong

That night, Tang Ninh could not sleep. She lay on the bed, looking up at the ceiling, her ears still ringing with Bach Duy's warm voice, the image of him taking off his mask, revealing a face that had changed a lot but his eyes were still the same as the day he was sixteen years old standing in front of her house, holding a guitar wrapped in an old cloth bag.

She sat up, turned on the desk lamp, took out the small wooden box from the bedside table, and flipped through the old photos again. In one photo, sixteen-year-old Bach Duy stands next to her, smiling awkwardly at the camera; In another photo, he holds a guitar, his eyes focused on the notes. She compared that image with the man she had just met this afternoon, realizing that even though his face had matured, even though his figure had become much taller, there was something in his eyes that had not changed - a sincerity, an absolute trust that she was once afraid to face.

"I can't let this happen again," she told herself, folding the box and putting it in a drawer. "He has his own life, his own career. I can't ruin everything he's tried to build because of a moment of weakness."

But even though she told herself that, her heart still did not listen to her reason. During the next week, every time the wind chimes on the shop door rang, she raised her head to look, her heart beating a beat faster, then was mildly disappointed when she realized it was just a regular customer, not the person she was expecting but didn't dare admit.

As for Bach Duy, the evening after that meeting, he returned to his own apartment, sat alone in the dark living room, without turning on the lights, just letting the light from the city window shine in. He took out the guitar, strummed a few random notes, and before he knew it, those notes had merged into a new melody, gentle but filled with the anxiety of a person who has just found what he had lost.

He didn't tell anyone about that meeting, including Lam Nha Thu - his manager who always closely followed his every schedule and relationship. He was afraid that if he said it, everything would become too real, and he would be faced with the decision of what to do next, while he himself had not yet sorted out the chaotic emotions in his heart.

The next morning, when he went to the studio to complete the demo for his new song, Lam Nha Thu realized there was something different about him. "You look happier than usual," she commented, scrolling through her schedule on her tablet. "Is something good happening?"

"It's nothing," Bach Duy replied, trying to keep his voice normal, quickly flipping through the page with the new lyrics to avoid her prying eyes. "It's just that I slept better yesterday."

Lam Nha Thu raised her eyebrows, not quite believing in that answer, but she did not ask further, just silently remembered this unusual change in her heart, telling herself to keep a closer eye in the coming days. Many years of experience in the artist management profession told her that such a sudden change of mood, especially in a normally secretive person like Bach Duy, is usually not a small matter.

The new song Bach Duy wrote that week has a gentler melody than his usual sad style. The lyrics talk about "a door that seemed to be tightly closed, but suddenly one rainy day it opened again," about "a cup of coffee without sugar, brewed exactly as the person remembers." He kept that song for himself, not including it in the list of songs about to be released, as if it was a love letter that he didn't dare send, just for someone who would probably never fully hear the true meaning behind each word.

Three days later, unable to contain himself, Bach Duy went to Vom La restaurant again, this time early in the morning before his work schedule began. He still wore the hat and mask like last time, and chose the right corner table.

Tang Ninh saw him walk in, her heart skipped a beat, but she tried to stay calm, reminding herself that this was just a guest like any other. "You're here again," she said, trying to sound normal, bringing him his familiar cup of coffee without him having to order.

"The coffee here is delicious. Besides..." Bach Duy hesitated, looking at her. "I'd like to talk to you more, if you don't mind."

"I'm very busy, Bach Duy," Tang Ninh replied, her voice somewhat evasive. "The restaurant is crowded, I don't have much time to chat."

But at that time, the restaurant only had a few customers, and both of them knew clearly that the refusal was just an excuse. Bach Duy did not force her, just nodded, silently sipping a cup of coffee, eyes occasionally following her figure moving between tables.

He realized that, even though she tried to act distant, her eyes still glanced at him every time she thought he wasn't paying attention, then quickly turned away when she caught him looking back. He realized that, even though she always found busy excuses to avoid long conversations, she always remembered exactly how he liked to drink coffee, without needing to ask twice. Those small details, to an outsider, may not mean anything, but to Bach Duy, they were clear evidence that her feelings, no matter how well buried, had never disappeared.

As for Tang Ninh, every time she serves him, she has to remind herself to keep her distance, keep her voice calm, and keep her eyes from lingering on his face for too long. But there were moments, when he lowered his head to concentrate on writing something in a small notebook, the morning sunlight shining through the window illuminating his hair, she suddenly remembered the teenager who used to sit on the stairs of her house, holding the guitar and singing sad, wordless melodies, and a dull ache welled up in her chest.

"Miss Ninh," Bach Duy called as she brought another small plate of cakes to his table — a dessert he had never ordered. "I didn't order this."

"Please," Tang Ninh replied, a bit confused, then quickly corrected herself. "New customers of the shop, you often have a bonus program like that."

Bach Duy knew clearly that it was just a clumsy lie, but he did not expose it, just smiled, thanked her, and ate the cake with a small, indescribable joy. He understood that this was the only way Tang Ninh could show her concern without having to break the barriers she had built herself.

Mornings like that gradually become an unspoken habit between the two of them. Bach Duy tries to arrange his schedule so that he can visit the restaurant at least once or twice a week, always choosing empty hours to avoid being recognized. Tang Ninh, even though she always said she was busy, always took a few minutes to sit with him, chatting about innocuous things — the weather, books, recent movies, anything that could fill the silence without touching on the past or the emotions they were both trying to repress.

One afternoon, when the restaurant was empty, Tang Ninh accidentally dropped the hand towel on the floor right when passing by Bach Duy's table. They both bent down to pick it up at the same moment, their hands almost touched each other on the tile floor, and both quickly pulled their hands back as if they had just touched fire. Tang Ninh stood up straight first, his face slightly red, mumbled a thank you, then turned around and quickly walked towards the mixing counter, leaving Bach Duy sitting there, his heart pounding, his hands still feeling the vague warmth from that moment of almost touching.

She stood behind the counter, leaning against the refrigerator, taking a deep breath to calm her racing heartbeat. She knew clearly that the moment just now was nothing worth being so flustered about, but because of her own overreaction, she realized even more clearly that the feelings she had tried to bury for six years had not cooled down, but were still smoldering under the seemingly extinguished layer of ash.

But under the cover of those gentle conversations, they both knew, the feelings that forced them apart six years ago were still intact, even deeper through time and distance. Only now, none of them dared to be the first to admit it out loud.

That night, before going to sleep, Tang Ninh texted Ha Thuy Duong, just one line: "He came to the shop again, and I think I'm in big trouble." Thuy Duong called immediately, but Tang Ninh just laughed it off over the phone, promising to tell the details by the end of the week, then hung up, lay looking at the ceiling until he fell asleep without realizing it, still lingering in his mind the image of hands almost touching each other on the cold tile floor.