Chapter 8 — The Light Keeper at the Sea Gate

Two days after submitting the report, Hoai An still has not received any official response from the Maritime Administration, making her even more nervous and worried. To relieve herself, she decided to spend time exploring more corners of Ha Trieu village that she had not had the opportunity to visit before.

"Can you take me to see the village cemetery?" she asked Khoi one morning, as they ate breakfast together. "I want to learn more about the history of the fishing community here. Maybe it will help in the additional report I am preparing."

Khoi hesitated for a moment before nodding in agreement. "Okay, but that's also where my father and Khiem are laid to rest."

Hoai An immediately realized the sensitivity of the request he had just made. "If you're uncomfortable, we can..."

"It's okay," Khoi interrupted her, his voice gentle but firm. "I think, it's time for me to take you there."

Together they walked to the small cemetery located on a low hill behind the village, overlooking the vast ocean. This is the resting place of many generations of Ha Trieu fishermen. Simple tombs are built of stone, facing the sea as a long-standing tradition of this fishing village.

Leading her to two graves next to each other, one larger and one smaller, both carefully taken care of, fresh flowers still freshly placed on the grave. “This is my father,” he said, pointing to the larger grave, “and this is Khiem.”

Hoai An stood still, bowing his head in silent remembrance. She noticed that on Khiem's tombstone was engraved the words: "Dang Vinh Khiem — Son of the sea, forever twenty years old." The simplicity but full of emotion of those words made her feel choked up.

"I still come here every week," Khoi said, sitting down next to the grave, gently pulling out a few weeds growing around the headstone. "Tell them about what's going on at the lighthouse, about my life. I know it seems silly, but it helps me feel like they're still present somewhere."

"I don't think it's silly at all," Hoai An replied, sitting down next to him. "I think it's a way to keep the people you love alive in your heart, even though they are no longer physically present."

Khoi turned to look at her, his eyes filled with deep gratitude. "Do you want me to tell you more about Khiem?" he asked, his voice gentle, no longer as heavy as when he first mentioned his younger brother.

"I really want to," Hoai An replied sincerely.

Khoi began to talk, his voice gradually becoming more lively as he recalled the beautiful memories of his younger brother — how Khiem was always full of energy, always dreaming about faraway sea voyages, how he often teased his serious brother with mischievous jokes, how he was always the first to jump into the sea whenever the weather was sunny, despite Khoi's warnings.

"He always told me that the sea was the only place he felt truly free," Khoi said, a nostalgic smile on his lips. "He hates the feeling of being confined within four walls, whether it's school or any office job. He says, he wants to live a life of traveling and exploring, like the ships that always sail without stopping."

Hoai An listened to each story, feeling the deep love that Khoi had for his younger brother, a love that did not fade over time, but became deeper with each recounted memory. "Khiem must have been a wonderful guy," she said softly.

"That's right," Khoi replied, his voice filled with both pride and regret. "And I believe, if he were still alive, he would have traveled all over the seas by now, fulfilling his dream."

They sat there for a long time, amidst the peaceful scenery of the cemetery overlooking the ocean, sharing stories and memories, until the noon sunlight began to be harsh, signaling it was time for them to return.

On the way home, Khoi suddenly stopped and turned to look at Hoai An with unusually serious eyes. “Thank you,” he said, “for giving me the opportunity to talk about Khiem in this way—not as a tragedy to be pitied, but as a life to be cherished, to be remembered with joy, not just pain.”

"That's what Khiem deserves," Hoai An replied, smiling gently. "And I think that's what you deserve to feel, too, after everything you've been through."

They continued to walk side by side on the trail leading to the lighthouse, the air between them now filled with a deeper closeness and trust than ever before, as if facing that painful past together had bound them together in a way that couldn't be expressed in words.

On the way back, they stopped by the village's small fishing wharf, where a few fishermen were preparing their nets for the afternoon trip out to sea. Little Coi, seeing the two from afar, ran over, holding a large snail shell to show off.

"Mr. Khoi, I found this at the rocky beach, isn't it beautiful?" the boy asked, holding up the spiral shell whose colors sparkled in the sunlight.

"Very beautiful," Khoi replied, bending down to look at the shell with respect, making Baby Coi even more proud. "Please be careful, this type of snail is not easy to find."

"I plan to give it to Miss Hoai An," Baby Coi suddenly said, holding the snail shell towards Hoai An with a proud look on her face. "So that you can remember your village, no matter where you go in the future."

Hoai An was moved to receive the small but meaningful gift, bending down to the boy's eye level. “Thank you so much,” she said, her voice choking a bit. "I'll keep it very carefully."

"So you won't take Khoi's lamp anymore?" Little Coi asked, his eyes were full of hope, clearly still remembering the question he asked during their first meeting.

Hoai An glanced at Khoi, then looked back at Baby Coi with a warm smile. "I'm trying to figure out how to make things work," she replied honestly. "For both the lamp and Mr. Khoi."

The answer seemed to satisfy Baby Coi. He nodded to show understanding and then ran to show off his trophy to other children playing nearby. Khoi looked at the boy's silhouette and smiled slightly.

"The children in the village all love the ladies," he commented, his eyes looking at Hoai An with an affection that was hard to hide.

"I love them too," Hoai An replied, caressing the snail shell in his hand. "And I love this place, and the people here, more than I ever thought when I first arrived."

They continued to walk in silence for a while, each pursuing their own thoughts, but it was a comfortable silence, full of emotions that had not yet been named but were clearly present between them, as the trail gradually brought them back under the shadow of the towering white lighthouse, the place that had witnessed the entire journey of change for both of them since that first cautious day of meeting.

That evening, as Hoai An sat in her room, carefully placing the snail shell Be Coi gave her on the windowsill, she realized she was smiling to herself for no specific reason. She looked outside and saw the lighthouse light still steadily scanning the night sky, and the figure of Khoi looming at the top of the tower, performing his familiar shift.

She opened her laptop, intending to continue completing the additional report, but her thoughts kept returning to the afternoon at the cemetery, about the story Khoi told about Khiem, about how he gradually opened up to her day by day. She realized that this business trip was no longer simply a technical mission, but had become a deeply personal journey, changing the way she viewed work, life, and perhaps, her heart.

There was a light knock on the door and Khoi appeared, holding two cups of hot tea. "I see your room light is still on," he said, handing her a cup. "Thought you might need something warm before bed."

"Thank you," Hoai An replied, accepting the cup of tea, feeling the warmth spreading through his palm. "I was thinking about this afternoon. Thank you for trusting me to share those things with me."

Khoi sat down on the edge of the bed, his eyes looking out the window where the lighthouse light still shone. "I want to thank you too," he said quietly. "Since the day you came here, I feel like I'm gradually learning how to live again, instead of simply existing among memories."

They sat together in silence, sipping hot tea, listening to the sound of ocean waves in the distance, and in that peaceful moment, they both felt, something important and precious was gradually growing between them, far beyond what they could have imagined when this story began.