Chapter 2 — Turns Out You Were Always Waiting

Before long, the door swung open once more. A tall, impeccably tailored man stepped into the room, boasting broad shoulders, long legs, and a classically handsome, flawless face that looked almost as though it had been rendered by a computer. Even though I was constantly surrounded by models in my line of work, I still found myself stealing a few extra glances at him. Yet, for reasons I could not quite fathom, there was something vaguely familiar about his features. With a polite smile, the assistant introduced him:

"This is our company's Chief Executive Officer, Mr. Co. He happened to have some free time today, so he decided to drop by and listen in on the presentation."

Never had they expected the chief executive himself to make a personal appearance. Tam Vu was both thrilled and apprehensive as she hastily rose to her feet. I followed suit, offering a warm and professional greeting:

"Hello, CEO Co. I am Tan Kien Vi, the lead designer for Moya. It is a pleasure to meet you for the first time, and I look forward to your guidance."

"The first time?"

"Yes. I must admit, I never imagined you would be so young."

The man remained silent, offering no reply. Undeterred, I pressed on:

"Have you had the opportunity to look into our fashion brand prior to this?"

"No."

"Then have you ever encountered our brand in the open market before?"

"No."

Tam Vu and I exchanged a furtive, uneasy glance. The atmosphere grew rather awkward. Following that brief exchange, the chief executive uttered not another word. He simply retired to a quiet corner, taking a seat and quietly gazing at his phone, as though he truly had only come to "listen in." It was not until we finally escaped the conference room that we were able to shed the heavy, suffocating pressure of his presence. Tam Vu looked thoroughly bewildered.

"I had always heard that Co Thi Da was a rather approachable person," she muttered. "Why was he so terrifying today?"

My ears perked up instantly at the name.

"What did you just say his name was?"

"Co Thi Da. Did I really forget to mention it to you before we came in?"

In a sudden flash, the face that I had buried deep within the recesses of my memory snapped into alignment with the man I had just encountered. No wonder he had looked so familiar. He was none other than the legendary top student of our school days, albeit now without his glasses and with an entirely different hairstyle! The very next second, my phone chimed with a notification: Co Thi Da had accepted my friend request. Almost instantaneously, a message popped up on the screen. [It hasn't been that long. We just met a moment ago.]

Back in my school days, Co Thi Da and I were never close. The only time we ever exchanged more than a passing word was because of Song Nghat Chu. For one entire month, I had been assigned to share a desk with Song Nghat Chu. Right around that period, my parents' marriage began to hit a rocky patch, and when combined with the crushing weight of academic pressure, my grades plummeted drastically. I had previously hovered comfortably in the upper tier of the class, but by the time the second mock exams rolled around, I crashed straight down to the very bottom. My emotional state was utterly frayed. I vividly remember hiding away after the results were posted, skipping evening self-study to sneak out to the athletic field and quietly weep. When I finally returned to the classroom, a stray sheet of paper was resting right on top of my desk. Scrawled across it were the step-by-step solutions to every single problem I had gotten wrong. I had no idea who could have left it there. At the very bottom, there was just a short, messy phrase:

"Keep it up."

While I stood there in a daze, completely perplexed, Song Nghat Chu noticed my tear-rimmed eyes. He pulled a tissue from his desk drawer and handed it over to me.

"All these exams are pretty much the same," he said offhandedly. "Just go over your mistakes a few times and you'll be fine."

I clutched the piece of paper tightly in my hand, lowered my head, and whispered:

"Thank you."

From that day onward, following every major or minor examination, another slip of paper with corrected solutions would invariably appear on my desk. Song Nghat Chu was the only one who routinely saw my graded papers. Consequently, throughout all those intervening years, I had always passively assumed that the person secretly helping me all along was him. On the eve of the college entrance examinations, I mustered every ounce of courage I possessed and wrote him a love letter. My original plan was to slip it into his desk drawer during the lunch break. To my utter shock, Co Thi Da materialized out of nowhere. His gaze swept over the pink envelope clutched in my hand, and in a rare display of initiative, he asked a direct question:

"Is that for Song Nghat Chu?"

Then, I heard him say:

"The college entrance exams are right around the corner. I hardly think it wise to disrupt someone else's state of mind for the exams right now. Don't you agree?"

A heavy thud echoed in my mind. I was so utterly mortified I wished the ground would open up and swallow me whole right then and there. Even though his tone had been remarkably gentle, it was more than enough to completely shatter every shred of my hard-earned courage. From that day forward, whenever I crossed paths with him, I would deliberately take a wide detour. Later on, I heard that the moment graduation ceremonies concluded, Song Nghat Chu publicly announced his relationship with the campus belle. It was only then that the truth dawned on me—Co Thi Da had intervened simply because he had known all along that Song Nghat Chu already had a girlfriend.

That evening, as I sat staring at the message from Co Thi Da, I scratched my head in utter frustration, completely at a loss for how to reply. If he were just an ordinary former classmate, I could easily ignore it. But now, he was a vital, high-stakes potential client for our firm. I knew firsthand how much tireless effort Tam Vu had poured into securing this project during its nascent stages. Just as I was meticulously weighing every word, trying to craft a suitable response, another message from Co Thi Da ticked onto the screen. [Next week's ten-year class reunion—are you planning to attend?]

Truth be told, I had zero intention of going. Back in high school, my disposition had been somewhat introverted. Aside from hitting the books, my entire world revolved around sketching. The only female friend I had grown close to no longer lived in this city. Showing up to that gathering would only serve to dredge up awkward memories. [Teacher Truong asked me to help organize this upcoming event. He specifically requested that I round up a full table's worth of people. Would you be so kind as to humor me and show up?]

I let out a long, weary sigh. In the end, I deleted the refusal I had half-composed and typed out a single word in reply: [Okay.]