Chapter 5 — When He Chose Her

The next instant, he practically snatched the phone, his fingers trembling as he tapped into the location tracker. Hai Thanh. Chu Tu immediately pulled out his own phone, navigating to the social media profile of Tu Xan Xan. It was empty—a void. She had blocked him. Without a second thought, Chu Tu grabbed his car keys and bolted out the door.

07

Life in Hai Thanh was slower than I had imagined. Waking up in the morning, the window was veiled in a thick, salty sea mist. I would sit by the edge of the bed for a long time, only then remembering that I no longer needed to report to the law firm. I started taking long walks along the shore. I found myself thinking of Chu Tu, though never intentionally. It was just a fleeting moment, like an old, dull wound warming up slightly in the humid air. I found that I could finally place him at a distance, viewing him from afar. I remembered how he used to shield me from drinks at social gatherings; how, when I had a fever, he would sit by my bedside and replace the cooling towels; and how, later on, he would repeat, "Calm down first, just stay calm." On the evening of the third day, I sat in a daze at a seaside cafe. My phone had remained turned off. By dusk, the waiter brought me a drink and mentioned that someone was looking for me outside. I glanced through the glass and saw a figure standing at the end of the wooden boardwalk. It was Kieu Nguyet. She looked thinner than the last time we met, appearing almost surreal, as if she had been plucked out of another timeline. I did not stand up. I simply waited for her to approach. When she sat down opposite me, her movements were tentative. A long, heavy silence stretched between us. Eventually, she was the one to break it.

"Seeing you here, you look exactly like the version of yourself you once described."

I raised my eyes to look at her. "What did I say?"

She paused for a second, then spoke softly, "You said the place you wanted to go to most was Hai Thanh."

I had to think for a moment before I remembered. It was a long time ago, back when I still foolishly believed that the future could be mapped out. I had once mentioned offhandedly, "When I'm no longer a lawyer, I want to go to Hai Thanh." Chu Tu had been beside me, saying nothing, only offering a faint smile. "That’s too far," he had replied. Later, that conversation was never brought up again, yet someone else had been listening. I looked at Kieu Nguyet; her expression was complex—a mix of resentment, exhaustion, and a sliver of the honesty one only dares to admit after a defeat. She gave a bitter laugh.

"I found you, but I still lost."

The air hung heavy for a second. "I thought you would break down, or at least hate me."

I smiled, very faintly. "I used to think I would feel that way, too."

The wind drifted in from the window, carrying the scent of salt. I suddenly felt as if everything were absurd. The three of us had been trapped in the same tangled web, only to reach the end and realize that no one had truly won. I looked at her, my voice calm. "I never expected things to come to this. We grew up together."

"I never expected that one day I would make you feel so pressured," she replied. She flinched, her eyes flickering before she quickly looked down, as if struck by something she refused to acknowledge. After a long pause, she whispered, "Do you hate me?"

I shook my head. "It’s meaningless."

"Whether I hate you or forgive you, it won't change what has already happened."

When those words landed, she fell completely silent. She sat for a while longer before standing up. She cast one last look at me, said nothing, and turned to leave. The moment the door closed, the cafe went quiet again. I realized then that people easily fall into an illusion, believing that being "chosen" is the same as love, and that being "kept" is the same as safety. But it isn't. The true priority was never about who chose whom; it was about whether, after being abandoned time and time again, you still had the strength to stop standing still. I had chosen to move on, and in doing so, I let go. She stopped at the door.

"What if he finds you? Will you turn back?"

"No."

The cafe returned to its silence, filled only by the sound of the crashing waves. I pulled my phone from my pocket and switched it on. An instant rush of notifications flooded the screen—missed calls, messages, and voice notes. They all came from one name: Chu Tu. Just as I reached to turn it off again, a gaze fell upon me from outside the door. It was familiar, and heavy with silence.

08

When that gaze reached me through the window, I did not move immediately, letting the feeling of being watched settle over me. The phone screen still glowed, a litany of missed calls staring back. Each one bore the name Chu Tu, repeated over and over, like a stubborn, dying echo that refused to fade. I slowly placed the phone face down on the table and looked toward the door. The door remained shut, yet I knew he was there. The sensation was strange—neither a rush of heart-pounding passion nor a surge of panic. It felt more like a case that had long been closed, suddenly being flipped back to the first page. The moment the door was pushed open, the wind rushed in first, followed by him. He looked thinner than in my memories, his eyes heavy with a profound exhaustion. But the most blinding thing of all was the wedding ring still resting on his finger.