Chapter 5 — Wind and Snow Falling, Ancient People Return

Old Pine Seasons

That night, Diep Khanh could not sleep. She lay in bed, looking at the streetlights shining through the curtains, letting her mind drift back to the old years, when she was a second-year student majoring in landscape design at a university in Da Lat, and Bach Du was a senior student majoring in architecture, who was always mentioned by her teachers as an excellent academic example.

The first time they talked to each other was not under the library porch as she often remembered, but at an exhibition of final-term projects of architecture students, where Diep Khanh happened to stop by out of curiosity. She stood in front of a model of a flower market designed in an open style, taking advantage of natural light and wind flowing through the courtyards, admiring it so much that she did not realize the model's designer was standing right next to her.

"What part do you like best in this design?" A deep voice rang in her ear, causing her to turn around in surprise.

"Ah, I like the way you arranged the lighting in the fresh flower display area, not using artificial lights but taking advantage of the tilted glass roof to catch the morning sunlight." Diep Khanh answered without hesitation, then realized the person he was talking to was the author of the model, when he saw his name written on the introduction board next to him.

Bach Du smiled, his eyes lit up because he found someone who really understood his ideas in the crowd that was just passing by. The conversation that day lasted more than an hour, from space design to Diep Khanh telling about her mother's flower shop, about the mornings she followed her mother to the flower market since she was young, about her dream of helping her mother turn Diep Suong shop into a place that not only sells flowers but also organizes small, cozy events.

From that meeting, they gradually became close. Bach Du often stops by the flower shop in his free afternoons, sitting at a small table next to the counter, sketching drawings and chatting with Diep Khanh while she arranges flowers. There were days when he brought a large roll of drawing paper, spread it out on the warehouse floor behind the shop, and discussed with her about renovating the backyard into an outdoor display corner, even though at that time they both knew those were just unrealistic ideas of youth, without enough conditions to implement them.

That winter, Da Lat was colder than usual, with fog covering the roads all day long. Bach Du often took Diep Khanh on his old motorbike to walk around the lake in the afternoons after school. The two of them sat on a large rock along the lake, wrapped in a wool scarf, looking at the calm water surface reflecting the faint sunset through the mist.

"After graduating, do you plan to stay in Da Lat?" Bach Du asked her one afternoon like that, his voice was a bit hesitant.

"Sure. My mother's flower shop is here, I can't leave." Diep Khanh looked out at the lake, his voice firm. "And you, are you going anywhere?"

"I don't know either." Bach Du looked down at his hands clasped together, his eyes were a bit distant which Diep Khanh did not notice at that time. "But wherever I go, I want you there."

That sentence, at that time, only made Diep Khanh smile happily, leaning her head on his shoulder without thinking about the changes that were about to happen. Little did she know that, just a few months later, that same sentence would become one of her most painful memories, when what he said seemed completely opposite of what had happened.

They have been in love for nearly two years, experiencing all the emotions of a student love affair: the walks in the pine forest early on the weekend mornings, the times they skipped class together to go to the night market to eat grilled rice paper, the nights staying up studying for exams together in the school library, and even the small quarrels over trivial matters and then quickly making up. Diep Khanh still clearly remembers the way her breathing naturally slowed down every time she sat next to Bach Du, the feeling that just when his hand gently touched the back of her hand, all the hustle and bustle out there seemed to recede, giving way to a silence with just the two of them.

She remembered one time, on a rainy evening, Bach Du drove more than three kilometers in the rain just to bring her a box of cold medicine because she accidentally complained on the phone that she had a runny nose. He stood in front of the flower shop, his raincoat was soaked, his hair stuck to his forehead, but the smile on his lips was still bright when he saw her open the door. "I'm afraid you'll sleep alone without anyone taking care of you. What if you have a high fever?" That simple sentence, at that time, moved Diep Khanh to tears, and until now, every time it rains, she still can't help but remember the image of him standing soaking wet in front of her house that year.

There were also afternoons when the two of them climbed a small hill near the school together, where they could see the whole city of Da Lat covered in afternoon mist. Bach Du often carries a sketchbook, drawing the architectural lines he imagines for the future, while Diep Khanh sits next to him, braiding small wreaths from the weeds growing around the hill, placing them on both their heads like children. Those simple moments, which seemed to last forever, became the most precious memories that Diep Khanh carried with her all these years later, when everything else had changed.

But life did not always follow what people want. Diep Khanh's final year of college was also the time her mother, Chu Thi Yen, began to have unusual health symptoms. At first, it was just temporary fatigue and slight shortness of breath that she always dismissed, saying it was just due to overwork. But gradually, her condition became more serious, until one day she fainted right in the flower shop and had to be taken to the emergency room.

From then on, Diep Khanh's life revolved around days spent at the hospital, nights falling asleep on the waiting chair in the hallway, and short conversations with the doctor about her mother's cardiovascular condition. She has almost no time left for anything else, including her own feelings. Her phone often ran out of battery because she forgot to charge it, or left it at home while rushing to the hospital.

Bach Du, during that time, was also facing a major turning point in his own career. A prestigious scholarship with the opportunity to work at a prestigious heritage planning company in Lyon, France suddenly came to him, but the confirmation period was only three weeks. It was an opportunity that any architecture student dreams of, but it also meant that he had to leave Diep Khanh, away from Da Lat, for an indefinite period of time.

He tried to contact her many times in those three short weeks, wanting to discuss, wanting her opinion, wanting to find a direction for both of them with her. But every time I call, Diep Khanh's phone is either turned off, or no one picks up. He texted, and the messages only received short, sporadic responses, sometimes a whole day apart, because Diep Khanh at that time really had no mind to pay attention to the phone amid stressful moments at her mother's hospital bed.

That reluctant silence, in a time-critical situation, has become a fertile ground for misunderstandings to arise. And while both of them were struggling in their own troubles, there was one person who silently stepped into that void, with the appearance of a kind friend willing to help.

Diep Khanh lay on the bed, eyes still open and staring at the ceiling, memories kept coming back one after another endlessly. She remembered Bach Du's smile in the afternoon sunlight by the lake, remembered the warmth of his hand every time he held her hand to walk through slippery slopes due to dew, remembered even the promises of a shared future that now sounded like just luxurious empty words.

She wondered if that day she hadn't been so busy with her mother's illness, if she had paid more attention to her phone, to his unfinished messages, would things had been different. But then she remembered the cold text message she received, the message saying that he had chosen his career, his own future, and did not want her to wait hopelessly. That pain, even after five years, was still fresh every time she touches this memory, like a wound that had never truly healed, just being hidden under a thin layer of skin, just a cold wind blowing was enough to make it bleed again.

Outside the window, the night wind whistled gently through the door, bringing with it the typical cold air of Da Lat. Diep Khanh pulled the blanket higher, closed her eyes, trying to banish the swirling memories, but sleep still refused to come, as if her whole soul was submerged in a thick layer of fog with no way out, just like the small alley where she lived.

She sat up, turned on the small nightlight placed on the table, and took out a box of old photos from the drawer that she had kept from her student days. The photos were slightly faded, capturing inconsequential but precious moments: a photo of the two standing in front of the school gate on the graduation day of their seniors, another photo of Bach Du grinning next to the model of the flower market he designed, and there was also a blurry photo hastily taken while the two were walking in the sudden rain, running hand in hand under the awning of a roadside cafe.

She flipped through each photo, each image brought with it its own chain of memories, sometimes making her laugh softly through tears, sometimes making her chest choke with a regret that was hard to name. She wondered if she could turn back time, if she would do things differently, if she should spend less time taking care of her mother and stay in closer contact with him. But as soon as that thought flashed, she shook her head in denial, because she knew, if she had to choose again, she would still be by her mother's side in those critical moments, no matter how high the price was.

She put the photo box back in the drawer, turned off the night light, but before falling asleep, she still couldn't help but wonder, if that day Bach Du truly wanted to choose her over all the opportunities waiting in a far away country, then why could he be so decisive after just a short message to Bao Tram, without one last call, without a single attempt to find her before leaving. That question, she never had anyone to ask, and never expected that the real answer lay in a completely different place than what she believed.