Two months later.
The city was shifting into late winter, the air carrying a chill that hinted at the upcoming festival season. While most people were eagerly planning for a bright, romantic Valentine's Day, at Trach Vu, another theme quietly crept into the marketing strategy: Black Valentine.
It was Bach Lan who first mentioned the phrase during a department meeting over a week ago.
At the time, no one paid it much attention. Some gave her a faint, dismissive smile, thinking it "odd," others shook their heads, saying "the market won't like it." Even she, returning to her desk, only quietly drafted a plan and left it untouched, too hesitant to submit it.
But strangely, the idea would not let her go.
The more she thought about it, the stronger the pull became. It was as if somewhere far away, someone had quietly seen another person off, hands unable to hold, lips unable to call a name. She didn't know where that feeling came from; she only knew that whenever she wrote about a day for the lonely, her chest felt warm, like being gently held by a familiar sadness.
That evening, as she reviewed her unsent plan, she found herself asking quietly:
"Why did I choose this theme? Who am I really thinking of?"
Her eyelids fluttered closed, and without realizing when it had begun, images slowly drifted into her mind.
***
A peaceful countryside, cloaked in morning mist. A young woman in a white dress stood by the stone-paved roadside, her fingers tightly gripping the frayed edge of a woolen scarf. A young man in a pale blue robe walked down the gravel path, carrying a book satchel in one hand. He didn't look back. He didn't pause.
He was headed to the capital to sit for the imperial examinations, a once-in-a-lifetime chance to rise in status and become a government official.
A breeze passed, lifting a few strands of her hair. Something slipped from her eye dust, or a tear. Her voice didn't rise above a whisper, but in her heart, it rang clear:
"Take care… I know this time you'll pass the imperial exam."
***
A flutter in her chest made Bach Lan startle awake. She raised a hand to her forehead, as if trying to erase the image that had just appeared. The feeling was so real. So close. Yet so unfamiliar.
"Was that me?"
The next morning.
The same room, filled with white light and the soft hum of the air conditioner. Bach Lan sat before her computer screen, adjusting every small detail of the plan for Black Valentine – Even Being Alone Can Be Brilliant.
She added a line at the beginning:
"Sometimes, people don't need someone beside them to feel loved. All they need is themselves, and a memory without a name."
Ting.
An internal message popped up from the HR assistant:
"Bach Lan, the director wants you in room 808 to present the Black Valentine plan."
She froze for a few seconds. Then she stood, straightened her collar, and printed two copies of the document.
Stepping into the hallway, she whispered to herself:
"Hopefully he won't ask why I chose this topic. Even I'm not really sure."
Room 808.
The door was slightly ajar. The space inside was quiet, as if holding its breath, waiting.
Bach Lan took a deep breath and stepped in.
A swivel chair faced away from her, casting a shadow against the glass window of a man seated in thought. Tall and lean, shoulders straight, the light from the window skimmed across the edges of his jet-black hair, cold yet strangely alluring.
"Director." – Her voice was calm, neither loud nor soft.
Trach Dong didn't turn immediately. His gaze remained fixed outside, as if admiring the city streets. After a long pause, his low voice finally spoke, steady and composed:
"This plan… is it yours?"
"Yes." – She nodded, placing the stack of papers on the desk.
He swiveled his chair, and his dark eyes seemed to pierce through the thin glass toward her. No anger, no joy, only a deep, unreadable seriousness.
"Black Valentine." – He repeated the title slowly. – "It's a rather novel idea. But I'm curious. Why this? What were you thinking when you wrote it?"
Bach Lan froze. The question was exactly what she had feared most.
She blinked, lips moving as if to give a reasonable answer, but instead spoke the truth or almost the truth:
"It's just a feeling that flashed by. As if… I once saw someone quietly standing by the roadside, neither seeing anyone off nor welcoming anyone. Yet their eyes were fixed on some faraway place."
She paused and lowered her head slightly.
"I'm not sure if that person was real… or just my imagination." – She admitted, feeling a strange mix of uncertainty and shyness. – "I felt… even lonely people deserve a day that belongs to them."
Trach Dong studied her, his eyes narrowing slightly. He neither smiled nor mocked. Instead, a short silence filled the room, leaving space for the unspoken.
Finally, his voice softened just a little:
"Then let me see how many sales your imagination can actually generate."
Bach Lan looked up in surprise. He had already picked up the stack of plans, flipping through each page, eyes never leaving the text.
"It has potential. But it lacks practical structure. A good idea alone is not enough."
He put the papers down and glanced at her again:
"This afternoon, 4 o'clock. I want to see the complete version. Include target audience, costs, implementation timeline, and risk management for media handling."
"Yes." – She hesitated for a moment, then bowed her head to acknowledge the instruction.
As she turned to leave, she heard him add:
"And don't forget, a good idea, if you don't know how to protect it, can easily be taken by someone else."
As Bach Lan stepped out of Room 808, a strange feeling lingered in her chest.
His question echoed in her mind: "Why this one?"
Why indeed?
Somewhere in the past, there must have been a day when one person went to the capital to take the exams, while another stayed behind in the countryside. The vague thread connecting them was it a handkerchief, an unfulfilled promise, or a name left unspoken?
The moment she closed the door, she noticed the group of people scrutinizing her, whispers floating through the air. Even though the murmurs were soft, they felt like silent needles piercing the quiet. They weren't directed at her specifically, yet they lingered in her ears, impossible to shake off.
"She must be the new employee."
Someone sneered: "So what?"
"A new employee reaching all the way here must be really capable."
"Pfft, probably just some tricks and connections."
"Hey, don't assume everyone's like that."
"I saw it with my own eyes. The director took her away. Any doubts?"
Bach Lan returned to her desk, eyes unconsciously drifting to the glass window in the hallway. Outside, the sky had begun turning gray, hinting at an approaching rain. The chill of the metal chair pressed against her skin made her shiver, bringing a sudden alertness.
Something felt off.
She turned on her computer and typed a few final edits in her plan, but her thoughts kept breaking, pulled by the distant murmurs now shifting to another topic.
"I heard there's a new executive coming, studied abroad, with an impressive background."
"At first, I thought it was just a rumor… but it's turning out to be true."
"Do you know the name? Seems like it's Trach…"
"Trach Duong? Trach Hien? Same Trach family? So that means…"
"Yes, he's the half-brother of Director Trach Dong."
Trach Hien.
The name made Bach Lan's heart pause for a moment. A nameless, icy wave ran down her spine.
For an instant, the computer screen blurred. In its place, an image of an old house appeared, sunlight of early spring tilting across the damp stone steps. A gentle wind stirred the thin fabric of a dress, tangling her hazy thoughts even more.
She couldn't remember exactly where it was or rather, she wasn't sure if it was even her memory. Perhaps it was just a vague illusion, a dream she had conjured every night to fill an invisible emptiness.
The girl in the vision had a familiar face, yet something about her felt distant. The boy turned his head, smiling gently, eyes soft like the evening sun, then vanished into a veil of white smoke.
That face was strangely familiar.
Suddenly, the phone rang, pulling her back to reality.
"Hello?"
"Hello, it's me. You left your USB on the desk this morning before leaving. Do you want me to bring it over?"
She slapped her forehead.
"Ah, I forgot! Thank you so much. You really are the best sister."
"Alright, I'm hanging up now."
The line went dead, leaving her once again in silence. Everyone was busy with their own lives; no one was paying attention to her anymore. Yet somehow, an inexplicable sense of unease settled deep in her chest.
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