Back in her small apartment, Bach Lan curled up on the chair by the window. A sudden drizzle tapped softly against the glass. The sound of rain on the windowpane became a subtle soundtrack to her nameless thoughts, blurring the city outside and the turmoil within her heart into a thin veil of mist.
She lifted a hand to her lips. They were still warm, as if the trace of that kiss had not yet faded.
Strangely, her heart did not flare with anger or demand tears like it had in moments of insult before. Instead, a gentle, tender feeling seeped deep into her chest.
It was her first kiss, her first time, yet why could she not resist it? Why could she not hate it?
If this was meant to be a forceful act, then why did her heart soften instead of burning with fury?
In her mind, Trach Dong's image flickered constantly, his gaze when it met hers, the hand resting lightly on her waist, and that fleeting, inscrutable smile. She could not deny it: between them, there was a feeling strange yet familiar, one she could not name.
She had always thought of him as the cold, calculating CEO, distant and full of schemes. Yet, in that instant when their lips met, Bach Lan felt herself falling into a distant memory, where the air carried an old, familiar scent, where gentle eyes silently watched over her, and where a story long untold seemed to stir awake.
She pressed her hand to her forehead, closing her eyes, forcing herself to piece together the fragments of a dream that kept repeating:
A man in a pale blue robe, holding a book, sitting beneath falling peach blossoms, turning his head to look at her with eyes as deep as the ocean.
Was it Trach Dong? Or not?
No, the man in that dream was gentler, warmer but then why, when she looked at Trach Dong just now, did she feel both a closeness and an unreachable distance at the same time?
Bach Lan opened her eyes and let out a sigh. Inside her chest was a tangled mess of emotions, timid, stirred, and frustrated at herself for not being able to make sense of her feelings.
Perhaps... she was already feeling something. But was it true emotion, or just a strange connection to a memory from another life?
Outside, a sudden drizzle fell. On a warm summer night, the rain cooled the air slightly. Bach Lan tugged the thin blanket around her, curling up as a reflex to protect herself. But at that moment, the image of Trach Dong's deep black eyes flashed in her mind—both intimate and dangerous.
She didn't know whether to feel fear or anticipation.
The rain had stopped without her noticing. The room was quiet, as if waiting for her to wake.
Bach Lan sat dazed on the bed, her hair slightly tousled, falling over her narrow shoulders. The thin blanket had slipped off her, but she didn't bother to pull it back. She just sat there, staring blankly into the empty space before her.
The dream lingered, tangled in her mind like an unbroken spiderweb. Fragmented images, the forest, gazes, warmth, words flooded her like shattered memories from some distant past life, then vanished. She could not recall their names, could not clearly picture their faces, yet the feeling... lingered as if it had just touched her heart.
One was gentle, calling her name softly as if cherishing it. The other was firm, silently protective, feelings hidden like an underground current. Both left echoes that made her heart tremble even upon waking.
Yet, ironically, the person who unsettled her most was not in the dream.
It was the man who had forced her to attend last night's party, Trach Dong.
He was arrogant, domineering, even shameless. Yet the way he looked at her for a fleeting moment made her chest tighten. The hold on the dance floor, the brief kiss though infuriating, left a mark she could not ignore.
Was she feeling something for him?
Impossible. The person in the dream was still unclear; how could she know which man truly made her heart falter?
A flicker of stir, a hint of vulnerability was enough to make her feel guilty toward herself, or toward someone she could not yet remember.
Bach Lan tilted her head slightly, hugging two pillows, resting her chin on her knees like a child abandoned in a storm of emotions. Something inside her tugged between past and present, between reason and feeling.
Why did her heart react to someone clearly not in the dream?
Or had she mistaken him for someone else?
Since the night of the party, Bach Lan had deliberately kept her distance from Trach Dong.
She invented every excuse to avoid him that she was overloaded with work, a sick sister in the countryside, or even silly reasons like a toothache that made talking inconvenient.
Every time they crossed paths at the office, she would lower her head and walk briskly or pretend to be on a phone call. Yet each time his eyes swept past her, it was like an electric jolt, making her heart skip a beat.
She hated that feeling.
That vague, confusing emotion she couldn't name was it fear or longing? It felt as though if she came any closer, she might lose control over herself.
She had to stay away from him.
That was the only certainty she could hold onto.
Fortunately, a week later, Trach Dong received instructions for a long business trip abroad. The office suddenly felt lighter, and Bach Lan finally exhaled in relief.
She thought she could return to her normal rhythm. No probing glances, no half-smiles that made her heart skip, no teasing words dripping with hidden meaning that left her cheeks burning.
However, on Friday morning, just as she planned to hide in the tearoom with a hot cup of coffee, she was suddenly called by the chief secretary:
"Bach Lan, are you free today? The chairman just mentioned that someone special is arriving from overseas at noon. We need a trustworthy person to pick them up at the airport. I'll send the details to your device take a look."
She opened the email without thinking much, but when the screen displayed the lines:
Name: Trach Hien.
Flight: XXX
Time: 13:40 – International Terminal.
Her hand suddenly froze.
Bach Lan stood rooted to the spot.
Trach Hien.
The name pierced straight into the deepest layers of her memory. Faint, unclear, yet strangely familiar.
She blinked rapidly, a sudden thought striking her like lightning: Could it be that she had been influenced too much by those recurring dreams? Or perhaps it was from reading too many reincarnation novels that now her heart fluttered so easily?
Part of her mind wanted to reject the feeling, but her heart was pounding as if it had remembered something she herself had forgotten.
Amid the bustling airport, a crowd moving like a tide, Bach Lan clenched her hands, an unnamed fluster rising within her. It was just a name, and yet why did it make her heart race like this?
A flight announcement sounded through the speakers. The gates opened, and people began spilling out.
And then, a man appeared. Tall, poised, with a cold face and eyes deep as night. His presence was elegant, yet far from soft. He moved slowly, each step almost magnetic, drawing her gaze irresistibly toward him.
She didn't recognize him, yet her body and her heart reacted as if one chaotic wave had risen at once: both familiar and frightening.
"Are you the one sent to pick me up?" – His low voice echoed straight into her chest, resonating like a sound pulled from some long-forgotten dream.
Bach Lan nodded, trying to maintain her composure:
"Yes, I'm a temporary assistant, assigned to pick you up."
"An assistant?" – He raised an eyebrow, his gaze flicking over her. – "What's your name?"
"I... I'm Bach Lan."
Trach Hien paused for a moment.
"Bach Lan." – He repeated slowly, savoring each syllable. – "That's a beautiful name."
She forced a smile, attempting calm, but her spine tingled as though an electric current had run through it.
Could it be him? The one from her dreams?
No... she couldn't be sure. But that voice, that gaze, it all seemed to have existed in a world her reason could not touch.
Bach Lan clenched her hands, trying to steady herself. Yet when she lifted her head, his eyes remained fixed on her, as if searching for something lost long ago.
For a fleeting moment, she felt as if she had stepped into a play already written, and she didn't even know she was the lead.
He lifted his suitcase and turned toward her, speaking gently:
"Let's go, Assistant Bach."
His tone was calm, yet it made her heart skip in rhythm with every word. Every syllable sounded rehearsed by time itself, echoing like it had once played in the dreams where peach blossoms carpeted the ground.
Every sense in her body screamed a warning: this was no mere coincidence.
This was destiny returning in a full circle.
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