The silence inside the car felt heavy, almost pressing down on the air. Bach Lan kept her eyes on the window, as if the shifting streets outside could shield her from the man sitting so close. She didn't want to think, yet her heart stirred with an unease she couldn't name.
Beside her, Trach Hien stole a glance now and then. Something in her face tugged at him, a fleeting trace of familiarity, so strange he couldn't shake it off. His gaze lingered. Small frame, delicate features, a presence both near and distant at once. He didn't dwell on it. Instead, a faintly arrogant smile curved his lips.
A few days later, at the Trach family villa.
The last light of dusk spilled through the tall glass windows, stretching his shadow long across the cold wooden floor. In Trach Hien's hand, a cup of coffee cooled, forgotten. On the desk, financial reports lay open, but what caught his eye was the folder from the private investigator. Right on top was a photo from last weekend's grand ball.
A man and woman stood out among the glittering crowd.
The man was Trach Dong, dressed in a black tailored suit that fit with flawless precision, one arm resting lightly around the waist of the woman beside him. She had long hair falling loosely down her back, a white dress flowing like water, eyes lowered with a shy light, as if caught in a stolen moment. Though just a photograph, every detail of her expression carried a vividness that felt almost alive.
Bach Lan.
The name brushed against his memory like a wisp of smoke. The girl who had come to meet him at the airport, quiet, obedient, seemingly plain.
"Trach Dong, close to a woman?" – His voice dropped low, amusement curling faintly at the corners of his mouth.
For years, he had watched that man, learned his ways better than anyone. And he knew the look in his brother's eyes that night was real. This wasn't the polite charm of social rituals. This was different.
Trach Hien's gaze darkened, softening for an instant with thought, before cooling again. He remembered his own place: the son pushed aside, overlooked, always standing in the long, cold shadow of the one the world called CEO Trach.
He recalled how carelessly he had treated her before, his eyes sliding over her like she was just another nameless assistant. But now, seeing her beside Trach Dong, she seemed to change, as if lit from another angle.
That girl... there was something deeply familiar about her.
Yet she was someone Trach Dong had chosen.
His eyes narrowed, fingers tapping in a steady rhythm on the desk.
The rest of the afternoon passed without a word from him. His secretary only watched as Trach Hien quietly carried a slim folder into his office, a name written across its cover in neat black letters: Bach Lan.
The lights in his study burned late into the night.
A few days later, while sorting documents at the PR office, Bach Lan suddenly received a message from the assistant:
"Mr. Trach Hien invites you to dinner. Location: Lumière restaurant, 36th floor, main tower."
She froze for a moment.
Why him?
Even though she still felt a little shaken from their meeting at the airport, something in his eyes, in that cold and distant air about him, stirred a contradictory flutter inside her.
Could he be the one who keeps appearing in those hazy dreams?
The dreams kept repeating blurred faces, a voice calling out with longing, never clear enough for her to grasp.
She hesitated a long time, phone in hand more than once without replying.
But curiosity won out. This time she needed to know. She needed confirmation.
And even though refusing an invitation from someone of the Trach family would be rude, the real reason she agreed was for herself.
She wanted to know who he truly was. She wanted to find out if he might be the person she had been unconsciously searching for.
36th floor, Lumière restaurant.
The space was private, bathed in the soft glow of golden candles that cast shadows against the floor-to-ceiling glass. Beyond it stretched the city at night, skyscrapers glittering like a miniature Milky Way.
Bach Lan arrived on time, yet Trach Hien was already there, waiting. He wore a dark blue suit, elegant but understated, his hair slightly tousled as if untouched by effort, his face free of any harsh edges.
"Thank you for coming." – His voice was low, calm, carrying a quiet warmth.
Bach Lan gave a small nod and took her seat across from him. At first the air felt a little stiff, but soon, with his steady way of speaking, thoughtful without being pressing, the silence eased.
Throughout the meal, Trach Hien was never overbearing. He asked simple questions about work, early struggles, which position she preferred. His tone was measured, just enough to show interest, yet never crossing into intrusion.
By the time dessert arrived, he set his spoon down slowly, his voice dipping lower, carrying a shade of gravity.
"I feel as if... I have met you somewhere before."
Bach Lan faltered for a heartbeat.
It could have been an ordinary remark, yet in his gaze there was a thin veil of something unspoken, soft, pensive, edged with uncertainty, as if even he himself was unsure of the truth in his words.
She had felt it too. From the first moment they met, his face had struck her as both strange and familiar, like an ink stain blurred across a dream never clear enough to define, never faint enough to forget.
"You have eyes..." – He continued, his gaze lingering as though peering through layers of memory. – "That resemble someone I once knew."
"Who was it?" – Bach Lan asked before she could stop herself, forcing her voice to remain steady.
Trach Hien did not answer right away. He leaned back slightly, eyes drifting toward the night sky beyond the glass, where the city lights bled into the darkness like thousands of flickering candles set adrift.
"It was a woman, seldom spoken of." – He said at last, his voice carrying the quiet weight of someone half-speaking to himself. – "She was gentle, yet she endured so much. Some would call that endurance a virtue. Others might see it as weakness."
He never mentioned a name, never used the word "mother." Yet every syllable felt like the faint creak of a locked chest being opened, just enough to reveal that inside lay something old, something fragile, something that mattered deeply.
"She left quietly. Without sound. Without leaving anything behind. Only a pair of eyes... eyes very much like yours that still appear in my memory, hazy as a candle in the wind."
Bach Lan could not hide the tremor in her expression. She sat in silence, uncertain whether comfort or stillness was the better response. Part of her was moved by his story, another part felt as though she had been led into a labyrinth with no clear way out.
Trach Hien smiled then. It was not bitter, not forced, just a faint curve of the lips so delicate that one could not tell if it belonged to sorrow or calm acceptance.
"You must think I am sentimental." – He said, his gaze returning to hers. – "But it is strange. I rarely speak of such things, yet from the first moment I met you, I felt... compelled to open up. As if something long buried had been stirred back to life."
"I..." – Bach Lan's voice faltered, unsure. – "I don't know what to say. But thank you for telling me."
"I apologize if it made you uncomfortable." – His tone remained gentle, steady. – "It is only that I don't often have the chance to remember what has been lost."
Bach Lan gave a small nod, her heart softening in ways she herself could not explain. The man before her did not resemble those who paraded their sorrows for pity. He spoke little, yet enough to spark curiosity, enough to draw her in against her will, into something elusive but impossible to ignore.
It felt as though, between them, an invisible thread had begun to weave itself drawn not from the present, but from some past, or perhaps from a dream only she had ever seen.
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