Since that evening, the name Trach Hien no longer felt distant in Bach Lan's heart. He would often invite her for tea, share a quiet lunch, or simply stroll with her around the company grounds, speaking in fragments that seemed casual yet carried an undercurrent she could not ignore.
Unlike the stern coldness of Trach Dong, Trach Hien was gentle, considerate. He never pressed her with questions, never forced her into corners. His presence was like a soft breeze at the start of summer, subtle, cooling, something that slipped into her days without effort. With him, she could almost forget the chaos of the city and the storms hidden in her own chest.
One afternoon, while they sat in a small tea shop near the company, his hand idly brushed over a small pot of succulents on the table. It was such a simple gesture, yet it caught her off guard. Watching the way his fingers lingered on the rough leaves, her heart tightened for reasons she could not explain. Something about that moment tugged at a thread deep inside her, dragging her back toward a scene she could not fully remember.
A memory half-buried. A time half-lost.
And in that fragile silence, she wondered if she was truly looking at Trach Hien of the present or at the shadow of someone who had once existed in a life her mind could not grasp, but her soul refused to forget.
***
In the courtyard of a thatched cottage nestled within a quiet village, a young fox spirit had just come of age. She held a small hoe in her hands, carefully planting chrysanthemums along the stone steps. Golden sunlight streamed through the canopy of fresh green leaves, spilling down upon the elegant figure of a scholar seated at his desk, grinding ink with measured grace.
"Don't dig too deep. You'll damage the roots." – His voice reached her, low, warm, and gentle.
She looked up, the tip of her nose smudged with dirt, and grinned broadly.
"I know, I know. Such a fuss!"
He chuckled softly, rising to his feet. With the edge of his sleeve, he brushed the stain from her cheek, his gaze so tender it seemed to embrace the whole sky.
That afternoon, they sat together beneath the peach tree, a copy of To Nu Kinh open between them. Each turned page was carried by laughter. He told her stories of the human world, painting it with colors she had never seen. She, in return, sometimes cast little tricks of magic to startle him, delighting in his brief surprise before they both burst into carefree laughter that lingered in the summer air.
***
A soft breeze swept through, pulling Bach Lan out of her daydream. She blinked, staring at her hands, there was no dirt, no chrysanthemums, only a warm cup of tea slowly emptying before her.
"What are you thinking about?" – Trach Hien tilted his head, eyes following her expression as if afraid to miss even the smallest flicker of emotion.
"I... it's just that every time I look at you, I feel something very familiar." – She murmured, not even fully understanding herself.
Trach Hien smiled, as if he already knew something but chose not to speak. He poured more tea, his voice gentle, like a whispering wind.
"Perhaps... it is fate."
That night, in the top-floor office, Trach Dong leaned against the window frame, a stack of reports in his hand, unable to focus on a single line.
Outside, the pale moonlight cast itself across the glass wall. In his mind, the image of Bach Lan walking beside Trach Hien that afternoon kept replaying. She smiled, tilted her head, soft and gentle, not the stiff, guarded expression she always wore around him, but a different Bach Lan: calm, unguarded, peaceful.
His eyebrows drew together slightly. Could it be that because she was "his," seeing her smile at someone else felt... unsettling?
"Nonsense!" – He muttered under his breath, gripping his fountain pen tightly.
But the strange feeling refused to fade. It was like a heavy stone lodged in his throat, he couldn't speak it yet couldn't swallow it down.
He was never the kind of man to show his emotions. From a young age, he had been taught to control himself, to stay indifferent, to remain rational. Things like "liking someone" or "caring for someone" were dismissed as unnecessary behaviors.
Yet, from the first time he met that girl with clear, bright eyes and a voice not sweet but sharp enough to cut through, he had sensed something different.
He had tried a few times to invite her to dinner, but his words came out more like commands than invitations. He had cared about her returning late, yet said, "Don't keep the security waiting next time." She had been criticized in a meeting, and though he wanted to defend her, his words were so cold that she mistook them for scolding.
Every act of concern was clumsy, almost painfully so.
And now, she was smiling at someone else. Someone who could speak gentle words, pour tea at the right moment, look at her with eyes that could soften any woman's heart.
He said nothing, but inside, a feeling surged that he had never experienced before, like losing control.
Trach Dong walked to his desk, opened his phone, scrolling quickly through contacts, and paused at the familiar name: "Bach Lan."
He meant to call but hesitated. His finger hovered midair, caught between reason and a foolish impulse.
Finally, he typed a short message:
"Tomorrow, 8:30. Come to my office. There are documents I need you to review."
It was just an excuse. A reason for her to appear.
Yet after sending it, Trach Dong sank into his chair, resting his head back, eyes closed.
He didn't know what to call this feeling. But he knew one thing: if he didn't keep her close, someone else would.
The next morning, exactly at 8:25, Bach Lan knocked on the glass door of the director's office on the top floor.
The soundproof glass slid open, and she stepped inside, clutching a stack of files, eyes scanning the vast office where only one man stood with his back to her, gazing out the window.
The early sunlight fell on his shoulders, outlining a cold, sharp silhouette.
"CEO Trach, did you call me?" – She asked softly, polite as always.
Trach Dong didn't turn immediately. He remained still for a few more seconds before finally speaking slowly:
"Sit down."
She took the chair in front of his desk and placed the file on the polished surface. Trach Dong flipped through a few pages, then closed the documents again. His eyes weren't on the text, they were on her, observing, quietly measuring each expression, each breath.
"Busy lately?" – He asked.
She blinked in surprise.
"Pardon?"
"Your schedule seems quite full recently." – His voice was steady, neither high nor low, yet it made the atmosphere feel strange, almost tense.
Bach Lan tried to stay composed: "Not really. The PR department just has a few new projects."
"And still find time to have tea with Trach Hien?" – He said quickly, almost immediately after her answer, leaving no pause.
She froze.
So he knew.
But who was he to ask? Her superior? The same man who had once sneered, "I don't care where my employees go after work"?
"We were just discussing some work matters." – She replied lightly, keeping her tone neutral.
Trach Dong let out a faint, unreadable smile, half sarcasm, half self-mockery.
"Work? Since when does Trach Hien care about the PR department?"
Bach Lan lowered her gaze, saying nothing. The air between them grew heavier, suffocating in a way she had never felt before.
After a moment, he stood, walking around to the front of the desk, close enough that she could feel his breath:
"Stay away from him."
She looked up, her expression revealing genuine surprise.
"He's not simple." – He continued, his voice low and firm. – "I don't want you getting tangled in things you don't need to."
"Are you managing my work, or my personal life?" – Her voice was calm, neither loud nor soft, yet carried a sharp edge that cut through the room.
Trach Dong studied her, a shadow flickering across his eyes. Part frustration, part helplessness. He was not good with words, never skilled at expressing what he felt. This feeling was slipping beyond the limits he could control.
"Consider it a warning from someone who understands him better than you do." – He said, lowering his voice and turning slightly, avoiding her direct gaze.
A heavy silence settled over the office.
Bach Lan had never wanted to get involved in the unspoken rivalry between the two men. Trach Hien was gentle and had never spoken ill of Trach Dong in front of her. He had never tried to stop her from meeting or getting close to anyone. Yet Trach Dong seemed to see him as a thorn, scrutinizing every interaction, letting it disturb him.
After a moment, Bach Lan stood, gathering her files, her eyes cold for a fleeting instant:
"If there's nothing else, I'll return to work."
She stepped out, the glass door closing behind her. Trach Dong remained, fingers lightly gripping the edge of the desk, gaze fixed on the cup of coffee.
The cup remained untouched, steam faintly rising. He had made it himself earlier, setting it aside for her. Now it was nothing more than a fading warmth, dissolving like all the words he didn't know how to speak.
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