In a darkened room.
Trach Hien sat alone, the glass of liquor in his hand long empty, yet he gripped it tightly as if it were the only thing keeping him upright.
The shadows pressed in around him.
Everything was collapsing.
Bach Lan had chosen Trach Dong.
Even the shareholders who once supported him had turned their backs.
Reputation, wealth, even the heart of the woman he loved, he had lost it all.
He let out a bitter laugh, his voice catching in his throat:
"Why? Why does he have everything? And I... no matter how hard I try... am just a shadow?"
His eyes burned red like a wild animal gone mad. Thoughts whirled inside him like a raging storm.
If she did not choose me...
If Trach Dong had cornered me completely... then he would pay.
The next day, on a cold rainy afternoon.
Bach Lan had just left the bookstore when a black car screeched to a halt on the curb. She was yanked inside, her scream muffled by a hand clamped tightly over her mouth.
Trach Hien's face appeared, twisted with pain and rage.
"I'm sorry, Bach Lan. I have no other choice."
"Do you know... if you had only ever chosen me, stayed by my side... maybe I wouldn't have gone mad like this."
"But you are just like them. Always looking right through me... as if I don't exist."
Inside an abandoned warehouse, the air was thick with mold and cold.
Darkness pressed in, heavy and suffocating.
Bach Lan slowly regained consciousness. Her head throbbed as if struck by a hammer, and her wrists burned from being tied behind her back. Weak light filtered through the gaps in the rusted metal doors.
In front of her, Trach Hien stood, holding a gun, his eyes ablaze with a manic intensity.
"What do you want?" – Her voice trembled, though she tried to stay calm.
"You are my last card." – He spoke quietly, almost whispering to himself. – "If Trach Dong doesn't hand over those files... then both of you... will die."
She shook her head, tears spilling over.
"You've lost your mind! Do you think Trach Dong would agree to that? He would never trade justice... to save me like that."
"HE MUST CHOOSE!" – He screamed, his voice shattering, like a soul being strangled.
He stumbled back a few steps, hands trembling. Then he sank onto an old step, head bowed like an empty shell, muttering to himself:
"What did I do wrong? Just because I came after... does everything belong to him?"
Rain pelted the eaves, each drop striking like a needle, each one driving another jagged thought into Trach Hien's mind.
He pulled out his phone, dialing with hands that felt like they belonged to someone else, each press of a number sending a sharp sting into memory, childhood moments, Trach Dong's favored smiles, the praise that had always gone to him.
The phone rang a few long tones before the other side picked up. Trach Dong's voice was calm as ever, smooth and unshaken, as if he had no idea of the wounds Trach Hien had just opened.
"Hello."
Trach Hien gritted his teeth, forcing his voice to stay cold: "Trach Dong. Listen carefully. Bach Lan is in my hands. If you don't want me to hurt her, you will hand over the evidence files to me."
He spoke, then ended the call with icy finality, sending nothing more than an address and a time for the meeting.
Four hours later, the warehouse door burst open.
Night wind rushed in, tossing dry straw and scraps of paper across the dusty floor.
Trach Dong stepped inside, his tall figure cutting through the darkness like a blade. His face showed no emotion, but those ash-gray eyes were a storm barely contained.
"Let her go." – He spoke calmly. "There's still a chance to walk away."
"It's too late." – Trach Hien raised the gun, aiming straight at Trach Dong's chest. – "If you don't hand over the files, I'll pull the trigger. Do you think you dare to gamble?"
Bach Lan screamed, struggling against her bonds.
"No, Trach Hien! Please stop! You can still stop!"
He ignored her, letting out a cold, bitter laugh.
"Shut up! Even now, you still choose to protect him!"
Trach Dong didn't move. He stepped forward slowly, one deliberate step.
"You don't have to prove anything like this. I won't give you the files. But if my life can buy her safety... I'll accept it."
"SHUT UP!!" – Trach Hien yelled, his finger tightening on the trigger.
Suddenly, a violent struggle erupted.
The two men lunged at each other. The gun jerked sideways. Hands gripped, shoulders shoved, breaths came hard, bodies slammed against the cold metal walls. Bach Lan screamed in desperation.
In the chaos, their bodies twisted violently, sending the gun barrel swinging toward Bach Lan. Without hesitation, Trach Dong spun, risking himself to shield her.
Then came a deafening blast that tore through the space.
BANG!!
Time seemed to freeze.
Trach Dong stood still for a heartbeat.
Then, a dark red streak seeped from his chest, spreading across his white shirt.
He faltered, collapsing to the floor.
"TRACH DONG!!" – Bach Lan screamed, her voice choked with panic.
Trach Hien froze, the gun slipping from his hand as if it had burned him. He stared at his own hands, then at Trach Dong, eyes wide with disbelief.
"I... I didn't mean to." – He whispered, shaking. – "I... I've killed him."
In the distance, the wail of police sirens pierced the night, red and blue lights flashing through the cracks in the warehouse door.
"Do not move! Hands on your head!" – The authorities shouted, a command that sounded like the final toll of a bell.
Trach Hien sank to his knees, head bowed, his whole-body trembling like a broken wild animal.
Trach Dong's eyes blurred, but he tried to turn toward Bach Lan, a silent message in his gaze, a final wordless farewell. His hand fell yet still reached toward her.
He was rushed into the emergency room, blood still oozing from the wound. The stretcher moved swiftly through the stark white corridor, leaving behind the staggering footsteps of Bach Lan.
She ran after him, almost in a daze, but medical staff blocked her way. The doors slammed shut in front of her, separating her from the man fighting for his life.
"You cannot come in. Please wait outside." – They said.
She stood there, hand reaching out into empty air, not knowing what to grasp. Everything felt like it had collapsed around her.
The night wind swept down the corridor, biting cold against her skin. But colder still was the emptiness in her chest, where her heart ached so deeply it felt impossible to breathe.
She collapsed into a chair in the waiting area, hands trembling as they covered her face.
Tears fell like a string of broken pearls. This time, she didn't hold back; she cried like a child.
"You're so stupid! Why did you take the bullet for me? Why didn't you think about yourself even once..."
The faint beeping of the heart monitor echoed from inside, mingling with the hurried footsteps of the doctors. Each second stretched on endlessly, like an eternity.
After a long while, a nurse rushed out from the operating room, flustered, voice shaking:
"The patient has lost..."
"Lost? That's impossible!" – Before the nurse could finish, she bolted forward, screaming like a madwoman.
Her screams echoed through the corridor, silencing everyone nearby. She collapsed, hands clutching her chest as if she could tear apart the pain that had just struck. In her mind, only three words repeated over and over: "He's gone."
Her heart felt crushed, and her breaths came in ragged gasps.
Through tear-blurred eyes, she looked at the nurse, voice hoarse: "He... really... isn't coming back?"
The nurse froze, unsure how to respond, lips trembling: "Please calm down. I mean... the patient lost a lot of blood. The situation is extremely critical."
The words "a lot of blood" struck her like lightning. Tears continued to pour, but deep in her eyes flickered a fragile thread of hope, so thin it could vanish at any moment.
The corridor felt suffocatingly tense. A doctor stepped out, removing his mask, his face heavy with gravity:
"The patient lost too much blood. The hospital doesn't currently have this blood type. If we can't find a compatible donor... he won't survive."
The world seemed to crumble around her once again. The pain had barely eased when despair piled on top of it.
She trembled as she stepped forward, gripping the doctor's sleeve tightly: "Please... try my blood. Do it now, please!"
The doctor hesitated for a moment, then nodded. The wait for the results felt endless, stretching out like a lifetime. She sat there, hands clenched so tightly they began to bleed, murmuring prayers over and over.
Finally, a nurse came running, eyes bright with hope: "Compatible! Ms. Bach's blood is fully compatible with the patient."
She broke down, tears streaming, mingling with a desperate smile. Without a second thought, she lifted her head, voice firm: "Then take my blood. As much as needed. Just save him..."
In that moment, all her fear vanished. Only one certainty remained: as long as he lived, she was willing to give everything.
After donating, Bach Lan immediately stationed herself outside the operating room. She curled into a corner of a chair, eyes fixed on the door, hands bruised and red from clenching so tightly.
Time seemed to freeze for decades.
Until the door finally swung open.
The doctor stepped out, removing his mask, forehead glistening with sweat. His face showed the strain of the ordeal, slowly softening, but deep in his eyes lingered the worry that would not fade.
"The patient... has temporarily passed the critical stage. The bullet has been removed, but due to the massive blood loss, he remains in a deep coma. We can't predict what will happen next. He needs intensive monitoring... and there's still a chance he may never wake."
Bach Lan froze, unable to believe what she heard.
"He's... alive?" – Her voice was hoarse, trembling.
The doctor nodded silently and then quietly walked away.
At that moment, Bach Lan froze, her whole-body trembling as if someone had drained all her strength. Her heart, just rescued from the edge of despair, was pressed down again, heavy and fragile.
Her knees buckled against the cold floor. She pressed her hands to her face, letting silent tears stream down. But this time, her sobs were not of hopelessness, they were the quiet, aching cries of someone clinging to the fragile hope that he was still breathing, that there was still a chance for him to return.
"Thank the heavens... thank you for not letting go of me." – She whispered, her voice choked with tears.
"Trach Dong... you have to wake up. I beg you... don't leave me alone. I haven't even told you yet that I love you."
The hospital room was spotless and still, so quiet that the rhythmic beeping of the life monitors sounded like fragile pulses hovering between life and death.
Bach Lan stepped forward, slow and cautious, as if any sudden movement might disturb him from his deep sleep. Trach Dong lay there, his face pale, chest wrapped in white bandages, breathing weak but steady.
She sat down beside the bed, her fingers trembling as they lightly touched his hand, the same hand that once held hers as they walked through crowded streets, the same hand that gripped her shoulder to pull her from danger. Now it was cold and still, and the sight of it pierced her heart.
"You're so reckless!" – She forced a smile but tears still fell.
"Why did you risk your life like that? If something happened to you, how would I even go on living?"
She didn't know if he could hear her, but she kept speaking, because if she didn't, her heart felt like it would shatter.
"You're always silent, always quietly doing everything for me. I used to be careless, not noticing, thinking I only knew how to rely on you. But I was wrong."
"It's not just gratitude, and not because you've sacrificed so much for me... it's because I truly... love you."
Her words caught in her throat. She bowed her head, resting her forehead gently on the back of his hand.
"I didn't dare say it before because... I was afraid that my feelings would make you bear more. But now, I'm even more afraid... afraid I won't have another chance to tell you."
"Trach Dong, you must wake up!"
A single tear fell onto Trach Dong's icy, motionless hand.
She stayed there for a long time, until the sun dipped behind the window, casting a soft orange light over his still face. Her hand remained on his, refusing to leave.
© Note: When The Heart Remembers – Copyright belongs to Zieny. Any copying, editing, or reuploading in any form without permission is strictly prohibited. Violators will be prosecuted according to the law.