After three months drowning in numbers, meetings, clients, and KPIs, Nga was finally freed from the glow of her computer screen. She snapped her laptop shut and rolled her shoulders to relax. Stepping out, she settled onto the swing in the yard, gently swaying as she gazed up at the night sky. In the far distance, a tiny star flickered, and her restless mind slowly settled.

Ánh Nga (9:15 PM): Halo, what are you doing? Are you there?

Phú Thiên (two seconds later—almost instantly): I'm here. At the gym, just wrapped up my workout. What's up? You've been hectic for months, huh? Feeling down, so you came to talk to me?

Nga smiled and shook her head. Their mutual understanding had long surpassed mere familiarity. He could always discern her emotional state from just a few words.

Ánh Nga: Nothing much. Work finally settled down, so I started zoning out... just wondering if my career deviation was the right choice.

She sent the message—the kind of existential question burdening many young professionals. She had a degree in Construction Economics and Engineering, yet she was working in electrical equipment trading services. Being off-major made everything incredibly difficult. To secure her current Customer Service Manager position, she had endured an endless loop of Meetings, KPIs, Clients, and more Meetings—a vicious cycle that left her completely drained.

Ánh Nga: I see people thriving when they stick to their major. But me... Who am I to quit? I fought tooth and nail to get here. I can't give up now.

Thien sighed softly, knowing the extent of the pressure she was under. He felt a flicker of frustration—he couldn't share her burden or offer direct comfort beyond the screen.

Phú Thiên: When you genuinely can't bear it anymore, you can always change course. If you decide to go back to your major, I'm ready to mentor you—just like back in university.

Ánh Nga: Haha. Oki oki. I'm just stressed; it hasn't come to changing careers yet.

Phú Thiên: Then let me treat you to a stress-relief dinner. It's been ages—so long—since I last saw you. We claim to be friends but haven't met in years. 🙄

His invitation was direct and sincere, a genuine plea unlike their usual meaningless messages. Nga grew uneasy. She was the one who had meticulously constructed this invisible barrier between them.

Ánh Nga: Let's save it for another time! I'm busy with a new project, and I need to grind to buy Day-G concert tickets.

Phú Thiên: Yeah, I figured. But don't overwork yourself, alright?

He fell silent after that, sending nothing more. He knew it was just another calculated excuse, but this time, he wasn't going to silently accept it.

Nga stared vacantly out the window. The truth was, her refusal had nothing to do with Day-G. It stemmed from her deepest, hidden fear. She lacked the courage to face Thien, and she wanted desperately to preserve their friendship. The sudden uneasiness after her refusal brought back the memory of a definitive decision she made five years prior.

The Graduation Celebration

(The moment their boundary was permanently sealed.)

The familiar street-side bar was saturated with noise under the faint yellow streetlights. The atmosphere was thick with the scent of cold beer, youth, and deep regret. Nga, Trung, and Nhu were loud with laughter, immersed in their ambitious promises for the future.

Only Thien remained quiet. He kept drinking, his sharp gaze sweeping across the group before relentlessly anchoring itself on Nga. His usual quiet stoicism had completely vanished, replaced by an intense, tightly coiled tension.

Once Trung and Nhu were too drunk, Thien called their respective cabs. Soon, only he and Nga remained. He stood up and strode out onto the pavement.

"Don't call a ride yet," Thien said, his voice low and raspy. "Let's walk a bit. I need to sober up."

They walked down the empty street. The steady, contrasting click of Nga's heels and the soft sound of Thien's sneakers filled the heavy silence—a silence heavier than a thousand words.

"Nga."

Thien abruptly stopped and turned to face her.

She froze. This was the first time she had ever witnessed him so undone. Under the streetlight, his eyes glowed with a fierce, startling sincerity. He was no longer the cold "iceberg" Phú Thiên everyone knew.

"From the moment I saw you freshman year, my heart skipped a beat... I'm grateful you saw me in the middle of the crowd," he began in a low, trembling voice—a sound rarely heard from him.

"I've always feared not being good enough—not perfect enough to step into your world. But after all these years, watching you force yourself to be strong every single day... I don't want to run anymore."

"I want to be your anchor. A place where you can afford to be weak for a moment. I want to become the one who is special to you."

"Ánh Nga. I've liked you for a very long time. If I could, I want to be your fixed point—to revolve in your orbit."

In that moment, Nga felt her chest tighten.

Fear.

Not fear of him, but fear of her own raw feelings.

She had devoted her life to building independence, and his confession threatened the foundation of that carefully constructed fortress.

She chose the rational—a cold, cutting logic—to shield them both.

"Thien," she replied, her voice sharp and clinical. "Thank you for liking me. But my answer is no."

"Firstly, I'm sorry, but I don't have romantic feelings for you. Secondly, I'm not interested in pursuing or building a romantic relationship."

"And most importantly," her voice dropped, revealing her deepest, most guarded fear. "I'm scared. Scared of losing myself. Scared of depending on someone. Scared of being controlled. I am satisfied with my life now, and I don't want anything to shatter it."

She finished with a cold plea: "This friendship... I cherish it deeply. If we try to advance, everything will fall apart. I don't want one wrong decision to end us here."

Thien gave a bitter laugh, but his eyes remained steady—unyielding.

He accepted her rejection: "I understand. I was drunk; I lost control. Just forget this ever happened."

He stepped back, instantly restoring the safe distance between them. Nga sighed with relief, believing she had successfully preserved their friendship.

Ánh Nga didn't realize that, on the other side of the chat, Phú Thiên was sitting in his office, his finger tracing lightly over the computer screen. He had just concluded a call with his largest business partner. On his desk, a red envelope had just been delivered.

He opened it.

Inside was something glittering:

An S-VIP ticket—right near the stage—for the Day-G concert, the very excuse Nga had just used to turn him down.

Thien brushed his fingers over the ticket. His previous gentle smile vanished, replaced by a decided, knowing smirk.

"Leave it to fate?"

No, Ánh Nga.

This time, everything will depend on my terms.

He set the ticket down, ready to execute a strategy he had been meticulously planning for a very long time.