"Thiên?" Nga breathed out his name—half question, half confirmation.

"It's me. Who else were you expecting?" His voice was low, warm, with a hint of playful sarcasm.

Nga stepped back to let him in, but for a brief second, Thiên felt his heartbeat skip.

It was still that same tone— "Well? Why are you standing there like a statue? Come in." "I'm afraid you'll yell at me for barging into someone's house," he teased. "Stop talking nonsense. Get in already—and close the door."

He stepped inside, still holding the lightstick box tightly in one hand.

The air was slightly awkward at first, but it dissolved quickly when she joked: "Are you hugging that thing because you're giving me a gift, or giving yourself away?" "If giving myself was allowed, that'd be much more convenient." Thiên shot back instantly—calm voice, eyes not-so-subtly suggestive. "But I doubt the famous Team Leader Ánh Nga would dare accept."

Both of them laughed, the sound echoing lightly around the small room, blending with the soft patter of rain outside.

Thiên didn't rush. He leaned casually against the sofa, his eyes never leaving her.

"So? Weren't you the one who said you wouldn't accept material gifts?" he teased, nodding at the box.

Nga smirked, sharp and delighted. "A Day-Bong doesn't count as material. It's... spiritual." She eagerly opened the box, all previous composure replaced by the excitement of a hardcore fan.

"I knew it." His voice carried the smug tone of someone who had planned this. "You were missing only the Day-Bong. You always say going to a concert without a lightstick feels like attending a wedding and forgetting the red envelope."

Nga burst out laughing. "You really do understand me best! Thanks a lot, my dear friend."

"Thanks with just words?" he tilted his head, lips curving. "You promised me a meal, remember?"

Nga, amused: "Of course. Anything you want to eat when we're in the capital, just say so. I won't be stingy."

Thiên replied in her exact tone: "I'll let you owe me until after the trip. I already planned everything, so you won't have a chance to treat me this round anyway."

Nga grinned brightly. "Well then, thanks, old man, for taking care of the whole trip. I'll grab my suitcase."

Thiên straightened up, his broad shoulders filling the doorway. His smile softened the sharpness of his face. "Leave the luggage there. I'll take it."

Before she could protest, he had already lifted her small suitcase with one hand as if it weighed nothing.

His decisiveness—so different from the student who once begged her to watch over his motorbike after class—made her feel a strange, helpless flutter. She stepped back and simply watched him. Somehow, by taking her suitcase, he also took a piece of the independence she always guarded fiercely.

At the airport, everything happened unbelievably fast thanks to Thiên.

He printed their e-tickets, checked in their luggage, scanned the QR codes, then pulled her suitcase along before she even opened her mouth.

"You're acting like a seasoned 'Ông chú,'" she joked as he handed her ID back.

"'Ông chú'?" He chuckled. "If you want to call me that, fine. But this 'Ông chú' is exclusively assigned to you."

Nga pretended to frown, but her eyes betrayed a smile. She smacked his firm arm lightly. "Cut it out."

Thiên caught her wrist exactly where she'd hit him—held it for one second, then let go. Just enough for warmth to rush up her arm. He simply smiled and changed the subject, as if nothing had happened.

When the plane took off, Nga sat by the window, watching the city shrink into tiny glittering dots—like a glowing circuit board. Thiên sat beside her, holding the document pouch and the brand-new Day-Bong as if guarding treasures.

Only after the engines settled into a steady hum did she turn to him.

"These past five years... have you been doing okay? You seemed swamped with big projects. Hardly saw you online."

"I'm fine. Just missing someone to talk to, so I'm not online much." He laughed lightly, half teasing, half truthful.

Nga narrowed her eyes at him. "Your job never lets you breathe, yet now you're here traveling with me. Wow, I must be so honored."

Thiên smiled, leaning slightly closer, his eyes glowing under the dim cabin lights.

"I'm not that busy," he murmured, voice softer than before. "I can always rearrange things. As long as it means traveling with this girl next to me, I'll never be too busy."

Nga smiled back—a slow, crescent-shaped smile, mysterious as moonlight. She understood every layer of meaning he hid behind casual words. But she chose, as always, not to respond. Just smile and let it drift away. That was her last wall—the distance she kept to test his patience, his sincerity.

A soft breeze from the overhead vent carried the faint scent of the tea he always drank. She glanced at him, now dozing peacefully, his breathing steady.

"You're impossible to dislike," she thought.

About an hour later, the capital welcomed them with a crisp early-winter chill. The air was nothing like their warm southern city—the cold seeped through gloves, whispering into their palms.

Thiên grabbed the suitcase from the conveyor belt and turned to her: "Put your coat on. Or you'll get sick." "You really care, huh?" she teased, wrapping her scarf tighter. "It's a habit. And you catch colds easily—I know."

She froze for half a second.

Habit. Such a simple word, yet it hit her chest quietly. He was used to caring. She was used to dodging.

Thiên booked two separate rooms—but next door to each other—in a warm, charming hotel near the Old Quarter. After dropping their bags, they bundled up and headed out to explore the night cuisine.

He took her to a tiny Phở shop tucked inside an old alley. Steam billowed from a giant pot, carrying the aroma of roasted onions, star anise, and cinnamon—enough to melt away the cold instantly.

Under the warm yellow lights, they sat facing each other. Nga picked up a big piece of beef, eyes widening in awe after one bite. "Oh my gosh! This is amazing! How do you always find the places I love?"

He handed her a napkin, eyes following her every delighted expression. "Of course. I did my research. I knew this place would suit your taste." "Wow, your memory is that good? You still remember old stories?"

Thiên didn't answer immediately. He leaned forward, gently wiping a drop of broth from the corner of her lips with a tissue. "I don't remember everything," he whispered. "Just the things related to you—and the things I want to do for you."

She nearly choked on her soup. "Enough—eat your pho." "Yes, ma'am." He stirred the broth obediently, playing along.

The air between them hovered in that hazy space—somewhere between past affection and present warmth.

After the meal, they strolled slowly back to the hotel. The night street was almost empty, lit by colorful lanterns and scented faintly with milkwood flowers.

"Thank you, Thiên," she said softly. Her eyes glimmered with genuine gratitude. He looked straight at her, pretending to sulk: "I've heard that line all day. If you stay polite one more time, we're going home."

She giggled, stepping closer. "Alright, alright. Whatever you want." He also stepped closer, shrinking the distance. "I only want to be your supporting pillar (hậu phương)," he said—playful, yet deeply sincere.

Nga smiled—sweet, accepting, but with that sharp challenge she always carried. She slowed her steps intentionally, maintaining the emotional boundary she wasn't ready to cross. "Fine. We'll see about that."

Thiên chuckled, the sound warm in the cool night. He knew she was still protecting herself, still testing him—but at least she had given him a starting line.

He offered his hand—not to hold hers entirely, but to gently clasp her cold fingers for one heartbeat before letting go.

His gaze locked onto hers—firm, clear, understanding.

"Thank you. I'll treasure this chance. Wait for me, Nga."

_________________

Cultural Notes / Glossary for Non-Vietnamese Readers

TermContext/MeaningExplanationHậu Phương (The Supporting Pillar)"I only want to be your supporting pillar."A highly significant romantic term in Vietnamese, meaning "the home front" or the dependable, strong figure who takes care of all needs and logistics so their partner (Nga) can focus on success. It's a promise of devotion and stability.Team Leader Ánh Nga"Team Leader Ánh Nga would dare accept."Nga's professional title. Thiên uses this formality to playfully tease her for being too rational and controlled in emotional matters, like a boss at work.Red Envelope"...forgetting the red envelope."A phong bì (envelope) traditionally containing money, which is the standard gift given at Vietnamese weddings and special occasions. Forgetting it is considered a major faux pas.Ông chú ("Ông chú" / Uncle)"You're acting like a seasoned 'Ông chú.'"Vietnamese internet slang for an older, attractive man (usually 30s) who is competent, successful, and reliable—like a cool "mister" or "daddy bear," used affectionately and teasingly.Phở"He took her to a tiny Phở shop."Vietnam's world-famous noodle soup, typically served with beef or chicken, herbs, and aromatic broth. A popular warm dish, especially in the cold weather of the capital (Hanoi).Old Quarter"...hotel near the Old Quarter."Khu phố cổ in Hanoi. A historic district known for its narrow streets and traditional architecture, often the center of food and night culture.Milkwood Flowers"...scented faintly with milkwood flowers."Hoa sữa. A tree with flowers that have a very strong, distinct scent, strongly associated with the autumn/early winter season in Hanoi, adding to the romantic atmosphere.