Nameless Memories, but the Heart Still Aches

Two months later.

The city was slowly shifting into late winter, signaling that the festive season was drawing near. While most people were eagerly preparing for Red Valentine's Day, at Trach Vu, a different concept was quietly making its way into the company's marketing strategy: Black Valentine.

It was Bach Lan who first brought up the term during a departmental meeting more than a week ago.

At the time, no one paid much attention. Some scoffed at the idea, calling it "too unconventional," while others shook their heads, dismissing it as something "the market wouldn't go for." Even Bach Lan herself, after returning to her desk, had only dared to draft a rough proposal and leave it sitting there unfinished and unsubmitted.

But strangely, the idea wouldn't leave her alone.

The more she thought about it, the more she felt something pulling at her—like somewhere far away, someone had once quietly watched another person walk away, unable to reach out, unable even to call their name. She didn't know where that feeling came from—only that whenever she wrote about a day for the lonely, her heart felt strangely warm, as if comforted by a familiar kind of sorrow.

That evening, as she sat reviewing the unfinished proposal, a quiet question rose in her mind:

"Why did I choose this theme? Who am I really thinking about?"

Her eyelids slowly drifted shut. She didn't know when exactly it began, but an image had already started to flow gently into her thoughts...

***

A peaceful countryside, cloaked in morning mist.

A young woman in a white dress stood by the stone-paved roadside, her fingers tightly gripping the frayed edge of a woolen scarf.

A young man in a pale blue robe walked down the gravel path, carrying a book satchel in one hand. He didn't look back. He didn't pause.

He was headed to the capital to sit for the imperial examinations, a once-in-a-lifetime chance to rise in status and become a government official.

A breeze passed, lifting a few strands of her hair.

Something slipped from her eye—dust, or a tear?

Her voice didn't rise above a whisper, but in her heart, it rang clear:

"Take care… I know this time you'll pass the imperial exam."

***

A strange flutter stirred in Bach Lan's chest, jolting her awake.

She reached up to touch her forehead, as if to erase the lingering image from her mind.

That feeling was too real. Too close.

And yet... far too unfamiliar.

"Was that... me?"

The next morning.

The room was still bathed in soft white light, filled with the low hum of the air conditioner.

Bach Lan sat in front of her computer screen, carefully revising every small detail in her proposal: "Black Valentine – Loving Alone Still Shines Bright."

She added one more line at the beginning:

"Sometimes, you don't need someone beside you to feel loved.

Just yourself—and a memory without a name."

Ting.

A soft chime signaled a new internal message from the HR assistant:

"Bach Lan, the director is requesting you in Room 808 to present the Black Valentine proposal."

She froze for a few seconds. Then stood up, straightened her collar, and printed two copies of the document.

As she stepped into the hallway, she quietly murmured to herself:

"I hope he doesn't ask why I came up with this theme.

Because... even I don't really know."

Room 808.

The door was already ajar. The silence inside felt deliberate, as if waiting for her.

Bach Lan took a deep breath and stepped in.

A swivel chair faced away from her, casting the silhouette of a man onto the glass window—tall and lean, with squared shoulders. The slanted sunlight from the window traced the sharp edges of his jet-black hair, cold and alluring.

"Director," she spoke, her voice calm and measured.

Trach Dong didn't turn around right away. He kept his gaze fixed outside, as though studying the city below. Only after a long pause did his low, even voice break the stillness:

"This proposal… it's yours?"

"Yes," she nodded, placing the stack of papers on the desk.

He turned the chair around, his deep black eyes boring into her through the thin veil of silence.

No anger, no smile—just a quiet intensity that was impossible to read.

"Black Valentine," he repeated the title slowly. "It's a fresh concept. But I'm curious... why this theme? What were you thinking when you wrote it?"

Bach Lan froze.

That was exactly the question she had feared most.

She blinked, her lips parting as if to give a logical, well-rehearsed answer.

But for some reason, what came out was the truth—

Or something very close to it.

"It was just a fleeting feeling. Like... I once saw someone standing quietly by the roadside, not waiting for anyone, not saying goodbye. Just... watching something far away."

She paused, lowering her gaze slightly.

"I'm not sure if that person was me... or just someone I imagined."

Trach Dong looked at her, eyes narrowing slightly.

But he didn't laugh. He didn't mock her either.

Instead, a brief silence settled between them—

as if he were leaving room for something left unsaid.

At last, he spoke, his voice softening just a little:

"Then let's see… how many orders your imagination can actually sell."

Bach Lan looked up in surprise.

He was already holding the proposal in his hands, flipping through the pages, his gaze fixed on every line.

"It has potential," he said finally. "But it lacks structure. An idea alone isn't enough."

He set the papers down, giving her another glance.

"This afternoon. Four o'clock. I want the full version—target audience, budget estimates, timeline, and a contingency plan for media handling."

"Yes." She hesitated for a split second, then bowed her head in acknowledgment.

Just as she was about to turn and leave, she heard him add:

"And remember— a good idea, if left unguarded, can be taken by someone else."

As Bach Lan stepped out of Room 808, an odd feeling still lingered in her chest.

His question echoed in her mind:

"Why that idea?"

Yes… why, indeed?

Somewhere in the past, there might have been someone who journeyed to the capital for the imperial exam, and someone else who stayed behind in the quiet countryside. What tied them together—was it a frayed handkerchief, a broken promise, or a name that was never called?

Just as she closed the door, she noticed several people nearby sneaking glances at her, their eyes curious, speculative. From somewhere, whispers began to rise.

Even soft, murmured words could feel like needles piercing the air.

They weren't aimed at her directly, yet they hovered near—clinging, insistent, impossible to shake off.

"She's new, isn't she?"

Someone curled their lip. "So what?"

"A newcomer who gets called up there so soon must be incredibly talented."

"Tch, it's all tricks and connections, nothing more."

"Hey, not everyone plays dirty like that."

"I saw it with my own eyes—the director brought her back himself. What more proof do you need?"

Bach Lan returned to her desk, her eyes drifting unconsciously toward the glass panel in the hallway. Outside, the sky had turned a muted gray, thick with the weight of coming rain.

The cold touch of metal against her skin from the chair armrest startled her back into awareness.

Something felt… off.

She turned on her computer and began typing the final edits to her plan, but her thoughts kept getting interrupted by the murmur of voices in the distance.

"I heard that new guy studied abroad. His background is really impressive."

"At first, I thought it was just a rumor—turns out it's becoming real."

"Did you hear? His name is... something like Trach..."

"Trach Duong? Trach Hien? Someone from the Trach's family?"

"Exactly. He's the half-brother of Director Trach Dong."

Trach Hien…

That name made Bach Lan freeze for a split second.

A cold, nameless wave crept down her spine.

For a fleeting moment, the computer screen before her seemed to blur—replaced by the image of an old, weathered house. Early spring sunlight slanted across the damp stone steps. A breeze drifted by, rustling the hem of a thin robe, and with it, scattering the vague thoughts swirling inside her mind.

She couldn't quite remember where it was. Or more precisely—she wasn't even sure if it was truly a memory.

Maybe it was nothing more than a hazy illusion, a dream her mind had conjured night after night to fill some invisible void inside her.

The girl in that image had a familiar face, and yet… there was something distant about her.

The young man turned back to look, smiling gently—his gaze soft as the setting sun. But then, he vanished into the billowing smoke of a departing train.

That face... was hauntingly familiar.

Suddenly, the sound of a message notification snapped her back to reality.

"Hello?"

"Hey, it's me. You left your USB on the table this morning. Do you need me to bring it over?"

She slapped her forehead. "Ah! I totally forgot. Thank you so much, sis. You're seriously the best sister ever."

"Enough with the sweet talk, missy. I'm hanging up now."

The call ended, leaving her once again in silence. These days, everyone was busy with their own lives—no one really paid attention to her anymore. But for some reason, a strange sense of unease lingered in her chest.