The One Who Calls Her Name in the Wind

The afternoon settled gently, as if even the sun had grown weary after a long day. Slanted rays of light stretched across the wooden desk, threading through the delicate gaps in the curtains, dancing lightly across someone's shoulder—like the invisible fingers of time softly reminding of something impending.

In the stillness, only the faint ticking of the second hand filled the air. Bach Lan stood upright, her hands clasped neatly in front of her, her posture composed as if awaiting a verdict. Her gaze was fixed on the man seated across from her—Trach Dong.

He gently flipped through the pages of the proposal, his slender fingers gliding over each line as if scrutinizing every idea. His voice, low and husky, broke the silence—not loud, but clear:

"Seems... better than the last one."

Just a simple remark, yet it lit up Bach Lan's face. The corners of her lips lifted into a subtle smile, unable to hide the flicker of joy inside. Despite her restraint, her eyes shimmered—like the surface of a lake stirred by the early spring breeze—reflecting a quiet pride and fragile hope.

Trach Dong looked up, about to say something more, but his eyes accidentally met the light in hers. For a fleeting moment, he caught a glimpse of that gentle smile—like the first light of dawn on a spring morning. His heart skipped a beat, shaken by a nameless feeling. He quickly turned away, his gaze falling back to the papers before him. His lips pressed into a firm line.

"Ahem." The sound of his clearing throat cut through the moment, like a subtle attempt to steady the storm within.

He turned to the next page. As he was scanning through the final section, a small piece of paper suddenly slipped out and floated gently to the floor—its descent as light as a dry leaf, yet enough to draw both their gazes downward.

He bent down and picked it up. Immediately, the scribbled drawings caught his eye: a lazy bear sprawled out, a half-bitten radish, a smiling rabbit, and a bitter melon with a scrunched-up face. His expression darkened.

"What is this?"

Bach Lan panicked. She stepped forward quickly, reaching out to snatch the paper back, but her hands froze midair—too late.

Her face drained of color, eyes wide, a trembling hand rising to cover her mouth.

"Ah! That... that's just..."

Trach Dong narrowed his eyes, his voice icy:

"Bear?"

The air seemed to vanish in an instant.

Bach Lan stammered, "It's... just a joke... it doesn't mean anything."

He tossed the paper back onto the desk, his gaze as sharp as a blade. "So, I'm a bear in your eyes?"

"No! It was Hoang Phuong's idea... I didn't..."

"Do you even understand what it means to work in this environment?" His voice dropped with each word, cold and deliberate. "It means being professional. This isn't a place for doodles and games."

Just then. Knock, knock... A sharp knock on the door broke through the thick, heavy air.

"Come in," Trach Dong said. His voice was still deep, but slightly softer.

The door opened. A poised, elegant woman stepped inside. Her hair was pinned up in a graceful bun, her demeanor calm and composed, but her eyes were sharp—cold as ice.

"Hello, Mother." Trach Dong gave a slight bow, his tone as composed as ever.

The Vice Chairwoman glanced at Bach Lan, who stood frozen like a statue. Her eyes narrowed, cutting straight through her like a blade.

"And who might you be?"

"She's a new employee," Trach Dong answered calmly, flipping the folder shut, smoothly sliding the doodled page to the very bottom.

Bach Lan lowered her head and mumbled, "Excuse me... I'll take my leave."

"Leave the documents. Get out." His voice was sharp, allowing no room for argument.

She immediately retreated, her legs nearly giving way as she hurried out of the room.

The moment the door clicked shut, the atmosphere inside shifted.

"You should be more careful with the people you let near you," the woman said evenly, though the pressure in her tone was unmistakable.

"Is that all you came to say?" Trach Dong raised an eyebrow, lips curling into a cold smirk.

"Your father sent the message. He'll return next month. You should move back home."

There was no need to ask who she meant. Trach Dong sat upright, his gaze turning cold. "I've said it before. I don't care about that."

"You are the rightful heir of the Trach family. And he..." He stayed silent, the corner of his mouth curling into a contemptuous smirk.

"That boy..." The Vice Chairwoman's voice faltered for a beat, then softened, knowing further argument would be futile. She stood up, adjusted the collar of her jacket. Just before leaving, she paused:

"Our family cannot allow a bastard like him to destroy everything again."

The door clicked shut behind her, leaving Trach Dong frozen in place. His eyes lingered on the piece of paper bearing the image of the bear. Outside the window, the fading sunset cast a streak of loneliness across his shoulder.

Night descended gently like a sheet of soft silk. In Bach Lan's small room, the dim amber glow of the bedside lamp cast faint, wavering shadows on the ceiling. She lay on her side, long hair cascading down, clutching a pillow tightly in her arms. Her breathing gradually slowed. In the misty realm of dreams, she once again returned to that familiar place.

***

A sky blanketed in white plum blossoms. The early spring breeze whispered softly, brushing against her thin sleeves and leaving a chill in the heart.

Ahead stood a small wooden house—old, yet warm and familiar. The creak of the wooden door opening was barely audible. A soft light spilled out from within, blending with the pale sunshine outside.

He was seated at the writing desk, long hair loosely tied back, a soft azure robe draped over his shoulders. His gaze was gentle as he looked up, eyes smiling with the warmth of spring.

"Little Bach, you're back?"

Bach Lan smiled, holding a flower basket still damp with morning dew. "The blossoms bloomed late today. I had to wait a long time just to pick a few pretty ones."

He stepped forward and gently took the basket of flowers from her hands. Then, with quiet tenderness, he held her hand—his fingers brushing across the back of hers, as though touching a memory.

"As long as they were picked by you," he murmured, "any blossom is beautiful."

Bach Lan looked at him, a sense of peace blooming in her heart like warmth spreading through the crisp spring air. She wanted to say something, but before the words could leave her lips, the scenery began to shift.

A sudden gust stirred the falling plum petals. The wooden house blurred, like smoke fading into the wind. His figure dissolved gradually into the light.

She softly called out.

"Trach... Hien..."

***

The scenery slowly faded into the distance within the dream, yet the lingering warmth clung softly to her chest, gently stirring a heart long left in slumber.

She jolted awake, her eyes still misted with tears. Her heartbeat was faint, tender—like she had just lost something precious, or perhaps... just found it again.

"Why do I remember that place?"