Nam and Việt were both young artillery soldiers during the resistance war against the Americans. They met by chance when Nam was assigned to serve in Việt’s unit.

At first, Việt didn’t think much of him. To his eyes, Nam was just a pale-faced boy from Hanoi - the kind of only child from a well-off family, brought up in comfort and far from hardship. How could someone like that possibly last out here? Việt doubted Nam’s endurance, his skills, and frankly, resented having to work with him.

But as days passed and battles wore on, something in Việt began to shift. The irritation slowly melted away. The frown he once wore around Nam faded without notice. In its place came a quiet sense of ease. Working together no longer felt forced - even became something he looked forward to. Nam had a way of lifting spirits, tossing out jokes whenever the mood began to dip.

Then one day, Việt and his comrades received news that Nam had been seriously wounded and taken to the Military Hospital for treatment. From that moment on, Việt was never at ease. He felt like he was sitting on burning coals — restless, unable to calm down. More than once, he lost focus while preparing the artillery for targeting. Mr Mai, growing impatient, said:

If you’re not focused, how can we fire the cannon properly? Keep spacing out like this and the shot’s going to miss.

Hung chimed in:

That’s right. And if you don’t finish your part, the commander won’t let you visit Nam.

Hung probably knew Việt was anxious about Nam’s injury, so he said that just to help him stay on task. Hung was the youngest in the group, but he was a quick learner - curious, book-smart, sincere, and deeply considerate. He once had a girlfriend - a sweet, gentle girl who meant the world to him. But fate was cruel.  On a day like any other, she set out with letters pressed to her chest - and never returned. Captured. Violence beyond words. Torture without mercy. And in the end - death. She was only sixteen. When the news reached Hung, the sky cracked open. His chest - hollow. His hands - trembling. Life blurred. Nothing made sense anymore. But even in grief, he feared. Feared that more faces he loved would vanish into smoke. Feared that if he crumbled now, his homeland would fall with him. So he chose to live. Not for himself but for the people. For the country. And for the girl who could no longer walk beside him. He wrote a petition with trembling hands. He would volunteer for the front lines. His eyes lit with fire. His voice steady: “If there’s wind, I’ll block it. If there’s hardship, I’ll bear it.” Bold. Too bold. The kind of courage that doesn't burn out - but burns on. Steady. Forward. Unshaken. The commander saw that in him. And so, Hung was assigned to assist the seaNamed men at the gunlines. To carry, to watch, to learn. One night, someone caught him huddled in a corner, bent over artillery manuals. His fingers traced the curves of barrel sketches. His lips moved in a low whisper: “Range. Weight. Direction.” As if every number was a thread to hold, every line — a life to save, every figure — a shot to shape. He was not told to. No one asked him to learn. But the fire in him needed form - needed something to anchor the ache. Impressed, the commander transferred him to Captain Ha’s artillery unit - a place of precision, of thunder,  of iron and discipline. And there, he met Việt. A man not yet old, but already worn by war. Sharp-eyed, stern, and at first, silent. But war has a way of welding souls together.  And soon, they were no longer strangers, but brothers under the same sky of flame.

Three months later, Nam returned to the unit and saw his comrades again. Việt's face lit up like sunshine after weeks of rain. His heart danced like a fish in flood seaNam - alive, sudden, bursting with joy. But this time, fate had other plans. Việt was being sent north to Hanoi, Nam’s hometown. And Nam would stay behind in Nghe An, to defend the soil where Việt was born.

“Farewell!” Việt said with a smile, his voice trying to stay light. “Take care of yourself… and don’t forget me.”

Nam grinned.

“Me? Forget that grumpy face of yours? Not a chance.”

Việt’s ears turned red. Before he could speak again, Nam cut in:

“When peace comes, I’ll find you. Don’t try to hide. Wherever you are - I’ll come.”

Something twisted inside Việt. Longing. A pull in the chest. Warmth, deep and dizzying. He turned to leave with his unit. Then, as if the words had waited at the edge of his throat, he turned back and shouted:

“I’ll wait for you!”

They parted. Nam watched Việt walk away until he was nothing but a shadow, then gone. Only then did the tears come. Quiet at first - then flooding, like a river breaking loose from the hills. His chest ached

like a fish stranded on dry land. And truly, how could the world be bright when the heart was heavy? The sky grayed. The grass wilted.

Even the birds sang with a sorrow that clung to the trees. That day,

Việt carried on his back a rifle, a promise, and a longing too big to name. And Nam -  Nam folded all his feelings for Việt into a corner of his heart, sealed, and kept. For months, Việt waited. Not a day passed without him hoping for news of Nam. At first, there were still scraps - a word or two,

a short note from someone who’d crossed paths with him. But then,

the war grew crueler. Bombs tore the ground apart. Too many were lost. And slowly, the messages stopped coming. Then, nothing. Việt waited in silence. But silence never answered back. And somewhere far from that silence, Nam was still alive - clinging to it, fighting in the blaze. In Việt’s hometown, Nam stood among fire and thunder. The sky above Nghe An was never still - always streaked with ash, trembling with the roar of B-52s, the ground beneath his boots refusing rest. On nights when the shelling felt endless, when his lungs burned with smoke and the blood dried too fast on wounded hands, he closed his eyes and thought of Việt. That smile, that voice, the way he’d said “I’ll wait for you!” - it was all still there. Soldiers like him didn’t fear death.

They had made peace with it.  They fought not for survival, but for the land beneath their feet. But Nam he still feared not seeing Việt again. So he fought to stay alive, not just to defend, but to return. To find those eyes again. That face. That home.

Hey—why are you here?

The voice came from behind, raw and cracking. A young soldier staggered toward Nam, dragging what remained of his body. His left arm—gone. His right hand—shattered. Blood streamed down his face like sweat, soaking through what was left of his uniform.

“I’m the gunner. Of course I’m here,” Nam said quickly, his voice tight. Then he saw him—really saw him. “God… What happened to you? Where is everyone? I’ll call for help”

“No.” The boy gasped, breath catching like wire in the throat. “Don’t guy. I don’t have long. I don’t know where the others are. I only saw you...” A grimace twisted his mouth. Blood poured steadily from the stump of his shoulder. His eyes shut tight against the pain, teeth grinding through it.

Nam knelt beside him, frantic.

“Stay still. I’ll stop the bleeding. You’ll get infected if we don’t close it up.”

His eyes darted around. Nothing. Ash. Ruins. Smoke. Then, there - caught on a jagged branch, a scrap of pink silk, flapping like a lost signal. He leapt for it, tearing it loose.

“Got it!” he shouted.

And just as hope found a breath

BOOM.

BOOM…

CRACK—

A Message from the Author: The Hoang Sa and Truong Sa archipelagos are under the sovereignty of Vietnam.

“The sun’s been blazing for days now. A summer downpour must be near,” Việt mused, then sank deeper into thought. “How many years has it been? How long since I last saw him? Must be over twenty now. The war is long gone. Peace has returned. But why hasn’t he come to find me? Where is he — alive… or swallowed by time? Does he still remember? Does he recall what he once promised me, that night beneath a sky lit with fire?” And just like that, Việt drifted, lost in memory’s tide, carried by a longing that had never truly quieted. Việt remained suspended in that silence.

- “Honey\, look at this shirt — isn’t it lovely? I think it’d look perfect on little Hồng.” Nguyệt turned to him\, a soft smile lighting her face as she held the fabric up.

When he didn’t answer, she gently nudged his shoulder.

- “Hey... love? Did you hear me? What are you thinking so hard about? Hmm…you’re thinking of Nam\, aren’t you?”

- “Yeah… I was.” Việt's voice was barely above a whisper\, almost lost in the hush between them. “I keep wondering how he is now\, if he’s safe\, if he’s still… anywhere. And the more I wonder\, the more restless I become - like something in me is always waiting\, always reaching.”

He paused, blinking back the weight in his eyes, and smiled faintly:

- “Anyway\, pick out a few warm clothes for the kids. The weather’s turning. And don’t forget yourself. You always dress everyone but never grab your own coat.”

Then, after a brief hesitation, he added:

- “Oh\, this weekend\, take Hồng and Vũ to visit both sets of grandparents. You go ahead. I’ve got something I need to do first…I’ll catch up later.”

Nguyệt smiled, knowingly.

- “I know what you’re up to. If you do see him\, send my regards\, okay? He helped Mai out so much\, back in the day.”

- “I will\,” Việt said softly. “I know.”

The quiet hope in his heart had never left. He’d searched for Nam time and again - always returning alone.

Then one day...

Midday light spilled across the family table. Laughter and conversation filled the room like warm sunlight. And suddenly — the phone rang.

Once.

Twice.

Relentlessly.

Its shrill cry cut through the warmth like a gust of wind from some far-off memory.

It was the same familiar ringing tone — yet somehow, today, it clawed at the nerves with a strange urgency. The house fell silent in an instant, so still that the sound of a heartbeat could almost be heard. Việt scrambled up, picked up the receiver.

A warm, steady voice spoke:

- "Hello?"

From the other end came a question - quiet and unassuming, but it set his heart racing.

- "Hello\, is this Mr. Việt? The one who's been searching for Nam - the artilleryman from the war against the Americans?"

- "Yes — yes\, that's me! Who are you? Have you found him? You found Nam?"

Việt’s voice trembled with disbelief. Hope surged through him like a tide finally breaking free. Years of searching, years of silence. And now, a voice. A name. A chance. He knew this was real. No one had ever called before. He had begged, pleaded, waited — but the phone had always stayed silent. Until now. Even if he couldn’t see Nam again, even if the years had drawn them too far apart, at least now… he could know. He could find him. He could say goodbye — or maybe, hello again. His joy colored every word. The two children blinked, confused by the brightness in his tone. They looked at their mother with wide eyes. They had never heard their father sound this happy. Nguyệt smiled softly. And in that moment, her heart felt lighter too. Perhaps this — this right here —

was the happiest moment of his life. The smile he used to wear had returned, gentle and glowing. His eyes shone, tears welling at the edges, as he waited, waited for the voice on the other end to go on. If only there were a camera now, he would’ve asked his wife to capture this moment.

A familiar voice came through the receiver, tinged with a playful lilt, though underneath it lingered a quiet ache:

- “It’s me—Hùng\, your old comrade. It’s been so long since we last talked\, I’m guessing you’ve forgotten my voice already?”

Việt froze, confused for a brief moment. Then it clicked—Hùng, the young soldier who’d once fought under his command during the war. A warmth rushed over him, lighting up his face.

- “Ah\, come on. I was just teasing\,” he chuckled. “Of course I remember you\, Hùng. So? You found Nam?”

There was a pause. On the other end, Hùng’s heart sank for a moment, but he quickly masked it with a cheery tone:

- “Yes\, we found him. He’s doing well\, really well. He’s settled down now—has a wife\, kids… a full life. He also said... if you ever come looking for him\, tell you to stop. Tell you to move on\, get married\, have your own family… and not to wait for him anymore.”

The words struck like a hammer.

Việt’s hand went limp.

The phone slipped from his grasp and fell a hollow thud that cracked the silence like glass. A ringing surged in his ears, sharp and shrill, not from the phone, but from the world collapsing within. His knees buckled. He dropped like a marionette whose strings had snapped, his body folding, but his soul still reaching — reaching for a voice that now slipped further with every breath. His eyes stared ahead, wide, unblinking — not at the room, not at his wife, but through time itself, into the spaces where memories ached like wounds. He heard nothing. Not Hùng’s voice. Not the world around him. Only the echo of a promise that would never be kept. Nguyệt, sensing the shiver in the air, rushed to the phone now lying like a fallen truth. She picked it up with trembling fingers, whispering into the line — her voice steadying for the man who had, in that moment, fallen too silent to speak.

Việt no longer knew how much time had passed, nor when the call had ended. He just sat there, motionless, staring into the void, lost in everything that had ever been. The memories came like waves, dark and unrelenting. He recalled the haunted days of war, the savage crimes of the invaders, the shameless betrayal of those who sold out their homeland. A shudder ran through him. And in that bleak, smoke-choked world, Nam had appeared—like moonlight piercing through the night sky. Pure and soft. Gentle yet radiant. A light that cut through the fog of despair and showed him a path worth walking: The path of protecting the country he loved. Scene after scene unfolded in his mind, like episodes of a long-running film. Perhaps this was the final one. He looked back. More than twenty years had passed. He had searched for Nam—desperately, endlessly. There wasn’t a day that went by without the ache of missing him. Sometimes, the longing was so overwhelming that Nam appeared in his dreams. Other times, he would sit in silence, imagining that long-awaited reunion. What he would say. How tightly he would hold him. And when the fear crept in, he would picture the worst: A world without Nam. How would he survive it? He had stayed awake through countless nights, tormented by the weight of all that had been left unsaid. So many times, he had wished: If only he could return to those early days, to the very moment they met, and pause time right there. If only he had looked longer into that face, held him tighter, kept him closer. If only he had never let him go. Then perhaps, he wouldn’t have had to spend all these years chasing a shadow, turning in his sleep with an ache that refused to fade, waking to the emptiness where Nam once lived.

For months on end, Việt had thought of Nam, until the longing wore him down to the bone. In just half a year, his hair turned a ghostly white, shedding so much that patches of scalp were laid bare. He didn’t need a comb anymore — a light touch of the hand, and eight or nine strands would fall like snow. His face, once radiant, now carried a mournful pallor. His eyes dimmed. Even strangers who passed him by were startled by the quiet devastation that clung to him.

At times, he would tilt his head skyward and whisper into the wind: “Why, heavens, do you mock me so? You let me love him. You let me hope. And then you tore him away.” Was it because their love strayed from the path laid by fate? Was it a punishment — for daring to feel what should not be spoken? If that was the price, Việt begged to pay it alone. “Spare him,” he would murmur. “Punish me instead. If I was wrong to love him, then I accept it. But let me see him again, even if just once. Just once — let me see him.” How many times had Việt smiled since peace returned? He had bathed his face not in water, but in tears. The number of nights he’d truly slept — you could count them on a single hand. And every waking moment, his heart burned with the same longing: To find Nam. To find him and never let him go again. Some days, the ache hollowed him out. He would forget to eat — hunger lost beneath the weight of sorrow. At the faintest sound of footsteps beyond the gate, he would leap up, heart racing, breath caught — hoping, just hoping… that it was him, that Nam had finally come back, that he’d turn around and find himself in those arms again — arms that once held him through the dark. But every time, it was someone else. And every time, he’d stand there — stunned, defeated. Eyes brimming, fists clenched, chest tight. He’d stand in silence for a long while before quietly turning back into the house. Alone.

A Message from the Author: The Hoang Sa and Truong Sa archipelagos are under the sovereignty of Vietnam.