The café was quiet, with soft lo-fi music playing in the background and the smell of freshly ground coffee hanging in the air. I sat across from Tram at a small wooden table near the window, my hands awkwardly wrapped around a cup of black coffee that had gone lukewarm ten minutes ago.
This was already a miracle. After a week of Quan’s relentless “Operation: Save My Pathetic Brother,” I had somehow managed to ask Tram out for coffee — and she said yes.
Of course, the little demon was still directing the whole thing from behind the scenes.
My phone vibrated silently on my lap for the seventh time.
Quan (hidden behind a large potted plant two tables away):
Smile more naturally!!! Not that corpse smile! Compliment her hair RIGHT NOW!!!
I glanced up at Tram. She was stirring her iced latte, looking relaxed and unfairly pretty with her short hair tucked behind one ear.
“Your… hair looks nice today,” I said, voice flat as a board. “Very… aerodynamically efficient.”
Tram raised an eyebrow, clearly amused.
“Aerodynamically efficient? That’s a new one.”
From the corner of my eye, I saw the potted plant shake violently. Quan was probably having a silent breakdown.
I cleared my throat and tried again, this time following the script Quan had forced me to memorize on the way here.
“I mean… it suits you. Makes you look sharp. Like you could cut through Monday mornings without trying.”
Tram let out a soft laugh — the real kind, not polite. “Okay, that one was slightly better. Did you rehearse that?”
“Every night for three days,” I admitted deadpan. “My brother made flashcards.”
She smiled wider. “I figured. I saw him hiding behind that plant like a spy in a budget movie. He’s been texting you nonstop, hasn’t he?”
I froze. “You knew?”
“Loc, he’s wearing a bright yellow shirt and keeps poking his head out every thirty seconds. Even the waiter noticed.”
My phone vibrated again.
Quan: ABORT ABORT SHE SAW ME!!! But keep going!!! Ask for her number NOW!!! Use the cool line I taught you!!!
I sighed, put the phone face down, and looked at Tram directly.
“Look… I’m terrible at this. My brother has been scripting my entire life lately like I’m the main character in some redemption arc. But sitting here with you right now… I’m not doing this because of him. I genuinely wanted to see you.”
Tram rested her chin on her hand, studying me with that sharp, playful look I remembered from high school.
“So the ninja ginger tea delivery and the mysterious compliments under my door… all Quan’s doing?”
“About 87%. The remaining 13% is me trying not to die of embarrassment.”
She laughed again, louder this time. The sound made something in my chest loosen.
There was a long pause. Then, surprisingly, Tram slid her phone across the table toward me.
“Here.”
I blinked. “Wait… really?”
“Don’t make me regret it, Poetry Cat,” she said, smirking. “And tell your brother he can come out from behind the plant now. He’s going to knock it over.”
I quickly typed in my number and saved hers. As I handed the phone back, I couldn’t help muttering, “This is the most successful social interaction I’ve had in years. I feel like I should get a medal.”
Tram leaned forward slightly, eyes twinkling.
“You’re still the same awkward guy from high school. It’s strangely comforting.”
Before I could reply, Quan finally lost control. He burst out from behind the plant like a victorious coach, pumping his fist.
“YESSS!!! Mission success!!! She gave you her number!!!”
The entire café turned to look at us.
Tram covered her face with one hand, laughing helplessly.
I just stared at my little brother in dead silence, then looked back at Tram.
“…I’m going to kill him later.”
“Please do,” she said, still smiling. “But after you text me. I want to see how this scripted rom-com ends.”
That night, I lay on my bed staring at the ceiling fan spinning lazily above me, phone in hand like it was a live grenade.
Quan was sitting cross-legged on the floor, eyes shining with the intensity of a war general.
“Alright big bro, this is the most important mission yet. First message has to be perfect. Not too eager, not too cold. Show personality, but also show growth.”
I sighed. “Can I just say ‘hi’ like a normal person?”
“No. That’s what old Loc would do. New Loc is charming in a low-effort way.”
After fifteen minutes of debate and Quân deleting three drafts, I finally sent:
Loc: Hey. Made it home alive despite my brother’s plant-spy skills. Thanks for today. Your laugh is still as dangerous as I remembered.
I immediately regretted it and threw the phone onto the bed.
Three minutes later, it buzzed.
Tram: Dangerous? Should I be worried? 😂
Tram: Also, I’m glad you texted. I was lowkey waiting. Don’t tell Quan or he’ll throw a parade.
I stared at the message, surprised. Before I could reply, another one came in.
Tram: [sent a photo]
It was a selfie of her sitting on her couch in an oversized hoodie, hair messy, holding the thermos of ginger tea I left earlier. She had a small, shy smile.
The caption read: “Still warm. You’re surprisingly good at ninja delivery.”
My heart did something stupid again.
Quan, who had been peeking at my screen, pumped his fist silently and whispered, “She sent a cute photo!!! This is huge progress!”
I ignored him and typed back, actually putting in effort for once.
Loc: You look illegally comfortable. Also, keep the thermos. Consider it payment for putting up with my brother’s spy tactics.
Loc: And yeah… I’m glad I asked you out too.
The conversation flowed easier than I expected.
Tram, who always seemed sharp and teasing in person, slowly showed a softer side through text. She sent another photo — this time of her cat curled up on her lap — with the caption “Even my cat approves of your tea.” She told me about her stressful workday, how she pretended to be tough in front of her colleagues but secretly wanted to hide under her blanket.
For the first time in years, I found myself smiling at my phone like an idiot.
The next few days felt almost surreal.
At work, things had changed dramatically. Thanks to Quan’s secret “Reputation Campaign Phase 1,” rumors had spread that I was the one who anonymously helped Mrs. My (our strict team leader) when her car broke down last week. Quan had paid a mechanic and put my name on it.
Suddenly, people who used to ignore me started greeting me warmly.
“Loc, good morning! You’re looking energetic today.”
“Bro, I heard you helped Mrs. My. That was really cool of you.”
Even my boss patted my shoulder: “Keep it up, Loc. Leadership material.”
I felt like I was living in an alternate universe. For the first time, I didn’t dread going to the office.
Colleagues invited me to lunch. Someone even asked for my opinion in a meeting — something that had never happened before.
Every night, Quan would review the “progress report” with sparkling eyes while I texted Tram.
And the texting… it kept getting better.
Tram started opening up more. She sent voice notes when she was tired, complaining cutely about her boss. She sent photos of her dinner, her messy desk, even a silly selfie with cat ears filter. Each time she replied quickly, like she was actually looking forward to talking to me.
One night she sent:
Tram: You know… I was really surprised you asked me out. I thought you were still the same guy who ran away after the Valentine’s chaos back in high school. But lately you seem… different. In a good way.
I stared at the message for a long time before replying.
Loc: I’m still that same awkward guy. Just trying not to run away this time.
Quan, reading over my shoulder, got emotional and hugged me from behind.
“Loc… you’re actually doing it. You’re becoming the main character for real.”
For the first time in a very long time, everything felt like it was going right. My brother was happy. People at work respected me. And Tram — the girl I used to have a massive crush on — was texting me goodnight.
I should have known it was too good to be true.
Fate never lets things stay perfect for long.
The next evening, I decided to do something without Quan’s script for once.
Tram had mentioned in passing that she was having a terrible week — deadline stress, her laptop acting up again, and she was craving her favorite passion fruit juice from the stall near the building. I bought a large cup, added the exact toppings she liked (extra chia seeds, less ice), and even stuck a small handwritten note on it: “No ninja delivery this time. Just me. Hope your week gets better.”
It was simple. No over-the-top gesture. Just… me trying.
I felt strangely proud as I walked toward her floor with the drink in hand. For the first time, this didn’t feel like Quan’s mission. It felt like my own small step.
I turned the corner toward her door and stopped dead in my tracks.
There was already someone standing in front of Tram’s apartment.
A guy about my height. Same messy black hair. Same build. Same slightly tired posture. He was wearing a simple white shirt and jeans — the kind of outfit Quan had been trying to make me wear for weeks. In his hands was a beautiful paper bag with a cup of passion fruit juice and what looked like a small box of her favorite macarons.
He smiled gently as Tram opened the door.
“Hey, Tram. I heard from Ms Lan that you’ve been swamped with work. Thought you might need something sweet to recharge.”
His voice was calm, warm, and naturally confident.
Not forced. Not rehearsed. Just… effortless.
Tram’s face lit up in a way I had rarely seen.
“Loc! You didn’t have to do this…”
Loc.
The name hit me like a truck.
He turned slightly, and for the first time, I saw his face clearly.
He looked… almost exactly like me. Same facial structure. Same tired eyes. But where my face usually carried the expression of someone who had given up on life, his carried quiet assurance. His smile was gentle but genuine. His posture was relaxed yet upright. He looked like the version of me that actually tried — and succeeded.
Our eyes met.
He blinked, then smiled politely. “Oh, hey. You must be the other Loc everyone’s been talking about. Nice to finally meet you, man.”
Tram looked between us, surprised. “You two haven’t met yet? This is Nguyen Van Loc. He just moved into unit 5B last week.”
Loc extended his hand toward me with natural ease.
“Funny, right? Same name, almost same face. People keep thinking we’re brothers.”
I shook his hand mechanically. His grip was firm but not aggressive. Comforting, even.
In my other hand, the passion fruit juice I bought suddenly felt cheap and childish. The handwritten note I spent ten minutes writing now looked pathetic next to his neatly packed macarons and professional paper bag.
Tram noticed the drink in my hand.
“Oh… you brought me juice too?”
I forced a smirk, trying to keep my deadpan tone.
“Yeah. Looks like I was a bit late to the party.”
Loc smiled apologetically, as if he genuinely felt bad about the overlap. “Sorry about that. I can take mine back if you want.”
“No need,” I said, voice flatter than usual. “Two juices are better than one, right?”
Tram accepted both drinks, looking slightly awkward but also amused. “You guys are going to confuse the entire building. Thanks though, both of you. I really needed this.”
As she closed the door, Loc turned to me and said casually, “We should grab a beer sometime. Seems like we have a lot in common.”
I just nodded.
As he walked away toward the elevator, I stood there in the hallway like an idiot, crumpling the wrinkled little note in my palm.
