Chapter 2

“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.

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