The wedding group remained on my phone for an entire week.

Every time someone sent a message, I instinctively looked at the member list.

Luc Tram Chu.

His profile picture hadn’t changed.

Still the photograph of a night sky he had used since university.

For two years, I had successfully avoided every gathering where he might appear.

But Tran Tranh’s wedding was different.

She was one of my closest friends.

I couldn’t invent another overtime shift.

I couldn’t suddenly catch another cold.

Most importantly, after two years, I was tired of running.

So on the morning of the wedding, I put on a simple dress, looked at myself in the mirror, and said:

“Lam Khe, he’s just a former classmate.”

I almost believed it.

The ceremony was held at a hotel beside the river.

I arrived early because Tran Tranh had asked me to help with the guest list.

For the first hour, everything went perfectly.

Until someone behind me said:

“Lam Khe?”

My fingers froze over the seating chart.

I knew that voice.

Even after two years.

I turned.

Luc Tram Chu stood three steps away.

He had changed.

His hair was shorter, his shoulders broader, and there was a tired maturity around his eyes that hadn’t existed during university.

But he was still unmistakably him.

For several seconds, neither of us spoke.

Then I smiled politely.

“Long time no see.”

His expression became strange.

“That is all?”

I blinked.

“What else?”

He stared at me.

“Nothing.”

I nodded.

“Then excuse me. I have to help Tran Tranh.”

I walked past him.

My heart was beating quickly, but nothing happened.

The world didn’t collapse.

I didn’t cry.

I didn’t suddenly become the twenty-two-year-old girl standing outside a milk tea shop with tears on the back of her hand.

Two years really had changed something.

At dinner, fate—or Tran Tranh’s terrible sense of humor—placed us at the same table.

Luc Tram Chu sat opposite me.

I spoke with everyone.

Except him.

When someone mentioned my new job, I laughed.

When someone asked whether I was dating, I said:

“Not currently.”

A friend immediately joked:

“Lam Khe’s standards are probably too high.”

Before I could respond, another person said:

“Didn’t someone pursue you at your company?”

I nearly choked on my tea.

Across the table, Luc Tram Chu’s chopsticks stopped.

Only for a second.

Then he continued eating.

I pretended not to notice.

After dinner, I escaped to the hotel terrace.

The river below reflected thousands of lights.

I had been standing there for less than a minute when footsteps approached.

I didn’t need to turn.

“You’ve been avoiding me all day.”

I smiled at the river.

“No.”

“You avoided me for two years.”

That made me turn.

Luc Tram Chu stood behind me.

His expression was no longer relaxed.

I sighed.

“You rejected me.”

“I know.”

“So I gave you space.”

“I didn’t ask for two years of space.”

I almost laughed.

“What was I supposed to do? Continue sitting beside you pretending nothing happened?”

He opened his mouth.

No answer.

I continued:

“You said you didn’t feel that way about me. I understood. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Then why delete me everywhere?”

“Because I needed to stop liking you.”

His expression changed.

It was the first time I had ever said it so plainly.

“I wasn’t punishing you, Tram Chu. I was protecting myself.”

The wind moved between us.

Finally, he asked:

“Did it work?”

I looked at him.

Then smiled.

“Mostly.”

For some reason, that answer seemed to hurt him.

He looked away.

“What does mostly mean?”

“It means that’s none of your business anymore.”

I walked toward the door.

His voice stopped me.

“I looked for you.”

My hand remained on the handle.

“What?”

“After New Year’s.”

I turned.

He continued:

“I went to your old apartment.”

I stared at him.

“The landlord said you’d moved.”

“Why were you looking for me?”

He didn’t answer immediately.

Then he said:

“I don’t know.”

I laughed softly.

“That’s not a very scientific answer for a researcher.”

“I know.”

“Then think about it until you have one.”

I went inside.

The wedding ended near midnight.

I ordered a taxi.

But when I reached the entrance, rain was pouring down.

A black umbrella appeared above me.

Luc Tram Chu.

Again.

“I’ll drive you.”

“No need.”

“It’s raining.”

“Cars have roofs.”

His jaw tightened.

“Lam Khe.”

I looked at him.

“What?”

He suddenly seemed frustrated.

“You used to tell me everything.”

“And you used to be my closest friend.”

The words silenced him.

I hadn’t meant them cruelly.

But they were true.

Some relationships didn’t survive confession.

Not because anyone was evil.

Because once the truth was spoken, pretending became impossible.

My taxi arrived.

I opened the door.

Before getting in, I heard him say:

“I kept ordering your milk tea.”

I stopped.

“What?”

He looked embarrassed.

“After you stopped coming to gatherings.”

I stared at him.

“Why?”

“At first, habit.”

“And later?”

He didn’t answer.

I got into the taxi.

For the next three days, nothing happened.

Then I received a friend request.

Luc Tram Chu.

I stared at it for almost five minutes.

Underneath was a message:

I’m not asking you to go back to how things were.

A second message arrived.

I just don’t want to be someone you have to hide from anymore.

I didn’t accept.

But I didn’t delete it either.

That was progress.

A week later, Tran Tranh invited me to dinner.

When I arrived, she was alone.

I immediately became suspicious.

“Where is your husband?”

“Working.”

“You’ve been married seven days and you’re already abandoning him?”

She poured tea.

Then looked at me strangely.

“What?”

She hesitated.

“There’s something I never told you.”

I put down my cup.

Whenever someone began a sentence like that, nothing good followed.

“What?”

“About Tram Chu.”

My stomach tightened.

Tran Tranh sighed.

“The night you confessed…”

I became still.

“What about it?”

“He called me.”

I stared at her.

“He told you?”

“He asked me what he should do.”

A bitter laugh escaped me.

“He had already done it. He rejected me.”

“No.”

She shook her head.

“He called before meeting you.”

I frowned.

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“He knew.”

“Knew what?”

“That you were going to confess.”

The restaurant suddenly felt too warm.

“How?”

“You sent me that ridiculous thirty-line message the night before asking whether you should tell him.”

My face changed.

Tran Tranh looked guilty.

“I accidentally forwarded part of it to our university group.”

I nearly dropped my cup.

“You what?”

“I deleted it immediately!”

“Apparently not immediately enough.”

“Tram Chu saw it.”

I stared at her.

That meant his shock in the milk tea shop hadn’t been surprise.

At least not completely.

“Then why did he act like he didn’t know?”

Tran Tranh’s expression became complicated.

“Because something happened that morning.”

“What?”

“I don’t know everything.”

She lowered her voice.

“But his mother came to the research institute.”

I frowned.

I barely remembered Luc Tram Chu’s mother.

“She stayed for almost an hour. After she left, he looked terrible.”

“What does that have to do with me?”

“I don’t know.”

Tran Tranh reached into her bag.

“But two weeks ago, while preparing the wedding, I found an old university hard drive.”

She placed her phone in front of me.

“There was a video.”

I pressed play.

It had been filmed during our graduation trip.

Everyone was laughing around a table.

Then the camera moved.

Luc Tram Chu appeared in the background.

He was talking to Chu Minh.

The audio was faint.

But one sentence was clear.

Chu Minh laughed and asked:

“If Lam Khe confessed tomorrow, would you agree?”

Luc Tram Chu didn’t hesitate.

“Yes.”

My fingers froze.

The video continued.

Chu Minh looked shocked.

“You’re serious?”

Tram Chu lowered his eyes and smiled.

A smile I had never seen directed at me.

“I’ve been waiting for her to notice for four years.”

The video ended.

I couldn’t move.

“No.”

My voice sounded distant.

“He rejected me.”

“I know.”

“He said he didn’t feel that way.”

“I know.”

“Then this video makes no sense.”

Tran Tranh slowly shook her head.

“That’s why I think you should ask him.”

I stood immediately.

Not because hope had returned.

Because anger had.

For two years, I had blamed myself for destroying our friendship.

For two years, I had avoided friends, moved apartments, buried every memory and convinced myself that I had imagined every sign.

I called him.

He answered on the first ring.

“Lam Khe?”

“Where are you?”

A pause.

“Research institute.”

“Stay there.”

Twenty-five minutes later, I entered his laboratory.

Luc Tram Chu stood when he saw me.

I placed my phone on the table.

The video played.

His face changed before it reached the final sentence.

When it ended, I looked directly at him.

“Explain.”

He said nothing.

“Two years ago, you told me you didn’t like me.”

His fingers tightened.

“Lam Khe—”

“Did you lie?”

Silence.

That was enough.

I laughed.

It sounded terrible even to me.

“You did.”

He closed his eyes.

“Yes.”

One word.

Two years.

I stared at him.

“Why?”

His voice became very quiet.

“Because that morning, my mother showed me your medical records.”

I froze.

“My what?”

He looked at me.

There was something in his expression I couldn’t understand.

“Records from the hospital where you were born.”

My anger suddenly disappeared beneath confusion.

“Why would your mother have those?”

“She was looking for proof.”

“Proof of what?”

He didn’t answer.

I stepped closer.

“Luc Tram Chu.”

His eyes were red now.

“Proof that our families had lied to us.”

My heart began pounding.

“What are you talking about?”

He opened a locked drawer.

Inside was an old envelope.

He placed it between us.

My mother’s name was written across the front.

Below it was another name.

His father’s.

I stared at the envelope.

Then at him.

“What is this?”

Tram Chu swallowed.

“The reason I rejected you.”

I didn’t touch it.

“Tell me.”

His voice almost broke.

“My mother believed your biological father was also mine.”

The room went completely silent.

For a moment, I couldn’t even process the sentence.

Then he pushed the envelope toward me.

“But three months ago, I ran a new genetic test.”

My fingers began trembling.

“And?”

He looked directly into my eyes.

“My mother was wrong.”

I stopped breathing.

Tram Chu continued:

“We aren’t related.”

The laboratory seemed to tilt beneath my feet.

Two years.

Two years of silence.

Two years of avoiding each other because of a secret that hadn’t even been true.

I looked at him.

“Then why didn’t you tell me three months ago?”

His expression changed.

“That is the part I still don’t know how to explain.”

Before I could respond, the laboratory door opened.

An older woman stood outside.

I recognized her immediately.

Luc Tram Chu’s mother.

She looked at the envelope between us.

Then at me.

Her face went white.

“You showed her?”

Tram Chu stepped in front of me.

“Yes.”

His mother closed her eyes.

“You shouldn’t have.”

I felt something cold settle in my chest.

“Why?”

She didn’t answer.

I picked up the envelope.

“Why shouldn’t I know?”

Her eyes slowly moved toward me.

And when she finally spoke, her voice was barely audible.

“Because the DNA result isn’t the secret I’m afraid you’ll discover.”

I froze.

She looked at Luc Tram Chu.

Then back at me.

“The real secret is why your mother spent twenty-four years making sure the two of you would eventually meet.”