The elevator descended in silence.
Co Dien Chu still held my wrist.
I looked at his hand.
Then at his face.
“Professor Co.”
“Yes?”
“You’re still holding me.”
His fingers immediately loosened.
He turned toward the elevator numbers.
“Sorry.”
His ears became redder.
I suddenly wanted to laugh.
The famous Professor Co, who could stand through an eight-hour operation without changing expression, apparently couldn’t handle one resident giving his wife milk tea.
When we reached the parking garage, I asked:
“Didn’t you say we were going to your office?”
He stopped.
“I changed my mind.”
“To what?”
“Home.”
“Why?”
“We need to talk.”
Twenty minutes later, we were sitting across from each other at our dining table.
It felt strangely similar to our blind date.
Only this time, we were already married.
Co Dien Chu poured me warm water.
Then he sat down.
“Tran Vu Bach likes you?”
I nearly choked.
“What?”
“He bought you milk tea.”
“He’s my senior.”
“He remembered your favorite flavor.”
“We’ve known each other for years.”
Co Dien Chu’s expression became colder.
“That long?”
I stared at him.
Suddenly, I understood.
“Are you jealous?”
“No.”
Too fast.
I leaned forward.
“Professor Co.”
“Yes?”
“Look at me.”
He did.
“Are you jealous?”
Silence.
Five seconds.
Ten.
Finally:
“A little.”
I burst out laughing.
His face darkened.
“Is it funny?”
“Very.”
“To Niem.”
“You dragged me into an elevator because someone gave me milk tea.”
“I didn’t drag you.”
“You absolutely dragged me.”
He stopped arguing.
Then, unexpectedly, he asked:
“Do you like him?”
The laughter disappeared from my face.
“No.”
His shoulders visibly relaxed.
I noticed.
And suddenly my heartbeat became strange again.
“Why do you care?”
He looked at me.
“We’re married.”
“We agreed this marriage wasn’t about feelings.”
His expression froze.
I continued:
“And you’re the one who wanted it kept secret.”
For the first time, Co Dien Chu seemed unable to answer immediately.
Finally, he said:
“I wanted the marriage secret because you’re still a graduate student.”
I blinked.
“What?”
“You work and study in the same medical system where I’m a professor and department head.”
His voice became serious.
“If people knew immediately, anything you achieved might be attributed to me.”
I hadn’t thought about that.
“Your research results should belong to you,” he continued. “Your evaluations should be based on your work. I didn’t want people saying you received opportunities because you’re my wife.”
“Then why didn’t you explain that?”
He looked away.
“I thought it was obvious.”
I almost laughed again.
Nothing about this man was obvious.
The next day, I found another milk tea on my desk.
For one second, I assumed it was Tran Vu Bach.
Then I noticed the note.
Less sugar. Don’t drink it on an empty stomach.
No signature.
None needed.
That evening I placed the empty cup in front of Co Dien Chu.
“My colleague gave it to you?”
He remained completely serious.
“Yes.”
“What an impressive colleague.”
“Yes.”
“He even knows my sugar preference.”
Co Dien Chu finally looked at me.
“To Niem.”
I smiled.
“Thank your colleague for me.”
His ears turned red again.
After that, I started noticing things I’d ignored before.
If I worked late, the living-room light remained on.
If rain was forecast, an umbrella mysteriously appeared beside my shoes.
When I had an important presentation, breakfast was always ready earlier.
He remembered my examination dates better than I did.
But every act of kindness came with an absurd explanation.
“The umbrella was already there.”
“I happened to wake up early.”
“The pharmacy gave me extra medicine.”
“The supermarket had a promotion.”
Apparently every business in the city existed solely to help Professor Co secretly care for his wife.
Two months later, I presented my research proposal before a hospital academic committee.
Co Dien Chu was one of the reviewers.
He was merciless.
He questioned my methodology.
Pointed out weaknesses in my sample design.
Asked three questions that made my palms sweat.
When it ended, I was furious.
At home, I dropped my bag onto the sofa.
“You deliberately made things difficult for me.”
“Yes.”
I stared at him.
He calmly handed me a revised statistical model.
I looked down.
He had spent hours marking every weakness.
“If I were lenient,” he said, “someone could eventually discover our relationship and question your work.”
My anger slowly disappeared.
“So you embarrassed me publicly to protect me?”
“No.”
He looked at me.
“I challenged you because your project can be better.”
That answer somehow meant more.
I revised everything.
Three months later, my paper was accepted by a major medical journal.
When the email arrived, I screamed so loudly that Co Dien Chu ran out of his study.
“What happened?”
I showed him.
For the first time since meeting him, his face completely transformed.
He smiled.
Not the faint professional curve I’d occasionally seen at the hospital.
A real smile.
He opened his arms.
Then seemed to realize what he was doing and stopped awkwardly.
I looked at him.
Then stepped forward and hugged him myself.
His entire body stiffened.
“Professor Co.”
“Yes?”
“You can breathe.”
He slowly wrapped his arms around me.
My heart beat so loudly I was sure he could hear it.
That night, I finally asked:
“When did you start liking me?”
His arms froze.
“Who said I like you?”
I pulled away.
“Good night.”
I had taken three steps when he caught my sleeve.
“To Niem.”
I turned.
His expression looked almost helpless.
“Before the blind date.”
I stared.
“What?”
He sighed.
“We met two years earlier.”
“I don’t remember.”
“I know.”
Apparently I’d attended a medical conference as a volunteer.
An elderly attendee had become unwell outside the lecture hall.
I’d stayed with her until help arrived and missed the presentation I’d wanted to attend.
Co Dien Chu had witnessed everything.
Later, he asked Professor Trieu who I was.
“You knew my name?”
“Yes.”
“And when your parents arranged our blind date?”
“I agreed.”
“You said ‘maybe.’”
He looked embarrassed.
“I was nervous.”
I stared at the famous neurosurgeon.
“You?”
“Yes.”
“That’s how you behave when you’re nervous?”
“What was I supposed to say?”
“How about: ‘I’m happy to meet you’?”
He considered it.
“That would have been better.”
I laughed until my stomach hurt.
Our secret lasted another four months.
Then Professor Trieu destroyed it accidentally.
During a department dinner, he saw Co Dien Chu picking vegetables I disliked from my bowl.
He stared.
Then looked at me.
Then at him.
Then at our hands.
Unfortunately, that evening both of us had forgotten to remove our rings.
Professor Trieu nearly dropped his chopsticks.
“You two…”
The table became silent.
Tran Vu Bach looked between us.
“Professor Co?”
Co Dien Chu remained calm.
Then, under the table, his hand found mine.
He interlocked our fingers.
“We’re married.”
Chaos.
Absolute chaos.
The nurses who had spent months investigating Professor Co’s mysterious wife almost screamed.
Someone asked how long.
Someone else asked why we’d hidden it.
Professor Trieu stared at us like we’d personally betrayed him.
“I’m your instructor!”
I apologized.
Co Dien Chu didn’t.
Outside the restaurant, Tran Vu Bach approached me.
“So that’s why he stole you and my milk tea that day.”
I laughed.
“He didn’t steal the milk tea.”
“No. He just looked at it like it had committed a crime.”
Behind me came a cold voice.
“Doctor Tran.”
Vu Bach immediately smiled.
“Professor Co.”
Co Dien Chu stepped beside me.
“Don’t you have an early shift tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“Then you should rest.”
Vu Bach walked away laughing.
I looked at my husband.
“Still jealous?”
“No.”
I raised an eyebrow.
He sighed.
“A little.”
Two years later, I completed graduate school.
Only then did Co Dien Chu publicly attend my graduation as my husband.
He stood among my family holding flowers.
Afterward, I asked:
“Professor Co, aren’t you worried people will say I graduated because of you?”
He looked at my diploma.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because everyone has already seen your work.”
Then he handed me the flowers.
“You earned this yourself.”
Those six words meant more than any expensive gift.
Years later, new nurses still occasionally heard the old story.
Professor Co had once secretly married a graduate student.
Nobody knew for months.
Some versions claimed it was an arranged marriage without love.
Others said the cold professor had fallen hopelessly in love first.
The second version was closer.
But whenever someone asked Co Dien Chu directly, he remained as impossible as ever.
“Professor Co, when did you realize you loved your wife?”
He would adjust his glasses.
Then answer:
“That’s private.”
But I knew.
It was in every bottle of oat milk bought at a nonexistent discount.
Every bowl of pumpkin porridge he had supposedly cooked by accident.
Every umbrella that mysteriously appeared before rain.
Every light left on when I came home late.
Our marriage had started as an arrangement between two families.
I had believed I was marrying a cold stranger who needed a convenient wife.
What I didn’t know was that Co Dien Chu had entered that marriage carrying a secret far bigger than our marriage certificate.
He had already noticed me.
Already remembered me.
Already cared.
He was simply terrible at saying it.
Fortunately, I eventually learned how to read the language he spoke best.
Not declarations.
Not promises.
But a thousand quiet little actions that all meant the same thing:
I love you.
