Tham Trach’s hand stopped.
For the first time since I entered the clinic, that perfectly calm face showed a crack.
“You were from University D?”
I immediately regretted opening my mouth.
“Yes.”
“What department?”
My scalp went numb.
“Why does that matter to the diagnosis?”
“It doesn’t.”
He removed his gloves and threw them away.
“But I’m curious.”
That was even worse.
I sat up quickly.
“Doctor Tham, curiosity is not part of your professional duties.”
He stared at me for several seconds.
Then, very slowly, he said:
“Class of 2019. Department of Information Management?”
My heart stopped.
“How do you know?”
He didn’t answer.
Instead, he looked at my medical record.
Then at my face.
Then back at the record.
My name was written clearly at the top.
Lina Harper.
Tham Trach repeated it softly.
“Lina Harper.”
I wanted to disappear.
He remembered.
No.
Impossible.
Back in university, I had barely spoken to him.
I wasn’t even sure he knew my name.
I forced a laugh.
“There were hundreds of students in that class.”
“Yes.”
“Maybe you’ve mistaken me for someone else.”
“No.”
His answer came too quickly.
I stared at him.
Tham Trach leaned back in his chair.
Then he said something that nearly made me fall off mine.
“Your anonymous email address had the same recovery phone number as the student-volunteer account you used during the campus medical fundraiser.”
My brain went blank.
“What?”
His expression remained perfectly serious.
“I found out during senior year.”
I felt every drop of blood rush to my face.
“You… knew?”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“Almost four years.”
“And you never said anything?”
“You never asked.”
I wanted to throw the chair at him.
“You were receiving those ridiculous stories from me every week!”
A nurse passing outside glanced through the door.
I immediately lowered my voice.
Tham Trach’s mouth twitched.
Was he trying not to smile?
“You thought they were ridiculous?”
“That is not the point!”
He finally smiled.
A tiny smile.
But enough to make me more embarrassed than if he’d laughed openly.
I covered my face.
“I need another doctor.”
“You already completed the examination.”
“Then I need another life.”
That made him laugh.
Actually laugh.
The legendary cold doctor of University D lowered his head and laughed at me.
I wanted to die twice.
My follow-up was scheduled for three days later.
I seriously considered skipping it.
Then the swelling hadn’t completely disappeared by the second evening, and Di Nguyet threatened to drag me back herself.
So I returned.
This time I checked the doctor’s name before entering.
Dr. Tham Trach.
Wonderful.
I considered turning around.
The door opened from inside.
Tham Trach stood there.
“You’ve been outside for four minutes.”
“I was reading.”
“The sign has seven words.”
I glared at him.
“You became annoying after becoming a doctor.”
“I was always annoying.”
“You just didn’t know me.”
His eyes paused on mine.
“That isn’t entirely true.”
I stopped.
There it was again.
That strange implication.
Inside the examination room, he asked about the symptoms, checked the inflammation clinically, and confirmed that the medication was working.
Professional.
Calm.
No awkwardness.
That somehow made me more curious.
When he finished, I finally asked:
“If you knew who I was back then, why didn’t you expose me?”
Tham Trach closed the medical file.
“Would you have wanted me to?”
“No!”
“Then there is your answer.”
I frowned.
“That simple?”
“No.”
He looked toward the window.
“For a while, I thought you would eventually tell me yourself.”
My heart thumped once.
“And when I didn’t?”
“You stopped sending things in senior year.”
“I was working.”
“I know.”
“You know?”
He nodded.
“You won the internship competition.”
I stared at him.
“How do you know that?”
“You were on the university website.”
“That doesn’t mean you had to look.”
Silence.
Tham Trach suddenly became very interested in arranging the papers on his desk.
Something inside my head clicked.
Wait.
He had known my email.
Known my department.
Known my internship.
Remembered my graduation year.
And four years later, he recognized me almost immediately.
I leaned forward.
“Tham Trach.”
He looked up.
“Were you secretly paying attention to me?”
“No.”
Too fast.
I smiled.
“You answered suspiciously quickly.”
“That’s because the question is ridiculous.”
“Your ears are red.”
“They are not.”
“They are.”
He stood.
“The consultation is over.”
I laughed.
For the first time in my life, I saw Tham Trach retreat.
After that, we started running into each other everywhere.
At first I assumed it was coincidence.
Coffee shop near the hospital.
Bookstore.
Subway entrance.
Then Di Nguyet looked at me like I was an idiot.
“Lina.”
“What?”
“Dr. Tham lives twelve kilometers away.”
“So?”
“So why has he suddenly developed a passionate interest in the coffee shop under your apartment?”
I nearly choked.
“Maybe the coffee is good.”
“It tastes like boiled cardboard.”
She had a point.
The next morning, Tham Trach appeared again.
I watched him order black coffee.
Then I walked over.
“Doctor Tham.”
He looked innocent.
“What?”
“Do you have a medical conference in this café?”
“No.”
“A patient?”
“No.”
“Then why are you here?”
He took a sip.
“Coffee.”
I took his cup.
Tasted it.
Made a face.
“This is terrible.”
“Yes.”
“Then?”
He finally looked at me.
“You live upstairs.”
My heart skipped.
That direct answer completely defeated me.
“Oh.”
He took the cup back.
“Yes.”
For once, I had nothing clever to say.
A month later, I finally learned the whole story.
We were walking through the old university campus during an alumni event.
The building hadn’t changed much.
Same trees.
Same library steps.
Same classroom where I had once watched Tham Trach from three rows behind.
He stopped near the old student-union office.
“Do you remember the paper airplane?”
I nearly walked into a tree.
“You kept it?”
“Yes.”
“You should have burned it.”
“I considered it.”
“Why didn’t you?”
He looked at me.
“Because someone spent twenty minutes drawing it.”
I groaned.
“Please stop.”
He laughed.
Then his expression softened.
“At first, I thought it was a prank.”
“It was.”
“Then the emails started.”
I covered my face.
“Can we erase my youth from history?”
“No.”
“Cruel.”
“The strange thing was…”
He paused.
“I started waiting for them.”
I slowly lowered my hands.
“What?”
“You were ridiculous.”
“Thank you.”
“Unpredictable.”
“Still not helping.”
“And very funny.”
He looked toward the old building.
“My university life was boring.”
I stared at him.
“You were student-union president. Everyone knew you.”
“That didn’t mean I enjoyed it.”
He smiled faintly.
“People were always careful around me.”
I understood immediately.
Everyone admired Tham Trach.
But admiration could be lonely.
“They treated you like some untouchable genius.”
“Yes.”
“And I treated you like…”
I stopped.
He looked at me.
“Like what?”
“Someone I had absolutely no respect for.”
He burst out laughing.
“That was refreshing.”
I laughed too.
Then he said quietly:
“When the emails stopped, I missed them.”
My smile faded.
“Why didn’t you write to me?”
“I didn’t know whether you wanted to be found.”
That answer stayed between us.
He had known.
He could have embarrassed me.
Could have confronted me.
Could have used what he discovered to force himself into my life.
Instead, he’d waited.
Four years.
Until a ridiculous coincidence placed us in the same room again.
I looked at him.
“So what happens now?”
Tham Trach was silent.
Then he said:
“Now I ask properly.”
My heart started beating far too fast.
“Ask what?”
“Would you like to have dinner with me?”
I stared at him.
“No diagnosis?”
“No.”
“No follow-up examination?”
“No.”
“No student-union business?”
“No.”
“Just dinner?”
“Yes.”
I smiled.
“Then yes.”
For the first time, Tham Trach looked genuinely relieved.
Three months later, Di Nguyet found an old folder while helping me move apartments.
She came running into the living room.
“Lina!”
I froze.
She was holding printed pages.
No.
Absolutely not.
Tham Trach, who was assembling a bookshelf nearby, looked over.
“What is it?”
I lunged for the folder.
“Nothing!”
Di Nguyet dodged me.
“Your old university writing!”
Tham Trach put down the screwdriver.
His expression became suspiciously calm.
“I’ve seen some of it.”
I pointed at him.
“You are forbidden from speaking.”
Di Nguyet looked between us.
Then her eyes widened.
“You knew?”
Tham Trach nodded.
“For years.”
She screamed.
I buried my face in a cushion.
“This relationship is over.”
Tham Trach sat beside me.
“No.”
I peeked at him.
“Why not?”
He smiled.
“Because I’ve already waited four years once.”
Then he took the folder from Di Nguyet and placed it on the highest shelf.
“I’m not starting over.”
I stared at him.
Di Nguyet whispered dramatically:
“That was actually quite romantic.”
“Leave.”
She left laughing.
I looked at Tham Trach.
“You really waited?”
He nodded.
“Why?”
He thought for a moment.
Then answered:
“Because the girl who thought she was invisible was actually the only person at university who made me look forward to checking my inbox.”
My chest tightened.
Not from an insect bite this time.
From something warmer.
Something I had spent years believing existed only on my side.
I leaned against the sofa.
“So all those years I thought I had an impossible unrequited crush…”
Tham Trach finished tightening the bookshelf.
“You were wrong.”
“How wrong?”
He looked back at me.
“Very.”
And that was how I discovered that the most embarrassing reunion of my life wasn’t actually the beginning of my love story.
It was simply the moment two people who had secretly noticed each other years ago finally stopped pretending they hadn’t.
:::
