In the blink of an eye, three months had passed. Every time Hoàng Tuấn went for his regular check-up, Duy Tân would “milk” him dry. Over that time, living in Xuân Minh’s house, Hoàng Tuấn still wasn’t sure what his exact role was. But seeing Xuân Minh happier lately—smiling more—he somehow felt a little comforted too.
Xuân Minh wasn’t actually some insatiable sex fiend. They’d only sleep together every few days, sometimes once a week. Part of it was Xuân Minh’s busy work schedule; part was Hoàng Tuấn’s intense studying to prepare for the assistant role exam at Xuân Minh’s company. Some nights he stayed up so late his eyes were ringed with dark circles, his face gaunt and weary.
That morning, right after waking, Hoàng Tuấn got a message from Ngọc Duy. He wanted to meet, saying he had a message from Quốc Hưng. Hoàng Tuấn rushed out of the house and drove straight to the café Ngọc Duy had suggested.
Ngọc Duy spotted him from afar and hurried over, throwing his arms around Hoàng Tuấn. Hoàng Tuấn pushed him away coldly. Ngọc Duy said: “You still think that whole thing was my doing?”
Hoàng Tuấn didn’t want to revisit the past. He ordered a drink, sat down, and got straight to the point: “What does Hưng want to tell me?”
Ngọc Duy knew Hoàng Tuấn would wait patiently until he heard it, so he deliberately dragged it out: “Why so rushed? Where’ve you been these past months? You look pale and thin—I’m worried!”
Hoàng Tuấn endured it for Quốc Hưng’s sake, giving vague answers. Finally he pressed: “Just tell me—what does Hưng want to say?”
Seeing Hoàng Tuấn losing patience, Ngọc Duy stopped stalling: “Quốc Hưng wants you to move back to the dorm. But you blocked him on everything, so I’m passing the message.”
Hoàng Tuấn felt like he was daydreaming. Then joy overwhelmed him—he broke into a huge smile. “Thanks, Duy. I’ll move back right away.”
Ngọc Duy added: “Hold on. Someone’s moving out in a day or two—you can move in then.”
Hoàng Tuấn was ecstatic. He rushed home, then straight to the dorm to sign the contract and pay in full. Xuân Minh looked a little sad hearing it but said: “Something feels off.”
Hoàng Tuấn: “What’s there to doubt?”
Xuân Minh: “If Quốc Hưng really wanted you back, why not meet you directly? He could’ve asked someone else to set it up. If he’s forgiven you, why relay through someone else?”
Hoàng Tuấn didn’t overthink it: “You don’t know him—he’s shy. Having someone pass the message is normal for him!”
Xuân Minh couldn’t break through Hoàng Tuấn’s blind hope. He just said: “If it doesn’t work out, call me—I’ll come get you.”
Hoàng Tuấn waited anxiously for days. Finally the day came to move back. In the elevator, his heart pounded wildly. Soon he’d see Quốc Hưng again—he’d pull him into a tight, long embrace.
But when he stepped into the room, Tùng Dương greeted him with a confusing line: “You two taking shifts or what? One moves out, the other moves in.”
Hoàng Tuấn scrambled up to his old bunk, scanned Quốc Hưng’s wardrobe and desk—everything empty. Trọng Quân said casually: “You didn’t know? Brother Hưng moved out to live with his boyfriend!”
The words stabbed Hoàng Tuấn’s heart like a fatal blow. His mind reeled in confusion and pain…
“What the hell is going on? No… it can’t be…”
That whole day, Hoàng Tuấn just sat numbly on his old bed, oblivious to the world. Late that night, when Ngọc Duy got back, Hoàng Tuấn dragged him up to the rooftop for answers before he could even take off his helmet.
Furious: “What’s this about? You said Hưng wanted me back here—then why did he move out?”
Ngọc Duy defended himself: “Hưng did want you to move back. But that’s separate from him moving out!”
Yeah, right. Quốc Hưng did want Hoàng Tuấn back—but never said it was to live together like before.
Hoàng Tuấn was on the verge of exploding: “You think I’m a joke?”
Ngọc Duy shot back: “The one treating you like a joke is Quốc Hưng! How deep was your love if just three months after breaking up he moves in with a new boyfriend? I’m not slandering him—everyone in the dorm knows! I only want what’s best for you. Life outside is tough—you know how I feel about you. Because of him, you ignored me for so long, but I never changed. And the person you loved so much? Three months—just three!”
Hoàng Tuấn slumped onto the bench, emotions swirling beyond words. Ngọc Duy pressed on: “You probably don’t know—after you left, every night we heard Quốc Hưng moaning on the rooftop. He even blew the dorm manager to cover the remaining rent. Maybe all along he just saw your sincere love as a toy!”
Hoàng Tuấn shouted: “Stop!”
Even if it were true, he wouldn’t let anyone badmouth Quốc Hưng in front of him.
The next day, Hoàng Tuấn left his stuff in the dorm but crashed at Xuân Minh’s again. Xuân Minh could tell he’d been heartbroken once more but offered no advice—he knew Hoàng Tuấn would get back up.
From then on, Hoàng Tuấn threw himself into studying even harder—clearly keeping busy to forget. He’d thought he could accept Quốc Hưng with anyone as long as he was happy. But when it became reality, he couldn’t feel happy at all.
Occasionally he’d return to the dorm and ask Duy Long if he’d heard anything about Quốc Hưng. Duy Long could only shrug helplessly. Since moving out, Quốc Hưng shared no updates—even hid where he lived. After seeing Hoàng Tuấn’s disappointment too many times, Duy Long came up with a plan.
One weekend, Duy Long casually called Quốc Hưng to “check in”—but behind the scenes, a whole team (including Xuân Minh and a tech-savvy friend) tracked the location.
Duy Long asked: “How’re things with your boyfriend lately?”
Quốc Hưng: “Huh? Which boyfriend? Oh… normal, I guess.”
Hearing “Huh? Which boyfriend?” sparked a flicker of hope in Hoàng Tuấn. The follow-up dimmed it again.
Using the phone signal, the engineer quickly pinpointed Quốc Hưng’s exact location. Checking it on Google Maps, Xuân Minh clicked his tongue: “Why’s the kid ended up in a place like that?”
Duy Long: “What’s it like?”
Xuân Minh: “Low-income area, terrible living conditions—pretty much a slum. Most residents are rough—thieves, gangsters, street hustlers. Decent folks are rare. If his ‘boyfriend’ lives there… well. But sounds like he doesn’t actually have one.”
Hoàng Tuấn’s heart burned with worry; he couldn’t sit still. He begged Duy Long: “Long… please convince Hưng to move back with you? Keep an eye on him for me—let me know if anything happens.”
Duy Long: “Even if you didn’t ask, I’d get him out of there. Thought he was somewhere decent… no wonder he dodges questions. And Ngọc Duy? What’re you gonna do about him? That bastard—if not for him, Hưng wouldn’t be in a dump like that!”
After Quốc Hưng moved out, Nhật Hào and Ngọc Duy had a huge fight that Duy Long overheard. Feeling for both Hoàng Tuấn and Quốc Hưng, Duy Long pieced it together: the “moving in with a boyfriend” story was just an excuse. Quốc Hưng had really wanted to give Hoàng Tuấn a better place to live.
Hoàng Tuấn teared up thinking about it. While he’d lived comfortably at Xuân Minh’s, Quốc Hưng had suffered in silence—worrying Hoàng Tuấn might struggle outside, falling for Ngọc Duy’s lies, moving to a place everyone avoided.
In the following afternoons, Hoàng Tuấn drove to the alley leading to Quốc Hưng’s area every day. It was busy, but mostly with tattooed thugs or reckless kids revving bikes.
He didn’t even know what he was waiting for—maybe a lucky glimpse of Quốc Hưng emerging, proof he was safe and okay.
Then one usual day, waiting outside the alley, the power went out inside—pitch black. Suddenly a motorcycle headlight blazed out; a familiar figure sped past.
Quốc Hưng sat behind someone, laughing and chatting, pointing at things along the road. The guy in front responded warmly, eyes full of tender indulgence. Hoàng Tuấn recognized that look—it was exactly how he used to gaze at Quốc Hưng.
They rode off, taking Hoàng Tuấn’s heart with them. Quốc Hưng didn’t see him—leaving Hoàng Tuấn standing alone, watching the bike disappear, heart numb. He could only sigh helplessly, accepting there was nothing he could do. All he hoped was that the guy was decent and wouldn’t disappoint Quốc Hưng again.
After that, Hoàng Tuấn stopped coming—and soon had no time anyway. Exams loomed; Xuân Minh pushed him harder. But the effort paid off: he passed and officially became Xuân Minh’s assistant, learning the ropes properly.
Becoming skilled was never easy. The more he learned from Xuân Minh, the more Hoàng Tuấn admired him—vast knowledge, wide connections, all influential people. Hoàng Tuấn saw him as a role model. But the whirlwind of work swept him away; the only positive was being too busy to dwell on the past—though it stayed buried deep in his heart.
Just like Xuân Minh with memories of Đông Quân—he’d never forgotten. Even if Hoàng Tuấn was a perfect lookalike, he could never replace him. Maybe Xuân Minh saw Hoàng Tuấn as temporary relief—keeping the old pain from destroying him completely.
One night, while Xuân Minh showered, Hoàng Tuấn accidentally turned on the bedroom radio. It hadn’t been used in seven years but worked perfectly—clear sound, no static. It was playing a missing-persons program. Hoàng Tuấn found it amusing—in this internet age, social media would be faster, yet people still called radio shows.
But listening closer, it wasn’t exactly missing persons—more like a confession hotline. Callers had few clues about who they sought, mostly just a place to express lingering longing after fruitless searches.
A male caller was on. The female host chirped: “Hello! Tell us a bit about yourself—and who you’re trying to find through the show?”
A warm, distinctive voice replied: “Hi! I’m 28, currently living abroad. I’m not even sure who I’m looking for.”
Hoàng Tuấn sat up against the headboard—interesting guy. The host sounded surprised too: “Why call the show then?”
The caller: “I’m not sure. I found the show’s number on a slip of paper in my wallet. Something urged me to call.”
The host laughed: “How unique! Do you remember when you wrote it down?”
Him: “No. Everything’s foggy. I was in an accident years ago and lost my memory. When I recovered, this paper was all I had—no other clues.”
The host: “We’re so sorry! But we’re glad you’re here with us now. Let’s chat— what do you do? Married? Kids?”
He answered: “I’m an IT engineer. I have a wife and a child—she’s Vietnamese too. But something feels wrong. Since waking up after the accident, I don’t love my wife like before. We had our child—she’s 4 now—but things have gotten worse. I don’t feel anything for anyone else, but I also feel nothing for my wife. It’s like… I don’t belong in this family.”
The host, sympathetic: “Your case is truly unique—maybe aftereffects of the accident. But you have a 6-year-old child. First, fulfill your duty as a father. Once she’s grown, you can talk openly with your family.”
He continued: “Actually, I never loved my wife. She loves me deeply. After I woke up, my family said we’d been madly in love before—she saved my life in a terrible accident. So I married her and had our child—out of gratitude, not love. I tried refusing, but both families pushed hard. One drunken night she got pregnant.”
The host exclaimed: “Your story sounds like a movie!”
He sounded helpless: “People might think I’m crazy. But the more time passes, the more I feel I don’t belong here. My parents won’t let me return to Vietnam—they say that’s where the accident happened and want me settled abroad. I don’t want to upset them, but I sense both families are hiding something from me.”
Hoàng Tuấn listened intently, stunned by the tragic love story. Xuân Minh came out of the shower; the host had just paused. Xuân Minh asked: “You into radio too?”
Hoàng Tuấn shook his head: “No, just curious—I turned it on. This radio’s been here since I moved in; you polish it every day but never use it.”
Xuân Minh took a deep breath and exhaled slowly: “It was Đông Quân’s—the only thing of his I have left.”
After all these years, Xuân Minh had grown stronger. Mentioning Đông Quân’s name so calmly showed he’d started accepting the harsh truth that Đông Quân would never return.
He added: “The show you’re listening to was Đông Quân’s favorite. Back then he said if we ever got separated, he’d find me through it.”
Xuân Minh paused, smiling to hide his pain: “He even made me write the number on a slip and keep it in my wallet. Seven years separated—and he still hasn’t called the show once to find me!”
Hoàng Tuấn sat up straighter: “What a coincidence—the caller has a slip with the show’s number in his wallet too!”
Xuân Minh’s eyes widened. Just then the host paused again; the caller’s final words: “I always feel someone out there is still thinking of me, waiting for me to come back. I even dream of them sometimes—but there are no photos in my phone, and no one around me knows them. It’s a guy—slender build, sharp eyes but a heart warm like spring sunlight.”
The host laughed brightly: “Truly special! The world’s much more open now—discovering your true orientation isn’t rare. We wish you’ll soon find the person you’re seeking!”
He replied: “I know sharing this might make people laugh or think I’m insane. But everything happens for a reason. And if fate isn’t finished, we can’t stay apart forever. Thank you for listening to my story.”
Xuân Minh stood there, tears brimming, hands trembling, lips quivering: “Đông Quân… that’s Đông Quân’s voice… He’s alive! He’s definitely alive! I have to find him—I have to!”
It wasn’t baseless—the voice was truly distinctive, hard to mistake. When the show replayed a segment, Xuân Minh had Duy Tân listen; Duy Tân confirmed it was definitely Đông Quân.
Whether it was him or not, Xuân Minh had to go.
Using connections to get the caller’s number, Xuân Minh had his engineer friend trace it. It was a Canadian call—Xuân Minh remembered Đông Quân’s family had many relatives there. After the incident, they’d flown him to the US for treatment, but he supposedly didn’t survive.
Now he wondered if that was true. Đông Quân’s family disliked Xuân Minh and shared no information. The funeral had been modest—for image-conscious parents like theirs, it felt suspiciously low-key.
Better to investigate than speculate. Hoàng Tuấn asked: “Back then, was Quân set up with any girl?”
Xuân Minh nodded: “Yes—a two-frontage house on a corner in District 1.”
Hoàng Tuấn: “Did she have siblings?”
Xuân Minh: “I think a younger brother. Quân told me once—when his parents forced him to meet the sister, he excused himself to ‘play’ with the brother instead. Now I hear the brother runs a big café nearby.”
Hoàng Tuấn snapped his fingers: “Leave it to me!”