I still remember this day two years ago, when we took graduation photos together at school. And now, each of us has gone our own way, mostly keeping up with one another through social media. At this age—only a few years into working life—everyone gets swept up in their own jobs. Being able to exchange a few messages once in a while already feels precious.
The other day, Nhật Hào and Trọng Quân messaged to invite us to their graduation ceremony. But Duy Long and Ngọc Lễ flat-out refused to go. They said they were still upset with Nhật Hào over old matters, though I felt it was more that they hadn’t gotten over the disappointment in their hearts. So in the end, only I went.
I often told them, “I don’t even care anymore—why are you guys still mad at him?”
Duy Long replied, “You’re different from us. You wouldn’t understand.”
Yeah, that’s true. Back then, after all, Nhật Hào was the one who liked me—not the other way around like with the two of them. How could I understand the feeling of having your crush’s image completely shatter in your heart?
I said again, “But we’re going to run into each other sooner or later anyway. Don’t make things too awkward.”
Ngọc Lễ asked, “Who wants to see him again anyway?”
I pulled out two wedding invitations and placed them in front of them. “Sang sent these to me to give to you two. He even messaged the group earlier—did you forget already?”
Duy Long laughed. “I’ve been so scatterbrained lately! Whatever—let’s check Shopee and buy a nice outfit. Let him regret it when he sees us!”
Among all of us who once shared that old dorm room, Thế Sang probably went through the least turbulence in life. Not long after that trip to Vũng Tàu, Ngọc Linh got pregnant. Her family didn’t blame her at all—in fact, they were visibly happy. By then the pregnancy was already far along, so she couldn’t wear a wedding dress. That was why they only held the wedding now, when the baby was already a few months old.
I didn’t even know what to wear to the wedding. I couldn’t afford a suit, but a T-shirt felt too sloppy, so I just wore dress pants and a white shirt. Some old friends teased me, saying I looked like a straight guy these days. I didn’t bother arguing with them, just quietly took in the surroundings.
The banquet was held at one of the most luxurious wedding halls in Saigon. Both families gathered here, filling the place with people. Every corner was decorated meticulously, exquisitely. Even the tablecloths were adorned with flowers in all kinds of colors—pleasing to the eyes of those getting married, and just as delightful to someone like me, who wasn’t.
Then, from afar, at a table over there, a familiar silhouette from years ago suddenly struck my eyes, making my heart tighten.
Across the room was Hoàng Tuấn in the flesh, wearing a sleek black suit, hair slicked back neatly with gel. But the person who once lived in my heart was no longer mine.
Sitting beside Hoàng Tuấn was Ngọc Duy, dressed in a white suit. Ngọc Duy was still the same—beautiful and graceful, unmatched in looks wherever he went. One in black, one in white, like two opposite poles. And yet, if you took either one away and paired the other with someone else, it would feel utterly mismatched.
I didn’t know what I was feeling anymore. A hint of regret, mixed with a sense of how far beneath them I seemed. I never imagined that, without me, Hoàng Tuấn would be living so well. I didn’t know what Ngọc Duy and Hoàng Tuấn were to each other, but their glances and gestures were undeniably close.
They weren’t seated with us—probably Thế Sang’s intention. But the table they were at also seemed full of familiar faces. If not business partners, then certainly close friends. The clinking of glasses rang on endlessly, everyone smiling, shaking hands, exchanging pleasantries.
Two years had seemed short, but who could have predicted how life would turn? They now had wide connections, good looks, money, status. As for me—if I had to name my proudest achievement, it would probably be that I’d finally paid off all my debts.
The bride and groom went around toasting each table, and of course they didn’t skip ours. Being close friends from college days, Thế Sang even insisted on three full shots. Tùng Dương joked, “Damn, if Sang drinks like this, nine months ten days later there’ll be another kid!”
Thế Sang wrapped an arm around Ngọc Linh’s waist from behind and said, “You don’t have to wait nine months ten days—six months from now, there’ll be another one already!”
Ngọc Linh quickly covered his mouth, flustered. “Oh my god! I told you not to say that!”
We all burst out laughing. Ngọc Linh added, “I tried so hard to keep my waist slim so I’d look good in the wedding dress, and it still didn’t work. In the photos my belly is sticking out like that!”
Duy Long comforted her, “No way, you still look beautiful!”
I chimed in, “Maybe the photos aren’t exactly how you imagined, but they’re more special than anyone else’s wedding pictures! Don’t suck in your stomach too much—drink less today. Think of the baby!”
Thế Sang patted my shoulder. “Don’t worry! My kid’s got my genes—he can handle all of you!”
Everyone laughed loudly, shouting, “Nice! A child like the father—that’s a blessing!”
I truly hoped Sang’s child would grow up like him—seemingly carefree, with a life far less arduous than most.
I’d been sipping since the beginning of the banquet, and with those three extra shots, my stomach started to feel seriously unwell. My belly was stuffed, the nausea threatening to rise up my throat at any moment.
Sensing trouble, I covered my mouth with one hand, quickly stood up, and rushed to the restroom. As soon as the door closed behind me, I bent over the sink outside and threw everything up, too rushed even to make it into a stall. My stomach twisted painfully, my intestines feeling like they were knotting together, my chest aching because I couldn’t catch my breath.
I’d known this would happen—that was why I usually never drank more than a can. I reached out to turn on the faucet, letting the water wash away what no one needed to see.
I couldn’t help thinking: if this were the me from before, Hoàng Tuấn would probably be standing beside me right now—either rubbing my back or stroking my chest to help me feel better.
Just then, the restroom door creaked open again. But the person who walked in was Duy Long. Seeing me, he asked, “Hey, you okay? You were gone so long I got worried and came to check!”
I replied, “I’m fine. I’ve always been like this—drink too much and I puke it all out. I feel better now. Go back first, I’ll wash my hands and come out in a bit.”
Duy Long left, and I focused on steadying my breathing. My head throbbed lightly, my heart racing uncontrollably. Alcohol was destroying me, both figuratively and literally.
I braced myself against the sink with both hands, closed my eyes, and panted softly, telling myself to endure just a little longer. Once the banquet ended, I could finally go home and rest.
Then, behind me, I heard the stall door creak open, someone stepping out. I was too exhausted to care who it was, concentrating only on catching my breath.
Suddenly, a gentle hand rested on my back, moving in slow, soothing circles.
Even after all these years, even if those hands felt slightly different now, there was only one person who knew exactly where I felt unwell without needing to ask.
I opened my eyes and looked into the mirror. Standing behind me was unmistakably Hoàng Tuấn. For a moment, I didn’t know how to react or what to say—I could only stand there like a statue. Hoàng Tuấn had to speak first. “Hưng, are you feeling better?”
Hearing that voice again after so many years—deeper, steadier than before—I took a deep breath and replied stiffly, “I’m better now. Thank you, Tuấn.”
I wanted to run away, but something deep inside stubbornly held me in place. The person I had thought about day and night was standing right in front of me, yet it was a situation where I couldn’t stay, and couldn’t quite leave either.
I straightened up and turned to face Hoàng Tuấn. The hand on my back slowly withdrew. He asked again, “How have things been with your partner lately? Are they treating you well?”
When I left, I had been the one who lied, just to hurt Hoàng Tuấn. And now, those same words were coming back to hurt me instead.
I answered, “It’s… normal.”
I left it at that, not daring to ask, What about you? Because what would it change? If he were single, the gap between us now would still feel unbearable. And if he wasn’t—I didn’t want to hear it.
Hoàng Tuấn smiled. “Yeah. Normal is good.”
A bitter ache rose in my chest. Because of that lie back then, nothing could be salvaged now.
At that moment, the restroom door opened again. Ngọc Duy walked in, clearly looking for Hoàng Tuấn, and said hurriedly, “Tuấn, come back to the table. Thuận’s about to leave—come have a farewell drink with him. Oh—Hưng’s here too? Long time no see. How have you been?”
In the mirror, I saw three people reflected—but it felt like there were only two, and a lamp. Sadly, I was the lamp. Seizing the chance, I replied quickly, “Yeah, I’m doing fine. You two take your time talking—I’ll head out first!”
For some reason, my throat felt unbearably tight. I realized I still hadn’t forgotten Hoàng Tuấn. I just hadn’t expected the feelings to remain this strong—like embers smoldering quietly, until a spring breeze passed through and set my entire heart ablaze.
By the time the banquet ended, it was already nearing dusk. We’d arrived late in the afternoon, yet they still had energy for after-parties, round two and three. I felt like I was on the verge of collapsing, so I excused myself and went home. I’d come with Duy Long, but he was still full of energy and didn’t bother taking me back. Fortunately, there was still someone I could rely on—Trọng Quân replaced Duy Long and took me home, planning to head back afterward.
Sitting behind Trọng Quân on the bike, I nearly slumped onto his shoulder. Seeing how unsteady I was, he called out, “Hey! Sit closer and hold onto me—you’ll fall off otherwise!”
When I didn’t respond, Trọng Quân reached his left arm back, pulling me forward. Then he took my hands and guided them around his waist—left hand, then right—until my fingers interlaced, using his body as support so I wouldn’t slip off.
I was extremely sleepy, yet my mind remained clear enough to register everything around me. I even reached out and poked Trọng Quân’s stomach, rested my head on his shoulder, and forced my voice out, “Huh? Where did your belly go? No wonder you’ve been posting gym stories nonstop!”
Trọng Quân laughed. “Gotta work it off. No one wants catfish belly fat!”
I joked, “Who says that? That’s good stuff! Throw it in a sour soup and it’s perfect!”
All the way home, I rambled nonsense about Trọng Quân’s stomach. Even after we got back to the room, I still wouldn’t stop talking. Trọng Quân helped me onto the loft bed, then went downstairs. A moment later, he came back up with a cup of hot lemon water to sober me up. I resisted, “Add ice! I don’t drink hot stuff!”
Trọng Quân exclaimed, “Good grief! Who drinks iced lemon water to sober up?!”
I replied, “Then I won’t drink it!” And with that, I flopped face-first into the pillow, curled up like a freshly boiled shrimp.
Left with no choice, Trọng Quân went downstairs to make iced lemon water for me and drank the hot one himself. After finishing the drink, I felt a bit more refreshed—but then I needed to use the bathroom. I hurried down, with Trọng Quân standing guard outside, reminding me not to lock the door in case I passed out inside so he could pull me out.
Once everything was done, I wore nothing but my underwear and climbed back into bed, stretching out flat. I didn’t care about anything anymore—not even Trọng Quân. No matter what, sleep came first.