Top 10 Beautiful Stories of Teenage Love

Thanh was friendly and gentle, one of the few girls in the class who didn’t act overly graceful or dainty in front of the boys. Although she wasn't among the popular girls in class, I often found myself secretly admiring her. She had soft, delicate features, a bobbed haircut, and occasionally wore her hair down. Her skin was porcelain white, and her lips formed a subtle heart shape. What stood out most, however, was her warm, radiant smile with a slight gap in her teeth. Whenever I saw Thanh, whether in class, during a tough assignment, or chatting with friends, I could always feel her optimism and youthful energy. Those moments, simple as they were, made my heart swell with affection. Years passed quickly, and as summer of 10th grade ended, we eagerly looked forward to the 11th grade. By the time we reached 12th grade, we were burdened with new worries and responsibilities. Over nearly three years, we’d sat together, remained close friends, and now faced the crucial decision of choosing our university paths. One day, I asked Thanh about her plans. "Which school are you applying to this year?" "I... uh, what about you?" "I’m applying to the Journalism Academy, English major." "I’ll try to apply for two fields: Chemistry Education for the A-block, and Pharmacy for the B-block." "Wow, I’m surprised! Neither of those is related to writing. Why is that?" "Do you think I should be pursuing writing?" "Well, you’ve got a knack for it. I’ve seen your articles in Hoa Hoc Tro, Nguoi Tre Viet, Trà Sữa Cho Tâm Hồn... not everyone can get their work published in those major teen magazines." "Honestly, I love writing, and it’s something I enjoy. But..." "But what?" "I’m worried that, in the long run, I won’t have the inspiration to write anymore. I want a stable job for the future, and writing will come after that. I’ll keep writing while I still can. Will you support me?" "Of course! Always!" "Jobs like writing and drawing depend so much on inspiration and emotions. It’s easy to fall into bad habits, only working when the mood strikes. But what if one day I lose that inspiration? What if I can’t create anymore? That could be devastating." I quietly looked at Thanh. This was the first time I realized that beneath her gentle demeanor was someone who thought deeply about the future, planning for a life that wouldn’t be wasted. Since then, I’ve been reflecting on my own life and the important decisions ahead. My admiration and affection for Thanh grew even stronger. We both entered the final exam period. Everyone was busy, running from one class to another, drowning in piles of study materials. I joked that if we weighed all the textbooks and notes, they might outweigh the students themselves. Parents and loved ones looked on with pity. Thanh and I barely had time to meet. We were in different exam groups, and I often arrived at school just before class or right when it ended, rushing to cram for extra sessions. Thanh was in the same boat, taking exams for two fields. We both immersed ourselves in mock exams and paperwork. Though we silently cared for each other, there was still so much to overcome. The graduation exam passed quickly and smoothly in early June. Everyone in our class made it through. And then, it was time to say goodbye to our carefree school years, stepping into the next chapter of our lives, each following a different path. I admit that I missed Thanh deeply. I saw her posts on Facebook every day, but we couldn’t sit at the same desk anymore. That was the harsh reality. I often wondered, if one day we all had to part ways, how would I feel? The thought alone brought a deep sadness. The graduation ceremony was a bittersweet mix of joy, tears, and laughter. We exchanged wishes and shared final moments as students, cherishing our time together. I still remember the funny signatures on each other’s white uniforms, the group photos with smiles hiding tears in our eyes. It was a farewell to a time full of youthful memories. After school ended, on a day off from tutoring, I gathered the courage to call Thanh. The phone rang on and on, and I felt anxious, not knowing what to expect. Finally, Thanh’s familiar voice answered. "Hey, Vinh, is that you?" "Thanh, are you home, or still studying?" I stammered. "I’m at home." "Are you free later?" "Sure, I’m free this afternoon." "I’ll come over, then... I heard you’re leaving soon?" "Yes! You should come! I’ll make you tiramisu with green tea! You have to try it before I leave!" I agreed and promised to be there in about 30 minutes. As I pedaled toward her house, my heart was racing with excitement, and I hummed a tune happily. Her house was only a couple of blocks away, and when I arrived, I rang the bell. Thanh greeted me warmly at the door, offering me a cold drink to quench my thirst. I felt a little awkward, carrying the gifts I had prepared, but she seemed delighted by them. "Oh! Sour plum and green rice! So delicious!" "It’s for you! I wanted to give you a little something to remember Hanoi by when you’re in Saigon. You can share it with your new friends, tell them about the city, and our school!" "That’s a great idea. Thank you so much for these gifts! You’re really thoughtful! I’ll cherish them." We sat and talked for hours. At one point, I even asked if I could try some of her tiramisu. Thanh brought out a batch she had just made. It was delicious, the green tea flavor mixed perfectly with the sweetness of the cake. "Is this the last bite I’ll ever taste from you?" I jokingly asked, but there was a sadness I couldn’t hide in my voice. "Don’t think that way! I’ll miss you so much. You’ll never forget me, right?" she said, her smile comforting but tinged with sadness. "I’ll be waiting for you to come back to Hanoi. We’ll meet again, don’t worry." I took another bite of the tiramisu, savoring the bittersweet moment. After saying my final goodbye, I left, feeling a mix of happiness and sadness. The next time we met, I wasn’t sure when it would be, or if I’d ever see her again. My mind drifted to the letter I hadn’t given her, a note that simply said, "You might not know, but I’ve always liked you." It remained in my pocket, unspoken. Thanh was leaving for a new adventure, and I couldn’t hold her back.

That trip to the Northwest was a rare occasion for class 10A3 to gather as a whole. It had been four years, and such a complete reunion was a rare event. We met at Thống Nhất Park, splitting up into pairs for the ride, as if it had been prearranged—Khiêm was the driver, and his passenger, of course, was Phương.

Thành cleared his throat and pulled out his phone to check Google Maps, giving directions as he went:

- The route goes through Phú Thọ to visit the Hùng Kings Temple, then up to Hà Giang to see the buckwheat flowers, and then we’ll swing by Lào Cai to flirt with the local girls, followed by Hòa Bình to eat river fish. It’s a four-day trip, alright?

The group screamed in excitement, racing off, while Khiêm wondered what made riding through the dust so exhilarating, though it was clear his joy came from having Phương by his side. He didn’t even know what they talked about on the ride, just that he felt on cloud nine. He was beginning to enjoy traveling, but with Phương by his side.

The group roamed through the Northwest, and the buckwheat flowers in Hà Giang were in full bloom, painting the hills with shades of white, pink, and purple. Khiêm swallowed hard, not because of the flowers, but because he was thinking about the steamed buckwheat cake he had just eaten at the morning market. 'If they made these here…'

They visited the Vương family mansion and climbed up the rocky peaks of Mèo Tai, taking photos and exploring all over Hà Giang.

That evening, the group arrived in Lào Cai, exhausted. They set up camp and lit a fire. Somehow, Khiêm drank half a liter of apple wine. His face turned bright red, and he grabbed Phương’s hand, shouting:

- Phương, I’ve liked you for a long time! Will you be my girlfriend?

Phương didn’t drink, but her face was just as flushed. After that, Khiêm couldn’t remember much, but when they returned to Hà Nội, they were officially a couple.

After that trip, two people with different personalities, whether by chance or fate, found themselves in love. Young couples who had never been in a relationship before often found themselves in silly conflicts. Phương would get upset with Khiêm for the most trivial reasons, like: 'Do I look good in this outfit?' - 'No, you look old.' Argument! 'Who were you talking to this morning?' - 'I was asking for directions!' Another argument! So many ridiculous things piled up. After three years, they fought a hundred times, but their quarrels never lasted long. They would reconcile in a few days or even hours. As autumn arrived, Phương asked Khiêm to go to the Royal Plaza for the Mid-Autumn Festival, but his reply was just two cold words: 'I’m busy.' Those words cut through Phương’s heart. When had Khiêm become so busy? She used to be the one with a packed schedule, yet she always found time for him, but now… Despite his hard work, Phương felt like he was drifting away from her. Khiêm seemed like a different person.

Wiping away her tears, Phương quickly typed a message: 'I’m tired. Let’s break up.' She expected a reply, but there was nothing—no calls, no messages, just silence from Khiêm. Three weeks passed after their breakup, and Khiêm buried himself in work to forget, but it wasn’t easy. One day, he decided to get out of the house. 'Maybe I should take a walk.' He jumped on his bike and headed to Hoan Kiem Lake, then wandered into the Old Quarter. Without realizing it, he found himself retracing the places he and Phương used to visit. He stopped, walking down each familiar street, observing the old walls and cobbled corners. Everywhere he looked, he saw a memory of Phương. The little noodle shop on Đồng Xuân Street, where Phương would ask him to stop for a late-night snack. The rich aroma of grilled pork at Hàng Mành, a dish she loved. Or the scent of coriander on her hands when she pulled him into the street food stalls on Đinh Liệt. All those memories flooded his mind. He couldn’t shake them, and he walked around in a daze.

Then he heard the familiar clacking sound of wooden sandals. He turned around to see an elderly couple walking hand in hand, the old man smiling fondly at the old woman. He heard him say:

- We’re old now, everything looks different! Hanoi wasn’t this beautiful when we were young, no cars, and I used to take you everywhere in the city. Now, it’s so crowded, and I’m too weak to walk around much. But I’ll always be here to hold your hand.

- Oh stop, at our age! Who cares about the cars, as long as you’re here with me, I’m happy!

Khiêm stayed silent, then hurried off. He ran out of the walking street and to the parking lot, panting. He quickly handed over his ticket to the attendant, saying in a rush:

- Please, give me the bike! Keep the change, I’m in a hurry!

Without waiting for the attendant’s confused stare, Khiêm jumped on the bike and sped away, heading straight for Phương’s house.

Cường put the pen into his schoolbag, then took it out again and neatly placed it in the drawer of his study desk. This drawer was reserved only for the special pens he had collected from class. After counting briefly, he realized he had about ten pens—ranging from ballpoints in every color to short, long, thick, and thin pencils of all kinds. Cường wondered why the owners of these pens never asked for them back, though if they did, he might not return them.

Cường took his bicycle out of the gate and started riding slowly to school, trying to time his arrival so that as soon as he locked his bike, the bell for class would ring. This habit had been with him for nearly two months now. At first, the fact that the class monitor was late caused some confusion, but after Cường explained that his electric bike was broken, and he had to ride a regular bike, his classmates became more understanding. After all, it was their final year, and there were only a few months left before graduation, so no one cared much about rules anymore. Some seniors even joked that the remaining school days were just for socializing and making memories.

When Cường walked into the classroom, 99% of his classmates had already settled into their seats. He waved at them like a rock star greeting fans before heading to his desk, where his seat was always kept clean by Sương, his desk mate, who smiled at him as he sat down. This silent and thoughtful care from Sương was the underlying reason for Cường's recent tardiness.

The first 15 minutes of class were usually lively, with Hưng Béo always being the loudest. Today, he proposed a new idea to the class. "Hey guys, want to come to my house this afternoon to 'study' for the exams? My neighbor’s guava tree has loads of ripe fruit!"

"Nah, let’s go to Mai’s house and fish instead, her house is right by the river," another classmate suggested.

"No way, you’ll never catch any fish there!" Hưng Béo retorted.

"Then we can fish in her pond, she has a small pond with lots of fish."

And that’s how the 12th-grade class of 12 Sinh spent their time when the teacher wasn’t around—talking about fruit, fishing, and birds instead of studying. Cường, as the class monitor, had become more laid-back, and this made the class even livelier than before.

When the 15 minutes passed, the lesson began. Cường opened his bag to find a pen, and Sương looked over at him with a sigh. She had two pens on the desk, one red and one blue. The blue pen was for taking notes, and the red one was used for highlighting key points. Cường reached out for the blue pen, but Sương quickly grabbed it. So, today, Cường would have to use the red pen. If the teacher saw it, he would probably comment, but since he had forgotten his pens at home, he had no choice.

Lately, Cường’s mood had been more distracted than usual. Once a strict and hot-headed class monitor, he had recently become unusually calm and gentle. During class, he often glanced over at Sương, who seemed to have become even more beautiful. He kept wondering if he was the only one who noticed it or if the entire class felt the same way. He wanted to ask someone if his feelings were correct, but he was too shy to admit he liked Sương. The truth was, he wasn’t too worried about the rest of the class knowing; he just didn’t want Sương to find out.

Sương had been the class monitor before him. She was very intelligent and had the highest score when they entered high school, so she had been chosen to be the class leader. However, she was shy and not very experienced, so after only one semester, the position was passed on to Cường. Up until then, he had never really paid much attention to Sương, even though she was very smart. There was even a time when Cường envied her because of how much the teachers favored her. But in the 12th grade, that sense of rivalry faded, as Sương had become more modest and reserved. After she started sitting next to him, Cường felt something strange in his heart—both happy and uneasy. He was glad because he could sneak glances at her notes, but at the same time, he still didn’t quite like her in a way that made him uneasy.

Every day, Cường focused only on cleaning his own desk. Sometimes, he even wiped down Sương's side of the desk too. Despite sitting next to her for a month, Cường never spoke a word to her. Sương often arrived late to school, but when she came early, she would always clean both desks. Cường was surprised and even touched by this, but it made him feel embarrassed. When Cường came early, he would wipe down the desks, but he was afraid the class would start gossiping about him. His classmates were always paying attention to him, and if they found out he had feelings for a girl, they would create all kinds of stories. But seeing Sương care for him made him feel small and unworthy as a class monitor. This is why he started arriving late—an idea he had to come up with after a lot of thinking.

One day, after staying up late watching soccer with his father, Cường woke up late. That day, he was late for class and ended up missing the surprise 15-minute History quiz. Cường searched his bag frantically but couldn’t find his favorite pen anywhere. By the time he looked up, most of the class had already started writing. He was stuck—he couldn’t remember the details of the Battle of Dien Bien Phu, and he couldn’t even find a pen to write with. Just as he was about to give up, a beautiful hand placed a black pen in front of him. Cường looked up to see Sương smiling. She motioned for him to start writing. Cường mouthed a quick thank you before he began scribbling down his answers. Sương didn’t try to cover her paper, as if she knew exactly what was going on. Thanks to her intelligence, Cường managed to recall the key points and finished his quiz, though it was less than perfect.

That day, Cường accidentally took Sương’s pen home. He didn’t mean to; he just forgot to return it. He placed the pen in his desk drawer and intended to bring it back the next day, but he forgot. Sương never asked for it back, so Cường just kept it, often holding it when he missed her. He couldn’t help but wonder if she knew.

Later, whenever his pen ran out of ink, Cường would look at Sương and silently ask if he could borrow her pen. Sương always agreed. She didn’t seem to mind that he kept forgetting his pens. Cường wasn’t particularly bad at school, and though he had been the subject of some girl’s affections in the past, his relationships never lasted. He was too cold and distant, which led to them falling apart quickly. But with Sương, it was different. His feelings for her had become clear to everyone else, including his best friend Hùng Béo.

One Saturday morning, Cường arrived at school early, hoping to see Sương, but she wasn’t there. Hùng Béo, who lived near Sương, noticed Cường waiting and decided to tease him. Hùng Béo told him that Sương had fallen from a tree and was in a bad condition. He said that her family didn’t realize until evening. Cường panicked, wondering what had happened, and rushed to check if it was true. Later, he found out it was a complete lie. Sương had just been sick with stomach pain and had stayed home. Hùng Béo had tricked him into thinking something much more dramatic was going on.

Still, Cường couldn’t stop worrying. He secretly went to Sương’s house, bringing flowers, but when he arrived, he found out that she had just been resting. The next day at school, everything came out in the open, and the whole class was buzzing about Cường and Sương’s rumored relationship. Cường felt embarrassed, but he didn’t know how to address it. Everyone assumed that their silent responses meant they were in love.

Time passed quickly, and soon the graduation exams were approaching. Cường, having thought about it long and hard, decided he would confess to Sương after graduation. But just before the exams, news came that Sương was leaving for Australia to live with her relatives. Cường was devastated. He regretted not confessing his feelings sooner, but now it was too late. He tried to contact Sương, but she had already left. For the first time, Cường realized what it meant to truly love someone.

On the day of Sương’s departure, Cường sat alone, wondering what could have been. They exchanged a few final messages, promising to remember each other, but deep down, Cường knew this would be the end. The love he had just found was now slipping away.

In September, the sound of cicadas has quieted, and the refreshing scent of autumn fills the air with every breeze. Today, the Thang Long High School in Hanoi is more lively than usual. The stage is solemnly set, with flower arrangements placed at each corner, and the podium standing in the center, behind which the statue of President Ho Chi Minh stands out against a turquoise backdrop. Phong stands at the back of the crowd, lazily leaning against a tree, yawning as he listens to the vice principal's speech: 'Today's opening ceremony is special for one reason: We are welcoming the new 10th graders. Please give them a warm round of applause.' 'Why do they keep asking us to clap so much?' Phong murmurs, clapping his hands half-heartedly. 'Clapping for yourself doesn't hurt,' Đức, Phong's new friend, reassures him. Phong and Đức are both new students in grade 10 and have only met once before, on the day of registration. On that day, Đức was startled when a boy he didn’t know came up to him, patted him on the shoulder, and said something straight out of a martial arts movie: 'Brother, though we’ve just met, I feel like we’ve known each other forever. Let’s swear brotherhood!' That’s how they became friends. After a while of trying to get closer, Phong decided to invite Vân to school, but he was afraid of being rejected. So, he came up with a plan: He would wait on the road Vân would take to school, pretending it was a coincidence. That way, he could preserve his manly dignity while still seeing the girl of his dreams every day. But the problem was, there were two roads to school—if Vân took the other one, Phong's effort would be wasted. So, he enlisted Đức to keep an eye on Vân’s movements every morning. Each time Đức saw Vân leaving her house, he would follow her and report to Phong which road she would take. Phong would then stand at the spot between the two roads, counting from one to ninety-nine, before leisurely pedaling into the correct one, ready to 'bump into' Vân as she came from behind. The 'coincidence' became a daily routine. Their friendship grew stronger after each encounter. Phong and Vân would bike side by side, chatting about everything under the sun. Occasionally, Vân would question the strange frequency of their encounters, but Phong always answered with the same old line: 'We are destined to meet.' One cold winter afternoon, during their tenth grade, Phong noticed Vân shivering alone during gym class. He approached and offered to fetch her jacket. Vân declined, citing strict uniform rules, but Phong insisted, taking off his own jacket and offering it to her. Vân hesitated, saying she didn’t want anyone else to suffer for her, but Phong was touched. Time passed, and their feelings for each other deepened. Vân and Phong both felt something unspoken growing in their hearts, though neither knew what to call it. During their shared school mornings, Vân would ride behind Phong, screaming in mock panic as he weaved left and right, while Phong tried to mask his feelings for her behind his jokes. In their senior year, everyone was focused on university entrance exams. The final year of high school was always stressful, filled with worry about the future and the inevitable parting with those who had been by your side for so long. Both Vân and Phong knew their time together was running out. Despite wanting to confess their feelings, they hesitated, unable to express the words. Phong kept putting it off, thinking there would always be another chance, but in reality, time was running out. He finally realized, too late, that he was afraid to say 'I love you.' One day, Phong gave Vân a coconut ice cream as a small gesture of thanks. As they discussed their future, Phong revealed his intention to apply to business school. Vân, on the other hand, was uncertain about her path, but she thought about pursuing art. Phong, despite his lack of artistic ability, even entertained the idea of studying art to be closer to her. The day of the graduation exam finally arrived. Phong and Vân sat in the same room, close to each other. For the first time, their connection felt purely accidental, not orchestrated by Phong’s usual schemes. Phong finished his exam early, and as he turned to look at Vân, he found himself staring at her, his heart pounding in his chest. He couldn’t help but think about their first meeting three years ago, when his heart had raced in the same way. After the exam, Phong was eager to ask Vân about her answers. But when he tried to meet her again the next day, she reminded him that they wouldn’t be going to school together anymore. The realization hit him hard, and he was left with a deep sense of loss. When the university admission results came out, Phong received his acceptance into the University of Commerce, but he couldn’t get ahold of Vân. He later discovered she had been accepted into the Fine Arts University. He resigned himself to the thought that perhaps their paths had finally diverged. But then, during the welcoming ceremony for new university students, Phong was stunned to see Vân again. She was there, on stage, delivering a speech as the top graduate of her class. It seemed like fate had brought them back together once more. After the ceremony, Phong and Vân shared a quiet moment. Phong was overwhelmed with emotion, remembering all the moments they had shared. As they spoke, Vân placed a missing book into his hands—the one Phong had lent her years ago. She smiled, and for the first time, Phong felt that maybe their story wasn’t over after all. The two stood together, hands intertwined, as Vân softly whispered, 'Because we are destined to meet.'

Mai peeked her head into the familiar clothing store on the usual street. She looked around with a beaming, joyful expression, grinning as she greeted the store owner loudly. But her excitement didn’t last long; her face quickly fell when the owner cheerfully responded:

- There are still many styles, dear! I haven’t seen you in a while, so I sold them to someone else.

- Oh... Well, it’s fine. Goodbye, Auntie!

Mai sighed and stepped out, the cold air biting at her skin. Despite her mother having bundled her up in warm clothes, scarves, and a hat before leaving, she still felt the chill and a sense of emptiness. She muttered to herself, “In the end, I’m still just a Scarecrow…”

Dũng was handsome, tall... very tall, smart... extremely smart, and “hot”... incredibly “hot”. Mai, on the other hand, was so average that it was almost painfully average. She wasn’t pretty, her grades were merely middle-of-the-road, and to top it off, she had earned the nickname “cold girl” for being distant in class. Yet, somehow, she and Dũng ended up together? It was strange, especially those early days in high school... The teacher assigned Mai to sit next to Dũng, a spot that many girls in the class envied, but Mai couldn’t feel more uncomfortable. During breaks, she longed for quiet but was always interrupted by the “hot girls” who would come chat with the guy sitting next to her. She never understood what kind of conversations Dũng had with them, and when she tried eavesdropping, it only made her want to burst out laughing. Then there was the time the teacher returned their math tests at the beginning of the year (the subject Mai hated the most). Dũng scored a perfect 10 while Mai only got a 4. She was already feeling upset and embarrassed, but Dũng, for some reason, took her paper, scolded her for being sloppy, and criticized her presentation. Mai was furious, so the next day, she asked the teacher to switch seats, only for Dũng to swoop in and say, “Please, don’t move her seat. I’ll help her improve. I’m sure her score next time will be at least 8.” The teacher agreed, and Mai shot Dũng a glare while he smiled, as though mocking her. Mai soon found herself caught in a grueling routine that felt like a new form of torture. Sure, Dũng had promised to help her improve in class, but he took it further, trying to micromanage even her daily habits, turning her life upside down. At 5 AM, her phone would ring incessantly to wake her up for a morning run, and if Mai ever tried to ignore it by turning off her phone, Dũng would come knocking at her door. After dragging her out for a workout, Dũng had even drawn up a strict schedule for her, like a personal caretaker. She had to wait for him at the bus stop on the way to school (which was illogical—most of the time, it was Dũng waiting for her). Her meals were scheduled—breakfast, lunch, and dinner—she couldn’t go out on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays because Dũng needed to tutor her, and so on... The regimen was tough, but it did improve her grades steadily. Any score below 7 would result in a scolding from Dũng, who would go on to pick apart her every mistake. It was now the final year of school, and Dũng had become even stricter, but his discipline had turned her habits into something far more consistent. She felt healthier, more energetic, and somehow more in love... with Dũng. Their relationship became one of the most unexpected and mismatched pairs—through all the “torturous” moments. Being with Dũng made Mai feel warm, but it also left her feeling insecure and pressured. Dũng was so much better than her, yet he never once complimented her, even though she tried so hard. Instead, he continued to call her the “Scarecrow,” making her feel unattractive. People say that when you're in love, you find the other person the most beautiful, but Mai thought Dũng was handsome—why didn’t he see her as beautiful? Furthermore, didn’t history books say puppet kings were useless rulers with no real power? Was Mai really that useless and clueless? It was bitterly cold that winter! Her mom had bought her a few coats, but none were stylish. Her family wasn’t wealthy, so her clothes were always quite ordinary. Was that why Dũng mocked her for being a Scarecrow? She wanted a warm coat like her classmate Trang’s—a stylish coat that reached her knees and made Trang look like a lovely doll. Trang also liked Dũng... Mai knew that and feared that Dũng might prefer the Doll to the Scarecrow. “Trang looks really pretty in that coat, doesn’t she, Dũng?” Mai blurted out as they were walking home. Dũng casually replied. “Yeah, she looks like a Doll, nothing like you, the Scarecrow.” “Hey!” Mai snapped. “Then why do you hang out with the Scarecrow? Why not be friends with the Doll instead?” “Oh, you don’t know? I’m like a field of corn that needs the Scarecrow to protect it from the pretty girls trying to steal my attention. The Doll is already beautiful and can’t help me with that,” Dũng teased. “Hmph! You jerk! No pretty girl would want to be around you. Only I feel sorry for you, so I stick with you. And I’m not going to be a Scarecrow anymore, I’ll show you I can be a Doll!” The challenge was set three weeks ago, and the next day, Mai searched every store for a coat like the Doll’s. She found a white one at a shop that was even more beautiful than Trang’s. Determined to buy it, she found it was too expensive for her budget—700K. She begged her mom for 200K, adding her savings, but still fell short by 300K. Luckily, Mai found a tutoring job for a 6th grader in English, and after two weeks of hard work, she would have enough to buy the coat. Mai missed a few meetups and study sessions with Dũng to keep her tutoring job a secret, and the money started adding up. She often passed by the store, admiring the coat and feeling relieved that the mannequin was still wearing it. With the money ready, Mai had even warned the shopkeeper: “Please don’t sell this to anyone else. I’ll buy it for sure!” But today, on Monday afternoon, she broke the rules of her “caretaker,” happily heading to the shop to buy the dream coat, turning off her phone to avoid being scolded by Dũng. When she got there, however, the coat was already gone. In the end, she was still just a Scarecrow. At 5:00 PM, Mai had ridden her bike for a long while, stopping to admire the view. The wind from the river chilled her to the bone. It was just a coat, yet it made her feel so down. Under the Long Biên Bridge was a large field of corn, and in the beautiful scenery, there were scarecrows—ugly, lifeless figures. She was so frustrated. Why did Scarecrows have to look so messy and ugly? After a moment, she checked her phone—23 missed calls from “The Corn Field.” “Why did you turn off your phone? Who said you could go off on your own without me?” Dũng’s voice rang out angrily over the phone. Hearing his scolding, Mai couldn’t hold back her tears. “I... I’m sorry... I tried... But I’m still just a Scarecrow. I can’t be a Doll.” “You’re so silly! I need you by my side, not some Doll!” Dũng replied. “Where are you now?” “In a place full of Scarecrows like me...” Mai sniffled. Dũng hurriedly rode his bike, ignoring the cold wind that hit his face. The Long Biên Bridge looked even more beautiful now, as Dũng knew that his Scarecrow friend was standing there, looking down at the corn fields and lost in thought. “You silly Scarecrow!” “Hey! Don’t call me that anymore! I hate it!” Mai snapped, wiping her tears. Dũng kept teasing her, making Mai even angrier. “What’s wrong with that? You’re the Scarecrow, after all...” He shivered and rubbed his hands together. “It’s so cold, isn’t it?” Mai was flustered. Not knowing what to do, she removed her gloves and wrapped them around Dũng’s hands. Suddenly, Dũng pulled her into a tight hug, so tight that Mai felt an overwhelming warmth. “My silly Scarecrow! I’m just an ordinary farmer, but what I need from you is to protect my love and everything I’ve built. A beautiful Doll couldn’t help me do that. Do you understand now?”

As the final purple Lagerstroemia flowers lingered on the branches, I officially entered my senior year. With the rush of extra classes, tough assignments, and endless thoughts about the future, I couldn’t shake my habit of spending hours in quiet contemplation, lost in the beauty of the deep purple blossoms. The color often stayed in my mind, bittersweet—so lovely, yet heavy with the sadness of farewell. I tried to peer deeper, to understand what it was about those delicate petals that made people reflect so intensely, but no matter how many times I held one in my hands, all I could see was the silent purple hue.

The purple carried me through the seasons of school, holding unspoken emotions and memories of youth’s fleeting moments.

One day, as I stood quietly beneath the Lagerstroemia tree, eyes locked on the tiny blossoms, he passed by like a soft breeze. I didn’t realize how long he had been standing behind me, but as he walked by, he reached up, plucked a small piece of purple from the tree, and gently placed it in my palm. Without a word, he winked, smiled, and continued walking, leaving me to stand there, lost in thought, with the flower nestled in my hand.

I chose a small, charming notebook to preserve that flower—a tiny piece of my final days as a student.

In our last year, we unexpectedly got a new homeroom teacher, and we were allowed to choose our own seats. I selected a spot near the window, where I could gaze out at the purple flowers and glimpse a familiar face in the building across the way. Unfortunately, it seemed that my ideal seat had already been claimed.

- Could you give me this seat?

I asked Huy, my classmate, with a pleading look. He smiled:

- What for? To watch some handsome guy in the class across?

- Oh, no. I just...

I stuttered, unsure how to explain myself. My face flushed red, making me even more embarrassed.

- Here. A little act of chivalry for the final year.

Huy shifted over with a grin. Sometimes, I didn’t understand why his smile drew so much attention. Of course, it wasn’t me who was captivated, but all the dreamy girls in the class and the school. They all said Huy had a smile that could light up a room, and “charisma,” too. He sat beside me, but I hardly noticed, my gaze always drawn outside to the purple flowers and the window framing the classroom across. Those things were enough to keep me fixated for the entire lesson.

Sometimes, modern life makes us forget old loves. The hustle and bustle of life might make us better in some ways, but it also takes away from us in others. Amid the rush, I still hold on to my private reflections, like a corner of my soul that cannot be dulled by the march of time. I think youth should be like that—at least so that this vast world still has spaces reserved for feelings.

Perhaps I’m old-fashioned, but every now and then, I like to watch him and quietly recite a few lines from Đỗ Trung Quân’s poem:

"My first love was something

Like a light rain outside the classroom

It was the white uniform, a dreamy sleep

It was the poem that lingered in my bag

Between breaks, it would come and go."

2. Winter

Drip...drip... The rain...

Another rainstorm arrived, just like the daily routine of winter—persistent and cold. Through the window, I could still see him, studying intently. What caught my attention was his scholar-like appearance, with just a hint of a bookworm. It was different from the other boys in school. He wasn’t overly handsome, didn’t have the “rich kid” vibe, and wasn’t particularly tall, but I found myself enchanted by his face, even through the heavy rain. The final winter at high school seemed colder, and the rain fell harder than before.

Sometimes, I liked to plug in my headphones, letting the soft lyrics flow through my ears, while my eyes stayed focused on him.

"Sometimes I watch the clock hands turn

I wonder about the meaning of each fleeting moment

If that day had been at a different time

Would we have seen each other?"

Suddenly, one of my earbuds was pulled out, and Huy placed it in his ear.

- You’re always listening to this song. Don’t you get tired of it?

I smiled:

- When something becomes a habit, you end up liking it more than getting bored with it.

The final volleyball games to celebrate November 20th. His class played against mine. Of course, I went to watch, but I wasn’t sure who to cheer for. I clearly stood with my class, but my eyes were only on him. His skilled, precise moves seemed to mesmerize me. He scored every time, no matter his position. My friend beside me was surprised and asked:

- Hey, who are you cheering for?

I hesitated:

- Uh, of course, I’m cheering for my class.

My friend didn’t know, he didn’t know, and no one else knew that I went to every game he played—whether it was the qualifiers, the semifinals, or the finals. I always showed up, standing off to the side, just enough to see him. Sometimes, happiness is found in the small, repeated moments. What matters is whether we notice them. I cherished the final days under this school roof, the last moments I could secretly watch him, those small joys and quiet wishes I sent with my gaze.

His team won, but perhaps I was the only one in the opposing class who was happy. I stepped out of the gym, and the rain poured down. I had intended to get drenched like usual, walking home through the downpour, but just as I was about to step off the field, an umbrella appeared over my head, held by someone else’s hand.

- You...

- Let’s share it. I’m going the same way as you.

Am I dreaming? He was standing beside me, so close, so close... A sweet warmth spread through me, and suddenly, I felt incredibly warm.

The school years are a time when love soars and blossoms, filled with the most beautiful and innocent romances. But it is also when we are the most naive and clumsy. Why do beautiful relationships always seem to come at a time when we're not ready to embrace them, and we unintentionally push them away from our lives, missing out on the purest emotions? Have you ever felt this way? I certainly have. When I entered the 10th grade, my first love came from a classmate. I quickly pushed his feelings aside in the most foolish way, and now, both friendship and love have vanished without a trace. Back then, as I stepped into high school, I was like many other girls—I enjoyed the attention, the care, and hearing a boy share random stories with me. Everything started when Tuan, a boy sitting two desks away from me, confessed his feelings. At that moment, I felt a thrill. How could I not, when it was the first time I had ever been confessed to, and the boy was quite popular in our class? From that day on, every morning before school, I would prepare myself to stand out and answer questions like, 'What will I say today? What should I do, and when?' Admittedly, I didn’t like Tuan, but I couldn't bring myself to reject him outright. I never officially agreed to be his girlfriend either. Was this driven by my own pride? When you possess something beautiful, and others notice it, would you give it up just because you think it doesn’t truly belong to you? If you say yes, then you've overcome your selfishness. If no, then you'll experience what I went through. Every recess, Tuan would come to where I sat and chat about trivial things, often repeating the same stories. I pretended not to listen, my books scattered across the desk as my eyes stayed focused, but my ears were always attentive. When my friends teased me, I would react strongly and express my disdain. Several times, Tuan asked me about my feelings, but I just gave vague answers, saying some things are hard to determine right away and that I needed more time to think. A month later, I received my second confession—from Cuong, a popular boy in the school. He was from another class, and I knew him as the ideal type many girls admired. I accepted Cuong's feelings. I didn't think about Tuan at all. His image had faded, only appearing in my mind when I went to class. I wasn't even sure if I liked Cuong, but I felt happy when I was around him, seeing other girls from different classes whispering and feeling envious. We didn't wait for each other by the school gate after class or chat every ten minutes during recess. We only talked on Facebook at night and hung out in the city every Sunday afternoon. There were sweet moments, but there were also times of anger. It wasn’t long before Cuong started to avoid me. Our conversations became less frequent until they stopped altogether, and we no longer went out alone. I remember the night Cuong broke up with me, and I cried. I wasn’t sure why I was crying. I found myself thinking of Tuan, maybe regretting a wrong choice. Perhaps I hadn’t truly loved him. I didn’t accept Cuong's proposal because I liked him; it was more like I wanted to have something everyone else wanted. Why do we insist on buying something popular when we know we don’t even like it? If we are just shallow people following fake ideals, then whatever we get will be nothing but deceit. It was then I realized my mistake. Let me feel this pain once so I never have to feel it again. I began to see Cuong’s presence as a warning about my selfishness and pride. I knew it was time to change, but maybe I was wrong. What I did is now in the past, and once something becomes the past, it can never be undone. I hadn’t paid attention to Tuan, hadn’t realized that once Cuong and I became a couple, Tuan stopped talking to me. He didn’t come by during recess anymore. I never gave him a clear answer. I should have told Tuan, 'We’re just friends.' But it was too late. I tried to mend our friendship, always taking the initiative to start a conversation or joke around, but it seemed impossible for him to face me. Tuan didn’t speak or even reply to my questions. I felt foolish. I admitted that boys have a lot of pride, but that didn’t mean I had to beg for his forgiveness. I also had my self-respect, and after all, we didn’t have anything clearly defined between us. When you drive a nail into a piece of wood, even if you pull the nail out, the wood can never be the same again. I knew this, but what was done was done. And so, in the most foolish way possible, I lost a friend. Time passed, and in the middle of the second semester of 11th grade, Tuan became a couple with a girl from our class, while I found myself in another relationship. There was still a distance between us. I moved on to 12th grade, feeling stressed, anxious, and full of pressure. The last class came all too quickly. As usual, the girls sobbed, the boys sat silently in their corners, and the atmosphere in the classroom was heavy. I went out to the quiet hallway, not crying, trying hard not to. Why cry when your friends are still around you? Three years of innocence, three years filled with so many memories, happy moments but also sad ones. Leaving school, I entered university. The first time I returned for a class reunion, I noticed that my friends hadn’t changed much. The only difference was that Class A3 was no longer whole. And I met Tuan. We were all there as friends. When I saw him at the door of the classroom, I greeted him with a smile. 'Tuan!' I said. 'Oh, you’re early,' he replied as he hurried into the class. That was the first conversation we’d had since our last one. Throughout the reunion, we didn’t speak again. We both knew the past was long gone, and it was unnecessary to bring it up, though it was hard to forget. After the reunion ended, and we each went our separate ways, I headed home with a restless heart. I wished I had thought things through better back then, that I hadn’t been so careless. If I had, maybe I would have had another friend today. Is it true that when you make a mistake, it can never be fixed? Those days are behind me, and although I may never forget them, one thing is certain—I’ll never let it happen again. Time is infinite, but a person’s life is finite, and what happens is but a fleeting moment. The months and years pass, but they never stay. We must live in such a way that we won’t regret today when tomorrow comes.

"Hey, are you asleep?"

A boy pressed his face close to mine, and by instinct, I pulled back and stammered, "Who... who are you?"

"I'm the one sitting behind you. How could you be so oblivious?" he sighed dramatically.

I nodded sheepishly. In class, I never made friends, just quietly went to school and quietly went home. My only concern was my textbooks and upcoming exams.

"Hey, you don't even remember my name?" He placed his hands on the desk, staring at me.

I scratched my head, smiling awkwardly. "So, what do you need?"

"Come to the canteen with me."

Before I could react, he grabbed my wrist and pulled me along. We had been classmates for almost three years, yet I didn't even know his name until he mentioned it, "It's Hải Nguyên," and I finally smiled sheepishly in apology. That afternoon, our class had only two extracurricular periods, and after that, we were free to either go home or join a dance or sports club. I wasn’t interested in either, and didn’t want to go home in the blazing sun, so I stayed in class, and Hải Nguyên dragged me to the canteen. It was the first time he treated me to bubble tea. That day, we talked about many things, but now, I’ve forgotten it all.

Hải Nguyên asked me to tutor him in English since I was good at it. It wasn't difficult, so I agreed. During our study sessions, I remember he once said he wanted to attend university in the same city as me, but when I asked him about it, he fell silent.

After some time, I asked him the question that had been on my mind.

"Why did you invite me for bubble tea that day?"

He answered immediately, "Because I noticed you always buy bubble tea after class, so I thought you must really like it."

But in your heart, did you truly want to have bubble tea with me? I didn’t ask him this.

The summer breeze swept through the high mountains, over the sea, and through tall buildings. The breeze passed through my room, leaving a refreshing coolness behind.

At 10 PM, I was studying for my upcoming exam, listening to the radio.

As on most other nights, we met again on the radio waves. Tell me your story. Have you ever missed an appointment with someone you like?

Amid the radio host’s voice, a message from Hải Nguyên popped up.

"There’s too much vocabulary, I’m really exhausted."

"Do you even want to pass the exam?"

"I’m studying more. Don’t stay up too late, okay? Sleep well!"

I screenshot that message as a memento.

He told me to sleep early, but he stayed up until 1 or 2 AM. The beep of my phone woke me up.

"I’ll bring you breakfast tomorrow, cheese bread and bubble tea!"

The next morning, Hải Nguyên arrived late to class. He sneaked in through the back door at 7:30, eyes red and tired. He handed me breakfast, but how did he know my favorite food was cheese bread? I kept that question to myself and didn’t ask him. Maybe he was late just to bring me breakfast?

We spent a lot of time together—at school, in study sessions, and when I tutored him in English.

The breeze blew through the empty alley, still unable to catch up to the lingering shadow of the person who had passed.

On the final exam day, Hải Nguyên had asked to meet me at a small street behind the school, but he forgot. At that moment, I thought maybe he was exhausted after the exams and had forgotten about our meeting. I didn’t mind and understood because there was still plenty of time ahead.

At 11:45 PM, he sent me a voice recording saying, "Goodnight," and I played it every night. It felt like hearing him wish me goodnight in person.

I never knew what he was truly thinking—whether he was sincere or just pretending. But over the past time, everything he did for me touched me deeply. My heart beat out of sync for him. It felt like chewing a sweet candy in my mouth.

***

At 5:30 PM, the last lesson.

"Do you believe that someone in this world will like you no matter how many flaws you have, when you’re alone in a cold place, soaked in rain, or drowning in sorrow? You have to be strong to overcome the chaos of this world."

Hải Nguyên always said things like that.

Finally, we had a proper date before stepping into the future.

At 3 PM on Sunday, I arrived at the meeting spot. By coincidence, we were both wearing the same colored shirts. I asked him where we were going, and he pulled out a small wooden box from his pocket and said it was a birthday gift for me.

"How did you know it was my birthday?" I asked, receiving the gift with confusion.

"I... I just pay attention to these things," he smiled casually.

That day, we didn’t go anywhere; we just sat by the fountain, eating ice cream. Turns out, the real reason he invited me was just to wish me a happy birthday.

Hải Nguyên wasn’t the most outstanding student in class, nor was he handsome enough for girls to write love letters, but wherever he went, people always turned their heads to look because he was a kind-hearted guy, full of emotions, with a passionate heart. I don’t know when I started thinking about him, learning more about him. Hải Nguyên—he was like a stubborn child, a flame that ignited hope, lighting up the willpower, only to burn out and fall asleep.

My life didn’t feel so dull anymore; it was filled with some joy and vitality, a little frustration and happiness. All these emotions combined to make my world more interesting and colorful.

But summer was short, and it was my fault that I didn’t learn how to be brave enough to prevent regrets from becoming regrets, so now, you and I are separated.

On graduation day, I didn’t see Hải Nguyên anywhere. I called him, but the line was always busy. When I stepped down from the stage, the class leader handed me a letter saying it was from Hải Nguyên. It was a letter he had written.

"By the time you open this letter, I’ll be on a plane. I’m sorry for leaving suddenly without saying anything. I was afraid that if I said it then, it would distract you. So, I decided to wait until after the graduation exams to tell you. My family and I are moving to another country to live and study. This was decided when I was 16, at the end of my 10th grade, but I stayed for you and asked my parents to let me stay for three more years to study with you. I’ve always paid attention to the girl sitting in front of me. She was rather quiet. Many times I wanted to talk to her, but it felt like there was an invisible barrier around her that kept me away, or maybe I just lacked courage. Days passed. The day of parting was near, yet I never said a word to her. I wanted to create many beautiful memories with you before I left here. I’ve done it, haven’t I? Sometimes, when I think back on those joyful times, I feel happy, but sometimes, I also feel disappointed. Life has its ups and downs, good people and bad people, rain in the early morning or warm sunshine at sunset... all these make up our lives. Remember, you have to be strong to get through the chaos of this world. I’m not sure when I’ll be back. So, thank you for everything, both the good and the not-so-good. Thank you for being here with me all these years. If we ever meet again, I hope we’ll both wear the same blue uniform from those days, walk down to the canteen, and review old lessons together. I’m so glad you spent time with me. Actually, from the first time I met you, I felt something special. The luckiest part was that the person you liked also liked you back. Goodbye."

The sunlight outside the window was blinding, and the letter in my hand fluttered gently in the breeze. Did our youth pass by with just one farewell? No, it didn’t. Even if we never meet again, if we remain as we were back then—soft but full of passion—then, no matter the storm or the scorching sun, I believe that one day we will create many more miracles together and turn that youthful time into the most beautiful memory.

At the start of the semester, the library was still quiet, only a few final-year students were working on their thesis, and a handful of diligent bookworms were scattered across the room, absorbed in their reading. It was peaceful and warm. On afternoons like this, I often spotted her sitting in a familiar corner, reading an old book with Chinese characters on the cover. She had a round face, soft cheeks, and sparkling dark eyes that looked slightly melancholic. Her long hair cascaded down, and occasionally, when she became engrossed in her reading, she would gently push it aside. I don’t remember when it became a habit of mine to sneak peeks at her while she read, drawn to the calm, deliberate way she carried herself, which fascinated me far more than any hurried, modern girl. That corner of the room felt like her own little world, bathed in the soft glow of yellow lamps, surrounded by old Chinese books whose colors had faded over time. The tranquility and elegance there were something I rarely saw in girls today, at least not in those of my age.

In high school, she sat next to me. Beautiful like a delicate carnation. As for me, no need to describe, rather dull.

She was totally unique, always smiling like the morning sun, the center of attention in class. I, however, didn’t need any description: slow, quiet, and only interested in video games – the type of person who could be left alone either way.

We shared a desk, and unlike others, she didn’t bother with dividing lines of chalk: I was simple, I let her have whatever she wanted, always accepting. She loved it, smiling like the sun.

In the second half of 11th grade, I became her messenger, delivering letters back and forth, her collection of letters during that period could have made up a small novel. I would quietly hand them to her, she would read them, smiling and showing off her perfect teeth, sometimes passing a letter to me with a gleam in her eyes.

One day, she asked: "Hey, do you think I look good?"
"Good?" – I was still buried in my book.
"You think I look good but you don't even look up?" – She pouted.
"I see you every day, nothing has changed." – I closed my book.
"Have you ever really noticed me?" – She blinked her eyes.
"Sometimes" – I smiled.
"In what way?"
"I make sure you're hiding your answers well during tests, you always sit at the corner of the desk, it's easier for the teachers to catch you." – I grinned, showing my teeth.
"You're so boring, I won't talk to you anymore." – She stuck out her lips.
"Alright then, here’s a letter for you." – I handed her the letter and casually gave her a piece of chocolate.
"Oh, where did this come from? Is it a Valentine’s gift?" – Her eyes sparkled.
"My dad was on a business trip and brought it back. He left it in the fridge, so we might as well eat it together before it goes to waste. Now, let’s switch seats for the test." – I was being honest.
"You’re crazy!" – She slapped me on the back. "It’s Valentine’s Day! Giving chocolate means you have feelings for someone!"
"I see! That’s why those guys were so insistent on handing me their letters today. They must have thought I was giving it to you as a love token." – I stretched out my hand in front of her.
"You’re so weird, I ate it already. Consider it an acceptance!" – She blushed and quickly ran off like a gust of wind.
"Oh, so it turns out girls can be won over with just chocolate or any snack, that’s easy!" – I thought to myself, while preparing for the test and making sure my seatmate was comfortable.

After school, I was getting my bike ready to head home when I saw the students from all grades laughing and chatting. Suddenly, I heard her call: "Hey, can you give me a ride home?"
"Where’s your motorbike, confiscated?" – I was surprised.
"The tire burst this morning, so my dad gave me a ride to school." – She looked at me.
"But you have plenty of guys waiting to offer you a ride. You can just get in one of their cars. Taking the bike is not much faster."
"Fine, forget it!" – She turned to leave.
"Wait, I’ll give you a ride. Why are you being so difficult today?" – I hurried after her with my old, rusty bike.
She kept walking at a steady pace, and at first, I tried riding alongside her, but the bike was faster than her pace, so I ended up walking alongside. Looking back at that moment, it’s hard to imagine in today’s world—since we’re always either driving cars or riding motorcycles. I thought about how rare it is now. I kept walking for a while, and then she turned around and jumped on the bike. "Let’s go, you fool, let’s hang out!"
We rode through the streets, the February air was cold and biting, passing by the Hoan Kiem Lake. The wind blew, and she pulled closer to me. She then asked: "Are you cold?"
"No, I’m fine, just exercising, why would I be cold?" – I replied casually.
"Oh, you’re such an idiot." – She sighed.
I pulled over by the sidewalk, took off my jacket, and handed it to her. "Here, put this on, I’m fine. But seriously, why do you always dress like that in this weather? Just wear it for now, it won’t smell, I washed it recently." – She smiled and put it on, saying, "This is warm."
As I pedaled, she chatted endlessly behind me, and although the road seemed long, we eventually arrived at her house. "Give me my jacket back before you go."
"You said you weren’t cold." – She stared at me intensely. Her gaze made me feel a strange chill down my spine.
"There’s no one to give a ride to now, so I must be cold." – I lowered my head, avoiding her gaze.
"I’m keeping it today. You’ll get it back tomorrow when you pick me up." – She smiled, and I had never seen her look more beautiful.
"What? Fine, I’ll pick you up tomorrow, don’t worry, I’ll get up early. We’ll see each other then." – I agreed quickly.
"Wait, hold on, give me your hand." – She laughed.
I stretched out my hand, and she put a piece of chocolate in my palm. "Eat it in front of me."
"I haven’t eaten yet, why force me to eat this now? I’ll eat it later when I get home." – I frowned.
"No, eat it now, in front of me, or else you won’t leave!" – She said, almost on the verge of tears.
"What’s wrong with you?" – I was startled.
"Eat it now, before you go. No exceptions!" – She demanded.
I unwrapped it and ate it, relieved since I was very hungry. "Mmm, delicious. Alright, I’m going now. Tomorrow, as promised, I’ll pick you up. Don’t forget your jacket."
"Not so fast, this is for you." – She pulled out a book from her bag.
"Wow, thanks, I should’ve been more considerate and taken you home more often. Now I get to eat and take something with me! Thanks!" – I happily held the book in my hands.
Suddenly, she quickly leaned in and kissed me on the cheek. I froze, and my whole body felt like it was shocked with electricity. She ran into the house, leaving me stunned for a moment. I touched my lips as if trying to figure out what had just happened. As I walked home, I couldn’t understand anything that had just occurred. That night, before going to sleep, I opened the book she gave me and found a letter inside. I unfolded it and read:
"You’re crazy! You’re the most foolish person I’ve ever met. I love you. Thank you for always looking after me. Thank you for carrying my bag, buying me bread at recess, pushing my bike during extra classes, delivering my letters, copying my homework, and even taking the blame for me. I don’t know where I’d be without you by my side, but I do know I’d be sad if you weren’t in my life. I love you. Happy Valentine’s Day. P.S. Don’t be late to pick me up tomorrow."
My heart raced as I read her words. That whole night, I couldn’t sleep, tossing and turning, the clock mocking me as the seconds ticked away. I had never waited for the morning to come faster. At 6 AM, I was already at her door, forgetting about the two beeps before hanging up. I waited 45 minutes until I saw her step out. She had never looked more beautiful. She smiled, jumped on my bike, and said: "Let’s go!" We rode to Hoan Kiem Lake, the early morning cold biting us. She asked:
"Are you cold?"
"Yeah, today’s colder than yesterday, not sure why." – I said, my teeth chattering from the cold.
"I knew it! You’re such an idiot!" – She hugged me tightly from behind, her warmth surrounding me. The first hug of my life. My first love…