Minh Yen

23 years old. Second year student majoring in Music Education.

Zodiac sign: Leo (24/7), but influenced by Cancer.

Personality: Quiet, introverted, sensitive, and thoughtful. Despite her calm and gentle appearance, she often hides her true feelings behind a faint smile. She is easily attracted to people but is afraid to approach them, always afraid of being rejected or bothering others.

Hobbies: Reading comics, watching the sunset, playing drums even though she is not good at it, and quietly observing her crush from afar.

Most worrying thing: Being abandoned and misunderstood.

Thien Duy

23 years old. Second year Graphic Design student, also a guitarist in an amateur band.

Zodiac sign: Scorpio (October 24)

Personality: Quiet, deep eyes, always keeping distance from people. However, he is extremely attentive to small things and has a special listening ability.

Having experienced a psychological shock, he is rarely open, but inside he is a loyal, gentle and easy-to-understand person.

Hobbies: Sketching characters, playing music at night, taking pictures of other people's "unintentionally beautiful" moments.

Biggest fear: Being forgotten and not being good enough to keep someone by his side.

Late autumn. The scattered trees across the field shed their leaves like a slow rain.

Minh Yen clumsily carried an old hand drum from the music room to the schoolyard, preparing for an upcoming performance. She walked slowly, eyes fixed on the drumhead, mentally reviewing the rhythm as she walked. And then—

“Thud!”

A sudden collision at the corner of the schoolyard sent the drum rolling across the ground.

— “I’m sorry…” – She bent down in a fluster, not daring to look up.

— “…Be more careful.” – A deep male voice, not annoyed, but calm.

Minh Yen looked up.

A boy with dark hair covering his forehead, one earbud dangling. He bent down to pick up the drum and handed it back to her without meeting her eyes.

— “Thank you… I wasn’t paying attention…” – Yen mumbled.

— “Mm.” – He replied simply, then walked away.

Moments later, his figure faded into the crowd, leaving Yen standing there, holding the drum.

Yen was a quiet girl—unremarkable, gentle, the type of person who easily faded into the background of bustling freshmen crowds. Her family had been there with her from the moment she applied for university until she received her acceptance. They protected and shielded her from all the bumps in life—that's why she became timid, a bit “out of tune” in the lively college environment.

From the very first days, Yen had gotten used to going to school alone, eating lunch alone, and quietly listening to the laughter of some distant group of friends. She didn’t hate it—it was just… sometimes, a little lonely.

Weeks passed. She began trying to fit in. A few classmates chatted with her. A few times, she was invited out for coffee. But Yen still felt like a baby bird—hesitant to open her heart. She tried to start conversations, but her voice was too soft, her eyes always avoiding—every effort fell into silence.

Until one day…

“Come watch the basketball game with me! Our class is playing against the graphic design majors!”

“I don’t want to…” – Yen hesitated.

“Come on, we’re just cheering! You stay in the dorm all the time, don’t you get bored?”

Her classmate insisted so much that Yen eventually gave in. She didn’t know that this reluctant “yes”… would become the beginning of something very different.

The basketball court was bustling. Cheers, bouncing balls, and the golden light of the afternoon sun blended together. Yen sat quietly in the back, heart beating faster than usual from the surrounding energy.

“Hey hey, that’s Thien Duy!”

“OMG, look at him shoot! So cool!”

Yen tilted her head slightly. A group of girls nearby were pointing at a guy wearing jersey number 8 – tall, light brown hair, calm eyes, and confident steps. She heard the name: Thien Duy.

That’s the boy from this morning.

He wasn’t flashy, but there was something captivating in his cool demeanor and skilled technique. Every time he jumped to shoot, the sunlight hit just right—like a scene from a movie.

Yen quietly followed his every move. For a moment, her cheeks flushed. She didn’t know if it was the cheering, the sunlight, or the way Thien Duy slightly furrowed his brow then smiled gently after every point he scored.

Halftime came. Duy sat down by the court, wiping sweat while a few girls chatted with him, offering water and towels.

Yen clutched the bottle of water in her hands, her heart pounding like a drum. She stood up, intending to walk over.

“Maybe I shouldn’t… there are too many people…” – she thought.

But she still took a few more steps. As she approached, she saw another girl casually sit down next to him, handing him a towel. They laughed together.

Yen stopped. Her eyes turned slightly sad.

She quietly placed the bottle on a stone bench nearby, next to a small folded note.

“Great game. You played really well.”

No name.

She left nothing behind—just the trace of someone who had passed by.

She turned around and quickly walked toward the gate, as if afraid of being seen.

Unbeknownst to her, a few minutes later, Thien Duy picked up the water bottle from the bench, opened the note and read the short message, glancing around with a puzzled but faintly amused expression.

At that moment, she didn’t know that… that boy—Thien Duy—would become the one to make her heart gently tremble, as deep and resonant as the first notes she ever learned to play.

The sunlight was dazzling.

Minh Yen rested her chin on the windowsill, listening to the wind passing through the gaps with soft creaking sounds. Sheets of music fluttered through her fingers like old memories returning.

She often asked herself:

“Why did I choose music?”

She had never been a remarkable child, much less someone others would turn to notice. As a kid, whenever she stood on stage to tell stories or sing, whispers would stir in the class below:

“Her voice is so shaky.”

“Why does she dress so old-fashioned?”

“She’s always so quiet, huh?”

Those glances — not openly cruel, but enough to make one want to disappear. Yen became used to being called “gentle as a kitten,” “the quiet girl,” and therefore, used to not daring to dream big.

Yet, one time, she secretly joined the class’s performance group — only as a background singer. That day, he — the boy she quietly liked — stood on stage holding a microphone. The song was a simple school love tune, but his eyes seemed to sing to someone special.

And… she knew then, her heart had truly stirred.

He was brilliant — bright, smart, played guitar well, spoke charmingly, always surrounded by laughter.

And her? Just a skinny, quiet girl who always stood at the end of the line during PE class.

When the teacher asked, “Who wants to perform at the spring music event?” — he raised his hand first.

Minh Yen didn’t, though her heart had been trembling for a long time.

“I’m… not good enough. Not talented enough. Not pretty enough.”

Once, she gathered all her courage to write a New Year card and slipped it into his backpack. No name. No reply.

In youth, even a silent rejection could break someone’s heart.

From then on, she slowly closed herself off.

She didn’t hate music, but music had once made her feel... clumsy, undeserving.

Then one day, after the graduation exam, she heard the sound of a guitar in the living room.

Her father — a quiet man, always busy — was humming an old song.

Her mother stood at the door, softly singing along.

She quietly sat down and listened. And for the first time in a long while, her heart felt light.

“Music isn’t always about stage lights.”

“It can be quiet moments that connect people to one another.”

From then on, she listened to more music, jotted down bits of lyrics — though she never dared show them to anyone.

That afternoon, in their small house in the suburbs, Yen’s parents sat beside her as she looked over the university application list.

“You’re really thinking of choosing music?” – her father spoke.

“Are you sure about music?” – her mother asked gently, not sternly, but full of concern.

Yen nodded slightly, holding the pen with a faint tremble.

“We’re not stopping you. It’s just… you’ve never studied formally. Are you being too emotional in choosing?”

“What about your future career?”

She stayed silent.

For the first time, a strong desire bloomed in her heart — to make her own decision.

“I’m not sure. But I want to try.”

“I don’t want to regret never trying…”

Her mother looked at her for a long while. Then gently held her hand.

“Then we’ll support you. But promise us — don’t give up halfway. Even when it’s hard, you must stand on your own.”

Minh Yen nodded.

That night...

The small room was lit only by her desk lamp, shining through the folds of the curtain.

Minh Yen sat silently, her hand resting on a blank sheet of paper. Her music book, notebook, and university application form lay in front of her.

Outside, the wind blew gently. A soft piano melody echoed from the room next door — melancholic, yet peaceful.

Her mother knocked, then sat down beside her:

“Yen… your dad and I always respect your decisions. But this music major... are you choosing it because of someone?”

Minh Yen didn’t answer right away.

She simply lowered her head, bit her lip, and gently shook her head.

“I once liked someone…”

“I don’t know if he’s the reason I chose this path.”

“But now, I want to study for myself.”

“Music makes me feel like I’m not invisible. It’s gentle… like me.”

Her mother placed her hand over Yen’s, squeezing softly:

“If music helps you become stronger, then I support it.”

“But remember, you don’t have to be perfect right away. Just don’t give up.”

Yen’s eyes grew misty.

She nodded.

For the first time — since knowing what it meant to love and to be hurt — she truly understood:

She needed to walk her own path. Not for anyone else.

But for her own heart.

She opened her notebook and slowly wrote:

“Tomorrow, I’ll start learning music.”

“For myself. Not for anyone else.”

In her heart, for the first time, a tiny flame had been kindled — one she lit herself, not one sparked by someone else.