Chapter 1: A Letter in the Desk and the First Bell

The bell for the start of class rang out, shrill enough to tear through the sticky heat of an early summer morning. Nguyễn Trãi Specialized High School was awash in red flame-tree blossoms and the endless buzz of cicadas.

Hạ An hugged a stack of literature tests still fragrant with fresh ink and hurried down the third-floor corridor. She was class president of 12A1: petite, her jet-black hair always neatly tied back, her studious glasses softening some of the sharpness in her eyes. For Hạ An, school life ran like a pre-programmed equation: study, stay disciplined, score full marks, and get into a top university.

When she walked into the classroom, Hạ An headed straight for her desk in the innermost row, by the window. But the moment she pulled out her chair, her eyes stopped. In the worn wooden desk compartment, next to her familiar leather-bound notebook, lay a grayish-blue envelope. It was smooth, its edges folded crisp and square, and on the outside, in firm, free-flowing handwriting, were just two words: Hạ An.

She frowned and glanced around the room. Her classmates were still bustling about, copying homework or fooling around. Hạ An sat down, gently slid the envelope out, and unfolded the paper inside.

“Hello, Class President.

If you’re reading this, it means my plan to keep a secret has worked, at least for now. Don’t try to figure out who sent it. Even if you looked straight at me, you wouldn’t guess. I know you believe everything in the world must follow rules and calculations. But life has gaps that no numbers or literary analysis can fill.

The sun is beautiful today. Don’t just look at the blackboard. Look out the window for a moment.”

Hạ An pressed her lips together, a strange feeling stirring inside her. Without thinking, she looked out the window. Honey-gold sunlight poured over the green schoolyard. Right beneath the big mahogany tree, a boy stood with his hands on his hips, tilting his head up toward the third-floor corridor.

It was Minh Khang.

Minh Khang, the name that stood at the complete opposite end of everything Hạ An was. If Hạ An was the very picture of order and principle, Minh Khang was a basketball “legend,” easygoing, sometimes a little reckless. He was strikingly tall, with a smile as bright as the summer sun, and a constant headache for the teachers because of how impulsive he was.

As if he could feel her gaze from the third floor, Minh Khang raised a hand and waved toward the window of 12A1, his face lighting up with a grin. Hạ An started and quickly looked away, her heart skipping a beat. The two of them had always been like parallel lines. Apart from brief exchanges about class business, they had never had a real conversation.

At recess, Hạ An carried her attendance clipboard past the basketball court. Minh Khang, having just sunk a perfect shot, came straight over to her.

“Hey, Class President. On duty?” he said, his warm voice still a little breathless from playing.

“Yes. You should get back to practice. The next period’s about to start,” Hạ An said, keeping her face blank.

Minh Khang tilted his head and looked at her, a smile hidden in his bright eyes. “You’re always so serious, huh? Aren’t you curious whether somebody left something in your desk today?”

Hạ An tightened her grip on the clipboard and looked hard at him. “It was you?”

Minh Khang laughed. “What do you think? But if I said it was me, would you believe it? It’s not a joke,” he added, dropping the teasing tone, his eyes turning sincere. “It’s the only way to get someone who only ever looks straight ahead, like you, to stop and look around for a second. It’s our last summer of high school, Hạ An. Don’t let it go by with nothing to remember but pages of textbooks.”

Minh Khang turned and walked back to the court, leaving Hạ An standing there, dazed. Back in the classroom, she flipped the letter over. In the bottom corner was a line of very small writing:

“Meet me in the library after school. Aisle Z, third shelf. Where the story really begins.”