YEN LAM

Tokyo, January 1, 2015 9 am On New Year's Day morning, Tokyo appeared somber and dreary. A lingering tropical depression had confined everyone indoors for two days. Khac and Aki's planned outing had to be postponed. Early that morning, Haruko visited Aki at home to bring her over for a few days of play. If the weather cleared up, Haruko hoped to take her two children to visit her aunt in Kusatku, a hot spring resort north of Tokyo. The interactions between Khac and Haruko were growing increasingly dull. Khac felt like he was tending to his ex-wife as a doctor would care for a long-time patient, a patient whom the doctor had once inadvertently harmed. The impact on the patient far exceeded the harm caused to the doctor. Aware that he could never fully atone for his mistakes, the doctor could only comply with the patient's wishes, as long as it didn't involve the unattainable love he sought. After Aki's departure, Khac brewed a pot of sencha tea and took it to the study to complete the final report for the interdisciplinary research project at his hospital. He also drafted responses to emails from the students he was assisting as a master's thesis advisor.

Sencha achieves optimal flavor and color when brewed at around 75°C, resulting in a greenish-yellow hue. The same handful of tea leaves can typically be boiled three times, with Khac preferring the third brewing for its best taste, moderation, and ease of consumption. As a research specialist in the Department of Oncology Medicine at JHCR Central Cancer Hospital, Khac mentors two to three graduate students from JHCR University of Medicine each year to assist them in writing their theses. This education model was a long-held aspiration of many medical universities in Vietnam during Khac's time there. Guiding and supporting the next generation is a time-honored tradition in the global medical community, which Khac embraces without hesitation. Despite the immense workload, Khac seldom complains about the challenges, as they keep his mind occupied. In the past two years, he also mentored Keiko, a determined graduate student at JHCR hospital. While Keiko excelled in her work, she occasionally posed challenges for Khac. He sensed Keiko's feelings for him, but his own emotions had long since faded.

The rain pouring outside the office window suddenly brought in a chill, making him shudder. He stood up and walked over to securely latch the window that hadn't been properly closed. Down the street, only a few hurried silhouettes passed by. Their figures blurred beneath the colorful raincoats. He stood in silence, letting thoughts drift aimlessly until his eyes caught sight of a couple taking shelter from the rain under the bookstore awning across from his house. The tall, bear-like young man stood out in his leather jacket, while his petite companion huddled next to him, looking adorable. The image sent a jolt through him, pulling him back to twenty years ago, to the last summer days spent with Lam. At the end of August 1995, his K.92 group organized a camping trip to Đức Trọng for outstanding students from that year's Green Summer campaign. Around fifty people participated. On the final day, everyone had free time, and Khắc rented a motorcycle to take Lam away from the group on a remote road in Di Linh that he had stumbled upon a few days earlier during a survey with the team leader. Khắc and Lam enjoyed the picturesque scenery along the road, chatting about various topics. There were moments when they laughed so much that Khắc's hands shook on the steering wheel. As dawn approached, a sudden downpour whitewashed the earth and sky. Khắc hurriedly sought shelter, regretting not anticipating this situation. In the desolate surroundings, only a few scattered small houses stood. He took off his warm cream-colored coat and draped it over the shivering girl beside him. Realizing they wouldn't make it back to Đức Trọng before dark, they decided to wear two thin raincoats outside and ran into the residential area to find a place to stay overnight.

Luckily, he and Lam found a three-room house where a young couple and a baby boy were living. They were kind enough to give him and her the most spacious room in the house for them to rest overnight after serving them delicious hot bowls of porridge.

The room was small and clean, with only a simple bed with mats and a small old wooden table next to it. Seeing her serious look, he quickly said:

-You rest on the bed, I'll lie right below.

-It will be very cold, you can just lie up here.

He suddenly shouted at her:

-I'm so stupid! Sleep alone!

She blushed, then rolled her eyes again:

-You're stupid!

Khac burst out laughing:

-Your face is red!

-I have a fever.

He panicked and quickly raised his hand to touch her forehead. It turned out that she really had a fever, perhaps because the heavy rain this afternoon had made her cold. He quickly searched in his backpack, took out a bottle of water and a fever-reducing pill and forced her to drink it immediately. She stubbornly said it was nothing but had to take medicine. He urged with a serious face:

-Drink quickly! If your mother knew you were sick because I took you out in the rain like this, she would kill me.

--Why kill you? Do you think everyone likes to kill others like you!

He raised his hand to hit her head, thinking about arguing, but in the end he just whispered: "You also know that I want to kill you!"

She suddenly fell silent, didn't say anything anymore, stopped being stubborn, obediently drank the entire glass of water and pills, then pulled him onto the bed. Looking at her curled up like a cat, her face red, I don't know if it's because of fever or some other reason, it's really adorable. Khac leaned over and hugged her, running his hands through her hair, flipping it in waves to help it dry quickly. The scent of tulsi that she often cooked to wash her hair still lingered in her hair even though it had been three days since she left Saigon. Khac took a deep breath, trying to suppress the emotions rising in his heart.

Please read the next part...