The young art committee girl, Bach My, was what everyone secretly called a "rich, radiant beauty."
Her classmates, even the girls, silently acknowledged it. After all, she was always changing the glittering little pieces of jewelry she wore, riding a sleek new bicycle that stood out among the rusty ones in the parking lot, and hiding the latest phone in her bag only to pull it out every break to play with—something that stirred envy in both girls and boys alike.

And yet, no one could bring themselves to dislike her. Bach My was generous, often sharing snacks during breaks, making it hard to hold any resentment toward her.

Bach My and Nhu Ha—so different in both looks and temperament—had somehow remained friends since their very first year in high school.

It was during the second semester of tenth grade that Bach My had suddenly transferred in from another school, dazzling the entire class with her brightness. Soon, even students from other classes had heard of the charming, talented, and approachable girl from Class 10A5.

And when it came to being approachable, Bach My was perhaps the only one in class who had the patience to start conversations with Nhu Ha—the quiet girl who would slip out of the classroom the instant the bell rang, uninterested in making friends or joining in chatter.

In Nhu Ha's world, if someone approached her, she did not push them away. But everyone in class knew her aloofness, her distant manner, which soon discouraged even the most eager classmates from trying to befriend her. A group of restless, energetic teenagers could hardly tolerate someone so quiet and detached.

And so, Nhu Ha found herself unintentionally drifting outside the circle of her peers.

At her corner desk, she simply sat, listened to the lessons, and when the bell rang, left in silence with her bag slung over her shoulder.

Yet Bach My had never given up on her. Through several semesters, she had stubbornly remained Nhu Ha's friend. When Bach My discovered that Nhu Ha harbored a quiet love for sketching, she had eagerly tried to pull her into the art club—though Nhu Ha had firmly refused.

Bach My didn't press her, but still found little ways to draw Nhu Ha closer to that world.

Now, Bach My slid the bolt of the iron gate, pushed it open, and popped her head out with a wide smile.

"Right on time, huh?"

"What, did you expect me to be late on purpose?" Nhu Ha muttered, annoyed. Hadn't Bach My told her to come on time to meet the teacher? She kicked down her bike stand and wheeled her bicycle inside.

Bach My pointed toward the side wall, where a few bicycles and three motorbikes stood neatly under a corrugated roof.

"Park it over there. Yep, just leave it—no need to lock it."

She closed the gate, then came over to help Nhu Ha straighten her bike before patting her on the shoulder with an apologetic grin.

"Sorry, I got caught up in my sketching and lost track of time. The teacher just stepped out for a bit. Why don't you look around first? He should be back in ten minutes or so."

Faced with Bach My's sheepish smile, Nhu Ha couldn't bring herself to complain. So she quietly followed her friend inside.

From the outside, the house didn't look like much. But stepping in, Nhu Ha realized how spacious it truly was—almost like two separate houses joined together.

One wing, facing the garden, was dedicated entirely to art lessons. Inside were three different classrooms: one for basic sketching, another for watercolor, and a studio just for portrait work.

At the end of the narrow corridor lay the teacher's private workshop, strictly off-limits to students. Nhu Ha thought to herself: Even a private studio... he must be a true professional.

Bach My walked ahead, eagerly pointing out each room as though she were the host, until they came to the exhibition space. There, she proudly showed off a charcoal bust sketch of her own, framed on the wall as a student example.

But when they reached the centerpiece of the room—an oil painting of a maiden bathed in light—Bach My's eyes sparkled. She could not stop praising the divine beauty of the girl in the painting.

For a long moment, Nhu Ha stood transfixed, unable to blink. The painting drew her in completely. Hung at the most prominent spot, its colors and composition commanded every glance, refusing to let a viewer walk past without turning back for another look.

It was a vision of love's goddess, rendered in earthly form.

The goddess stood with her back to the viewer, draped only in a whisper of white silk that slid down her bare back to rest lightly on her hips. Her arms wrapped around her own shoulders, where delicate roses blossomed across her pale skin.

Beneath her tousled hair, a faint beauty mark on her shoulder seemed to hide and reveal itself at once.

Her face was half-veiled, showing only the gentle curve of her nose beneath rays of heavenly light.

She was no untouchable deity—only a young girl, trembling before the mystery of love.

And yet, while her upper body was bathed in holy radiance, beneath her feet lay a different world: withered petals, blood pooling around wounded toes, faint iron chains coiled around her ankles, dragging her down into shadow.

Nhu Ha shivered. The fine hairs on her arms rose sharply.