The next day, the soft morning sunlight slipped gently through the classroom windows, warm and pale like a quiet greeting. A breeze drifted across the courtyard, swaying a few fallen leaves onto Bach Luu's desk.
He sat there—tall, broad-shouldered—bent over his notebook, eyes still and calm like an undisturbed lake.

All night, the image of Mac Dinh pedaling through the wind kept replaying in his mind. Those small shoulders trembling with exhaustion, yet never complaining—not even once.

Short, but somehow ridiculously strong...
He chuckled to himself.

"What are you laughing at?"
A familiar voice echoed beside him.

Mac Dinh stood there, a small notebook in hand, eyes sweeping down at him in a judging stare.

"Don't tell me you're thinking about yesterday."

"Mm... maybe a little." Bach Luu scratched his head, smiling even as his heartbeat quickened.

"That bike ride. I didn't think you were that strong."

"Don't make me do it again. Felt like I was dragging a cart," Mac Dinh replied in a flat, steady tone.

"Ha ha, sure," Bach Luu answered, still smiling.
But his eyes dimmed slightly—because standing this close, he could feel it: their hearts were beating to different rhythms.

Mac Dinh set the small notebook on the desk—a notebook filled with his effort and hope, wishing Bach Luu would improve for the upcoming retest. His voice was low and rough.

"This is my holy notebook. Memorize every formula."

Bach Luu froze for just a second, heart skipping. Mac Dinh was always like this—cold in words, warm in every tiny action.

The class moved outside for PE.
While warming up, Bach Luu yawned, his eyes still faintly swollen.

He scanned the area, searching for a particular silhouette.
And when his gaze landed on the back row—where Mac Dinh stood with arms crossed, expression calm as ever—his smile faltered just a little.

The whistle blew. Teams were chosen.

Fate, as always, pushed Bach Luu and Mac Dinh onto the same side.

"Hey, Mac Dinh," Bach Luu called, clutching the ball. "I'll run up the court. Pass it to me."

"Yeah, yeah," Mac Dinh muttered, curt but not unpleasant.

The play moved fast.
With a leap that sent him soaring, Bach Luu released a clean, perfect shot.
Cheers erupted across the court.

Mac Dinh looked up from beneath the hoop, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. He didn't say a word of praise, but his gaze held a hint of pride—something warm, something familiar.

And for Bach Luu, that single look was enough to make his heart stumble.

After PE, a light drizzle fell. Students crowded under the hallway roof.
Bach Luu leaned against the wall, tapping the window lightly with his fingers as he watched the rain.

"You didn't bring an umbrella?"
That voice again—quiet, steady.

Mac Dinh stood beside him, backpack slung over one shoulder, his dark jacket dotted with raindrops.

"Nope," Bach Luu answered, smiling at the rain.

"You're always careless."
Mac Dinh opened his umbrella. "Come on. To the library."

Bach Luu hesitated.
Every word from Mac Dinh came out so casually—routine, familiar—never with anything special beneath it.
And yet to him, each one warmed his heart.

They walked close under the small umbrella.
Mac Dinh tilted it entirely toward Bach Luu to shield him, letting rain soak into his own sleeve.

"You're getting wet," Bach Luu murmured.

"It's fine," Mac Dinh replied simply.

Their shoulders nearly brushed. Their breaths overlapped.
Only one of them was counting those moments.

In the library, the scent of books mixed with the faint sound of wind passing by the windows.
This time, they sat side by side—not across from each other.

"How's this one?" Mac Dinh asked, pointing at the exercise.

Bach Luu glanced down. "I... got it wrong."

"Then fix it. You always write so messy."
Mac Dinh leaned closer, his hand brushing lightly against Bach Luu's.
A brief touch—barely a second—but it sent a quiet jolt through him.
Bach Luu pulled back quickly, forced a smile.

Mac Dinh didn't notice, continuing to explain.

"Look, if you move this term over here, the equation simplifies."

His voice was slow, deep.
His breath brushed the page, blurring the handwritten words in Bach Luu's eyes.

For some reason, he wanted the moment—the closeness—the distance—to stay exactly like this forever.

The sky dimmed.
Most of the students had left.

Mac Dinh closed his book with a tired exhale.
"That's enough for today. I'm starving."

"Where do you eat?" Bach Luu asked.

"The cafeteria. Probably just instant noodles."
He stood up.

"I'll come with you."

"You don't get sick of me?" Mac Dinh asked, half-joking, half-serious.

"No," Bach Luu replied softly, sincerely. "I never do."

Mac Dinh didn't answer.
But throughout the meal, he kept glancing unconsciously at the boy across from him—the one with gentle dusk-like eyes who smiled a lot but barely ate.

"Eat. Why're you staring?" Bach Luu murmured teasingly.

"It's nothing," Mac Dinh replied quickly, lowering his head.

That night, Bach Luu walked home alone.
Streetlights stretched across the road, footsteps echoing softly in the quiet.

He pulled out his phone, typed messages, deleted them, retyped, deleted again.

"I like you."
"Thanks for today."
"See you tomorrow."

In the end, he only sent three simple words:

"Good night."

The message was read instantly.
No reply.

Bach Luu smiled faintly and slipped the phone back into his pocket.

The moon in the sky was still perfectly full—
only his heart was missing a quiet, invisible piece.