That Summer, We Had Each Other
Chapter 1: The Day We Met
At sixteen, Ha Nguyen once thought her life would be perfectly ordinary.
An ordinary school.
An ordinary family.
Ordinary friends.
An ordinary future.
She had never imagined that one day she would lose the people she loved most.
Much less that the boy who had once sat beside her by the window frame would become the person she loved most—and the one who hurt her the most.
But that was many years later.
For now, Ha Nguyen was just a sixteen-year-old girl standing in front of the high school gate, gripping the straps of her old backpack with both hands as she read the words on the small piece of paper for the fifth time.
**Class 10A1 — third floor, Building B.**
She looked up at the building in front of her.
“Three years…”
Ha murmured softly.
“Just three years.”
She encouraged herself.
Three years of high school.
It sounded so long.
But at the time, she didn’t know that many years later, after she had lived through so much, those three years would become the period she missed most in her entire life.
Because that was where she met him.
And it was also where she lost the most innocent version of herself.
Ha walked into the schoolyard.
The early-September morning still held a little of summer’s last sunlight.
The flamboyant trees around the schoolyard were lush and green, with only a few clusters of red blossoms left on their branches.
Students moved everywhere.
Some were laughing and talking.
Some were hugging because they went to the same school.
Some were tugging their friends along as they hurried to class.
Ha walked silently through the crowd.
She didn’t have any middle school classmates with her.
No one was waiting for her at the gate.
No one called her name.
The feeling left her a little disappointed.
Ha had always been introverted.
Ever since she was little, she hadn’t known how to take the initiative and join a group of strangers.
She could sit alone in her room all afternoon without feeling lonely.
But on her first day at a completely new school, she was still a little afraid.
She went to the stairs leading to Building B.
Just then, a voice rang out behind her.
“Hey!”
Ha turned around.
A short-haired girl was running toward her.
She was hugging two cartons of milk as she ran, a bright smile on her face.
“You’re looking for 10A1 too, right?”
Ha glanced at the piece of paper in her hand.
“Yeah.”
“Thank goodness!”
The girl let out a relieved breath.
“I’ve been walking around forever and couldn’t find it. Want to go together?”
Ha nodded.
“Yeah.”
The girl held out one of the cartons of milk.
“Here.”
Ha stared at it in surprise.
“For me?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“No idea.”
The girl shrugged.
“It’s our first day meeting, so consider it a getting-to-know-you gift.”
Ha laughed.
“I’m Ha Nguyen.”
“An Lam.”
The girl smiled.
“Nice to meet you.”
“Yeah.”
An Lam studied her for a few seconds.
“Ha Nguyen, you really don’t talk much, do you?”
Ha didn’t know how to answer.
An immediately added,
“It’s okay. I talk enough for both of us. Together, we’ll be just right.”
Ha laughed again.
For the first time that morning, she felt a little less tense.
Class 10A1 was at the end of the third-floor hallway.
The classroom was spacious, with windows facing the sports field.
Ha chose a seat by the window.
She liked sitting there.
Maybe because whenever she was tired, she could look outside.
At the trees.
At the schoolyard.
At the clouds drifting by.
And pretend she was somewhere else.
An Lam sat beside her.
They had been talking for less than ten minutes when the homeroom teacher walked in.
The entire class immediately fell silent.
The teacher looked to be in her early thirties. Her hair was tied low, and she held a folder in her hands.
“I’m Minh Chau Tran. Starting today, I’ll be the homeroom teacher for Class 10A1.”
After introducing herself, she began taking attendance.
“Ha…”
“Here.”
“Ha Nguyen?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You’re sitting at the third desk in the middle row.”
Ha stood up.
She was just about to pull her backpack along when the teacher continued reading:
“And the student sitting beside her is…”
She looked down at the list.
“Minh Khoi Tran.”
A few whispers suddenly spread through the class.
Ha didn’t understand why.
Not until a boy stood up at the back of the room.
He was very tall.
That was the first thing she noticed.
His white shirt was neatly tucked in.
His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows.
His black hair was slightly messy.
There was nothing welcoming about his expression, as if he had no interest in getting to know anyone.
He came forward.
Pulled out the chair.
And sat down beside Ha.
Without saying a word.
Ha glanced over.
At that exact moment, he turned too.
Their eyes met.
Ha immediately turned toward the window.
Her heart beat a little faster.
She told herself,
*I’m probably just nervous.*
“Hi.”
His voice rang out.
Ha turned back.
“Um… hi.”
“Minh Khoi Tran.”
Ha looked confused.
“What?”
“My name.”
“Oh…”
She felt a little embarrassed.
“Ha Nguyen.”
“I know.”
“You do?”
“You just called it.”
“Oh.”
The two of them fell silent.
An Lam saw what happened from behind them and immediately turned away to hide her smile.
The first few class periods passed peacefully.
Minh Khoi wasn’t much of a talker.
He was a good student.
In math, he finished the assignment before everyone else.
In English, the teacher called him up to the board.
In literature, he rested his chin in his hand and stared out the window as if he didn’t care about anything at all.
Ha gradually realized that he wasn’t cold.
He was just quiet.
During recess, a boy ran over.
“Khoi, coming down to the field?”
“No.”
“Come on.”
“No.”
“We’re playing soccer this afternoon.”
“No.”
“You live like an old man.”
Minh Khoi raised his head.
“Yeah.”
He answered without a trace of embarrassment.
Ha couldn’t hold back her laughter.
Minh Khoi turned toward her.
“What are you laughing at?”
“Nothing.”
“You are.”
“Seriously, I’m not.”
He looked at her for a few seconds.
Then he turned away.
“Yeah.”
Ha lowered her head.
The corners of her lips were still curved upward.
That was the first time she saw another side of him.
Not cold.
Just… a little strange.
At the end of the school day, it started to rain.
The rain came quickly.
Drops struck the windowpanes, leaving long trails behind.
The students gradually left the classroom.
An Lam’s family came to pick her up.
Before leaving, she turned back.
“Do you have an umbrella?”
Ha shook her head.
“No.”
“Then should I ask my mom to pick you up too?”
“No, it’s okay.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah.”
An reluctantly ran downstairs.
Ha stood alone in the hallway.
She took out her phone.
Her mother had just sent her a message.
**I’m coming home late today. Get home on your own, okay?**
Ha stared at the screen for a while.
She sighed.
Her house was fairly far from school.
If the rain didn’t stop, she would have to run through it to the bus stop.
Just then, a black umbrella appeared in front of her.
Ha looked up.
Minh Khoi was standing there.
“Take it.”
She looked at the umbrella.
“What about you?”
“I have a raincoat.”
“But…”
“Take it.”
He placed the umbrella in her hand.
Ha stared at him.
“Thanks.”
“Yeah.”
He turned around.
“Minh Khoi.”
He stopped.
“I’ll return it tomorrow.”
“You don’t have to.”
“But…”
“Keep it.”
With that, he ran down the stairs.
Ha stood beneath the awning.
She lowered her eyes to the umbrella in her hand.
It was a perfectly ordinary umbrella.
But for some reason, it felt special to her.
That night, Ha placed the umbrella beside her desk.
She opened her book.
But after a while, she looked at the umbrella again.
She thought she was being strange.
*It’s only the first day.*
It was nothing.
He had only lent her an umbrella.
That was all.
Ha reminded herself of that.
But she didn’t know that feelings often began with the smallest things.
An umbrella.
A question.
Waiting for each other once.
Someone remembering, without even meaning to, what the other person liked.
And then, without knowing when it happened—
that person became part of your life.
A week later.
Physical education class.
The entire class ran laps around the schoolyard.
Ha had never liked running.
By the third lap, she was already gasping for breath.
An Lam ran beside her.
“Faster!”
“I can’t run anymore.”
“Just a little more!”
“No!”
Ha stopped.
An stopped too.
A figure ran past them.
Minh Khoi.
He ran a few steps before turning his head.
When he saw Ha, he slowed down.
Then he stopped beneath a tree.
“Not running anymore?”
Ha panted.
“I can’t.”
“Then walk.”
“Okay.”
He turned away.
Ha followed him.
An Lam looked at the two of them up ahead.
The corners of her lips lifted.
She said very quietly,
“That’s it.”
October.
Ha began getting used to the school.
She and An Lam became best friends.
They ate lunch together.
Went to the library together.
Skipped physical education together to buy milk tea.
And Minh Khoi…
He became the person Ha often found herself searching for without realizing it.
If she arrived in the morning and the seat beside her was empty, she would look toward the door.
If he missed class, the day felt longer than usual.
If he talked to another girl, she would fall silent.
Ha knew what that feeling was.
But she didn’t dare give it a name.
One afternoon, An Lam pulled her into the girls’ bathroom.
“Admit it.”
“Admit what?”
“You like Minh Khoi.”
Ha’s face immediately turned red.
“I don’t.”
“You don’t?”
“No.”
“Then why did you ask me four times what was wrong with him when he missed class the other day?”
“I was just concerned about my seatmate.”
“Your seatmate?”
“Yeah.”
An crossed her arms.
“What if he likes someone else?”
Ha fell silent.
Only after a long while did she say,
“Then… I’d wish him happiness.”
An looked at her.
She stopped teasing.
Because she knew Ha really did like him.
Ha just wasn’t brave enough to admit it yet.
At the end of the first semester, Ha got a math test back with a score of 5.5.
She sat staring at the red number on the paper for a long time.
She had never imagined she would get such a low score.
The disappointment made her eyes sting.
Minh Khoi placed his test on the desk.
9.5.
Ha saw it.
She felt even worse.
He turned toward her.
“Sad?”
“No.”
“Obviously you are.”
Ha said nothing.
After a while, she said,
“I’m not as good as I thought I was.”
Minh Khoi took her test.
“Give it to me.”
“What for?”
“I’ll show you.”
“It’s okay.”
He looked at her.
“Ha Nguyen.”
“What?”
“Stop refusing help every time someone offers it.”
She fell silent.
He picked up his pen.
“You made a mistake in the first step here.”
Minh Khoi began explaining.
Step by step.
Formula by formula.
Not too quickly.
Not impatiently.
When Ha finally understood, she looked up.
“Oh…”
“Got it?”
“Yeah.”
“Do it again.”
Ha worked through it again.
This time, she got it right.
She was so happy that she smiled.
“That’s right!”
“Yeah.”
“Thanks.”
“No problem.”
Ha looked at him.
The late-afternoon sunlight streamed through the window.
Half of his face was bathed in light.
In that moment, Ha knew she no longer saw him as just her seatmate.
She liked him.
She really liked him.
But she didn’t know whether Minh Khoi liked her.
He had never said so.
He had never taken the initiative to cross the line between friendship and something more.
Sometimes she thought he liked her.
But other times, he was so distant that she wondered if she had imagined everything.
Ha didn’t know that Minh Khoi had a secret too.
He liked her.
From the very first day.
But he didn’t say anything.
Because things at home were far from peaceful, despite what everyone else thought.
His father was a strict man.
He always wanted his son to be the best.
“No dating.”
“Don’t let anything distract you.”
“Don’t waste your time on useless things.”
Those were the things Minh Khoi had heard since he was little.
His mother rarely said anything.
She only stayed silent.
Some nights, Minh Khoi could hear his parents arguing in their room.
Some nights, he heard his mother crying.
He had never told anyone.
Not even Ha.
The new year arrived.
On New Year’s Eve, Ha stood on the balcony.
Fireworks burst across the sky.
Her phone vibrated.
A message.
**Minh Khoi: Happy New Year.**
Ha looked at the screen.
She smiled.
Then typed:
**You too.**
A moment later, a second message arrived.
**Let’s work hard together this year.**
Ha stared at the sentence for a long time.
Then replied:
**Yeah. Let’s work hard together.**
That was the first promise between them.
There was no “forever.”
No “I love you.”
Just a very simple sentence.
**Let’s work hard together.**
But the two sixteen-year-olds didn’t know then how much life would test that promise.
The spring of tenth grade passed.
Then summer came.
During the last days of the school year, the whole class took a picture together.
Ha stood beside the window.
Minh Khoi stood behind her.
An Lam shouted,
“Minh Khoi! Stand closer to Ha!”
The whole class laughed.
Ha’s face turned red.
Minh Khoi said nothing.
But he took one step forward.
Only a few inches remained between them.
Ha could smell the sunlight on his shirt.
She looked straight ahead.
She didn’t dare turn around.
*If only time could stop here.*
That was what she once thought.
On the last day of tenth grade, after everyone else had left the classroom, Ha stayed behind.
She looked at the blackboard.
The white chalk marks were still there.
Minh Khoi walked over.
“Not going home?”
“Yeah.”
“What are you thinking about?”
Ha smiled.
“I don’t know.”
He pulled out a chair and sat down.
The two of them fell silent.
Outside, the buzz of cicadas began to fill the air.
Minh Khoi asked,
“What do you want to do three years from now?”
Ha thought about it.
“College.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you want to go far away?”
“Maybe.”
“What about you?”
“Me too.”
Ha looked at him.
“What if we end up going to different schools?”
Minh Khoi was silent.
For a long time.
Then he said,
“We could still see each other.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
Ha smiled.
“Then promise me?”
“Promise what?”
“Don’t lose touch.”
Minh Khoi looked at her.
His gaze softened.
“Yeah.”
“Promise?”
“Yeah.”
Ha held out her pinky.
He looked at her finger.
He seemed a little helpless.
But in the end, he still reached out his hand.
Their pinkies hooked together.
A childish promise.
But to Ha then—
it mattered more than anything.
Years later, Ha would think about that day.
She would ask herself:
If she had known how much the future would hurt, would she still have held out her hand?
If she had known her family would fall apart.
If she had known her mother would end up in a hospital bed.
If she had known she would have to give up on her dream.
If she had known Minh Khoi would leave the city.
If she had known they would spend years unable to see each other.
If she had known that one day she would stand in a hospital with a piece of paper in her hand, one that would make her entire world collapse.
If she had known they would fall in love.
Then lose each other.
Then find each other again.
Then lose each other again.
Would she still have wanted to meet him?
The answer was still—
**yes.**
Because no matter how many times life let her go back, she would still choose that day.
She would still walk through the school gate.
She would still meet An Lam.
She would still sit by the window.
She would still see Minh Khoi Tran walk toward her.
And she would still accept the black umbrella on a rainy afternoon.
Because some people enter our lives not to bring us peace.
But to teach us what it means to love.
What it means to lose.
And what it means to grow up.
That day, two sixteen-year-old children stood in the schoolyard.
One didn’t yet know what she would lose.
The other didn’t yet know what he would have to give up.
They only knew that summer was coming.
The cicadas were beginning to sing.
The flamboyant trees were beginning to bloom.
And their youth still stretched far ahead of them.
Ha looked at Minh Khoi.
“Let’s go home.”
“Yeah.”
The two of them walked out of the classroom together.
Their shadows stretched across the hallway in the afternoon light.
No one knew this was the beginning of a story that would last nearly a lifetime.
No one knew there would be days when they loved each other so much that they thought they couldn’t live without each other.
And no one knew there would be days when the pain was so great that they only wanted to forget the other person had ever existed.
But that was the future.
For now—
they were still just two sixteen-year-old children.
There was still an entire summer ahead of them.
There were still words left unsaid.
There were still dreams that hadn’t come true.
And there were still so many years they thought they could hold on to forever.
**That summer, we met.**
**And no one knew that meeting would change their entire lives.**