CHAPTER 2: THE VOID
An Nhien couldn't hear a word throughout the entire class.
Not because the professor was difficult to understand.
But because one sentence kept repeating in her head.
*You're more like your mother than I thought.*
Nhien sat in the back row, her eyes fixed on the board while her mind drifted back ten years.
Her mother.
The person she had tried not to think about too much.
Ten years.
Long enough for a child to forget her mother's voice.
Long enough for memories to become distorted.
Long enough for a lie to turn into the truth.
“An Nhien.”
She jumped.
“Yes?”
Professor Tran was looking at her.
“Have you been listening to my lecture?”
“Yes, Professor.”
“Then what did I just say?”
The whole class burst out laughing.
Nhien lowered her head.
“I’m sorry.”
The professor shook his head and continued the lecture.
Beside her, Khai propped his chin on his hand and looked at her.
“You okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re lying.”
Nhien turned to him.
“You know I’m lying?”
Khai smiled.
“Just a guess.”
“A guess?”
“Yeah. You look like someone who just saw a dead body.”
Nhien fell silent.
If Khai knew what had just happened, he probably wouldn’t be able to smile like that.
She looked at him.
Tried again.
Nothing.
A blank space.
She stared longer.
Still nothing.
Khai turned toward her.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’ve been staring at me for a while.”
“I was thinking.”
“About me?”
“No.”
“What a shame.”
Nhien frowned.
“Do you always talk like this?”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re making people want to punch you.”
Khai laughed.
“So you’re back to normal.”
Nhien looked at him.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You looked like you were about to pass out earlier.”
He paused.
“Now you look more like you want to kill me.”
Nhien couldn’t help it. A very quiet laugh escaped her.
It was the first time she had smiled all morning.
Khai laughed along with her.
But the moment the smile appeared on her lips, a sudden chill ran down her spine.
Because she suddenly realized something.
She couldn’t read Khai’s thoughts.
Not because he had no thoughts.
That was impossible.
People couldn’t have no thoughts.
So why?
Nhien looked down at her hands.
Her fingers trembled slightly.
She had met people whose minds were very difficult to read.
But she had never met anyone who was completely empty.
Khai’s emptiness wasn’t silence.
It was like a door.
A door locked from the inside.
And she didn’t have the key.
Classes ended at four.
The rain still hadn’t stopped.
Students streamed out of the building.
Nhien stood beneath the awning, watching streams of water run down the steps.
“You don’t have an umbrella?”
Khai stood beside her.
“No.”
“I do.”
He raised a black umbrella.
“Want to share?”
“No need.”
“Are you planning to stand here until tonight?”
“I’m waiting for the rain to let up.”
Khai looked at the sky.
“At this rate, it might last until tomorrow morning.”
Nhien didn’t answer.
Khai opened the umbrella.
“Let’s go.”
“I said there’s no need.”
“Okay.”
He walked down the stairs.
After a few steps, he turned back.
“But I’m still walking beside you.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m curious.”
“Curious about what?”
“You.”
Nhien looked at him.
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t be curious about me.”
Khai was silent for a few seconds.
Then he asked:
“Has anyone ever said that to you?”
Nhien froze.
“Said what?”
“That people shouldn’t be curious about you.”
“No.”
Khai gave a faint, humorless smile.
“Then I’m the first.”
Nhien walked down the stairs.
The two of them walked beneath the same umbrella.
They weren’t too close.
But they weren’t far apart, either.
Nhien kept stealing glances at him.
Khai seemed perfectly normal.
He watched the road.
There was nothing unusual about his expression.
Nhien tried to concentrate.
She forced her ability to become stronger.
A sharp pain shot through her temple.
Nothing.
She closed her eyes.
Still nothing.
Suddenly—
An image flashed through her mind.
A room.
White.
A metal chair.
A figure standing behind a pane of glass.
Nhien opened her eyes.
She was breathing hard.
“What’s wrong?”
Khai stopped.
Nhien looked at him.
“What were you just thinking?”
“What?”
“A moment ago.”
Khai stared at her for several seconds.
“Nothing.”
Nhien froze.
His answer was too calm.
It wasn’t a joke.
He wasn’t avoiding the question.
It was as if he truly didn’t understand what she was asking.
“You just…”
Nhien was about to continue.
But a motorbike shot past them.
Dirty water splashed onto the sidewalk.
Khai pulled her back.
“Watch out!”
His hand closed around her wrist.
In that instant—
A sound rang out.
*Don’t let her remember.*
Nhien stood frozen.
She looked at Khai.
For the first time.
She heard a thought from him.
But it was only one sentence.
One single sentence.
Then it vanished.
“You…”
Khai released her hand.
“Sorry.”
Nhien stared at him.
“What were you just thinking?”
“Nothing.”
“No.”
She stepped forward.
“You were thinking.”
Khai didn’t answer.
Nhien’s heart began to race.
“You thought…”
She swallowed.
“…don’t let me remember.”
Khai’s expression changed.
Only slightly.
A brief flash of shock.
Then it immediately returned to normal.
“You heard wrong.”
“I didn’t hear wrong.”
“You might be tired.”
“I know what I heard.”
Khai looked at her.
They stood in the rain.
Neither of them said anything.
Finally, Khai asked:
“Do you really want to know?”
“Know what?”
“What’s happening.”
“Yes.”
“Even if, once you know, there’s no going back?”
Nhien didn’t answer.
Khai sighed.
“Then…”
His phone vibrated in his pocket.
Khai took it out.
He looked at the screen.
His expression changed immediately.
Nhien saw the caller’s name.
There wasn’t one.
Only a string of numbers.
Khai didn’t answer.
The phone vibrated a second time.
He turned it off.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re lying.”
Khai looked at her.
“You’re not the only one with secrets.”
With that, he turned away.
Nhien stayed where she was.
“Khai.”
He stopped.
“What?”
“You know the man from this morning, don’t you?”
Khai didn’t turn around.
“What man?”
“The man in black.”
Silence.
Three seconds.
Four.
Khai turned his head.
“You met him?”
“He knows my mother.”
Khai looked at her.
This time, she heard nothing.
But his expression said everything.
He knew.
Nhien stepped closer.
“Who is he?”
“I don’t know.”
“You do know.”
“No.”
“Khai.”
“An Nhien.”
It was the first time he had called her by her full name.
His voice was very low.
“Don’t look for him.”
“Why?”
“Because he isn’t the only one looking for you.”
With that, Khai walked away.
Nhien stood in the rain.
She watched his silhouette until it disappeared.
A strange feeling formed in her heart.
Not fear.
Suspicion.
Khai knew more than he was saying.
Much more.
That evening, Nhien got home at seven.
The small apartment was in an old residential complex.
Her father wasn’t home yet.
She turned on the lights.
Set her bag on the chair.
Everything was just as it always was.
So normal it was terrifying.
Nhien stood in the middle of the living room.
She looked at the family photograph on the shelf.
There were three people in it.
Her father.
Her mother.
And her at nine years old.
She picked up the photograph.
Her mother was smiling.
A very faint smile.
But the longer Nhien looked, the more she felt that something was wrong.
She enlarged the photo on her phone.
Behind them was a black car.
Its door was open.
A man stood beside it.
His face was hidden in shadow.
Nhien stared at him for a long time.
She had never noticed him before.
She turned the frame over.
There was nothing.
Only a scratch.
Nhien took a cloth and wiped it.
When she reached the bottom corner, she discovered a small piece of paper caught behind it.
She pulled it out.
A single line was written on it.
**“If you ever remember that night, don’t tell your father.”**
Nhien stood motionless.
She read it again.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
The handwriting was her mother’s.
She recognized it.
There was no mistaking it.
Why?
Why had her mother written this?
And why had her father never told her?
A sound came from outside the door.
Nhien jumped.
“Dad?”
No one answered.
She walked to the door.
A key turned in the lock.
The door opened.
Her father stepped inside.
He was around fifty, with a tired face.
“You’re not asleep yet?”
“I just got home.”
He set down his bag.
Nhien looked at him.
She could read her father’s thoughts.
All she had to do was look into his eyes.
But she had never done it intentionally.
Because he was the one person whose truth she was most afraid to learn.
She didn’t want to know what he thought of her.
She didn’t want to hear anything that might hurt her.
But today—
She needed to know.
“Dad.”
“Yeah?”
“Can I ask you something?”
He looked at her.
“What is it?”
“Mom…”
His hand stopped.
Nhien looked into her father’s eyes.
And heard it.
*No.*
A voice inside his head.
*Don’t ask.*
Nhien went rigid.
Her father still said:
“What do you want to ask?”
“How did Mom die?”
“I’ve already told you.”
“I want to hear it again.”
“A car accident.”
“Where?”
“On the way home.”
“Was anyone else there?”
“No.”
Nhien looked at him.
Another voice rang out.
*Don’t tell her.*
She clenched her hands.
“Are you lying to me?”
He looked at her.
In that moment, she heard a sound with perfect clarity.
*I’m sorry, my child.*
Nhien stepped back.
“Dad…”
He looked away.
“Go to your room.”
“Why?”
“I’m tired.”
“Do you know the man in black?”
He immediately looked up.
His face went pale.
Nhien knew.
Now she knew.
Her father knew.
“Who?”
“The man who appeared today.”
“Who did you meet?”
“He said he knew Mom.”
“Where did you meet him?”
“At the university.”
Her father stepped toward her.
“You talked to him?”
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
“He said Mom was still alive.”
The glass in her father’s hand fell to the floor.
Crash.
He stood motionless.
Nhien saw his lips tremble.
“That’s impossible…”
“Dad?”
“Impossible.”
“You know Mom is still alive?”
He looked at her.
Tears appeared in his eyes.
It was the first time Nhien had ever seen her father cry.
He said:
“You must not look for your mother.”
“Why?”
“Because your mother…”
He stopped.
Nhien stepped closer.
“Because what?”
Her father looked straight into her eyes.
And a sentence rang out in his head that made it impossible for her to breathe.
*The person who killed your mother has never died.*
Nhien stood frozen.
“What were you just thinking?”
He looked at her.
His expression changed.
“You…”
Nhien knew he had realized it.
He knew she had heard.
Her father stepped back.
“You can still hear them?”
Nhien said nothing.
He clutched his head.
“No…”
“Dad, you know about my ability?”
“I thought…”
“You thought what?”
“I thought they had taken it away.”
A chill ran down Nhien’s spine.
“Who are they?”
He didn’t answer.
“Who are they?”
Her father looked at her.
“You shouldn’t know.”
“I already know too much.”
“No!”
He shouted.
Then suddenly—
The lights went out.
The room sank into darkness.
Nhien jumped.
“Dad?”
There was no answer.
She turned around.
The living room door was open.
But her father was gone.
“Dad?”
She ran into the kitchen.
No one.
The bedroom.
Empty.
The bathroom.
Empty.
The front door was still locked.
Nhien stood in the middle of the apartment.
Her heart pounded violently.
A very soft sound came from behind her.
Click.
She turned around.
The living room window was open.
The curtains billowed in the wind.
Something sat on the windowsill.
A black USB drive.
Nhien walked over.
She picked it up.
A number was engraved on its body.
**07.**
At the same moment, her phone vibrated.
A text from an unknown number.
**Don’t plug in the USB.**
Nhien stared at the screen.
A second message appeared.
**If you do, you’ll remember the night your mother died.**
She stood motionless.
A third message arrived.
**And the last person you saw before losing your memory… was Khai.**
Nhien dropped her phone.
Impossible.
Khai?
She looked at the USB drive in her hand.
A voice rang out in her head.
She didn’t know whose it was.
*Don’t trust him.*
Nhien spun around.
There was no one there.
But the light from the street was just bright enough for her to see words on the wall.
Someone had written them in something red.
**YOUR MOTHER ISN’T DEAD.**
Beneath it was another line.
**BUT YOUR FATHER MIGHT BE.**
Nhien raced to the door.
“Dad!”
There was no answer.
She ran down the stairs.
Her phone vibrated again.
This time, there was only one message.
**11:00 p.m. Old Warehouse No. 4. Come alone.**
Nhien looked at the time.
10:17 p.m.
She tightened her grip on the USB drive.
She knew she shouldn’t go.
But if she didn’t—
She might never find out where her mother was.
And maybe—
Her father would never come back.
Somewhere else.
Khai sat in a dark room.
A screen stood in front of him.
It showed An Nhien standing inside the apartment.
A man stood behind Khai.
“She found the USB.”
Khai didn’t answer.
“You shouldn’t have let her hear your thoughts.”
“An accident.”
“You broke the rules.”
Khai looked at the screen.
“She’s starting to remember.”
“Not yet.”
“She will.”
The man placed a file on the table.
Khai saw An Nhien’s photograph.
Beneath it were the words:
**SUBJECT 07.**
But this time, there was another note.
**MEMORIES RESTORED: 3%.**
Khai stared at the number for a long time.
“Three percent…”
The man said:
“She only needs to reach ten percent, and everything will be over.”
“No.”
Khai stood up.
“If she reaches ten percent…”
He looked at the photograph.
“…that’s when everything will truly begin.”
10:58 p.m.
An Nhien stood in front of Old Warehouse No. 4.
The rain had stopped.
The road ahead was pitch-black.
There wasn’t a soul in sight.
She looked at the time.
10:59 p.m.
One more minute.
She took out her phone.
There were no new messages.
She stepped inside the warehouse.
The metal door behind her closed automatically.
Bang.
Nhien turned around.
“Is anyone there?”
No answer.
She turned on her phone’s flashlight.
The weak beam swept across the old shelves.
Then she saw a chair.
A voice recorder sat on it.
Nhien walked over.
She pressed the button.
A voice rang out.
A woman’s voice.
A voice she hadn’t heard in ten years.
“Nhien…”
She stood frozen.
The phone slipped from her hand.
The voice in the recorder continued.
“If you’re listening to this recording…”
A sigh.
“…it means I failed.”
Tears spilled from Nhien’s eyes.
“Mom?”
She knelt in front of the recorder.
The voice continued.
“My daughter, I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry I made you forget.”
“I’m sorry I lied to you.”
“And I’m sorry…”
The woman’s voice trembled.
“…because the person you thought saved you that year…”
A stretch of silence.
“…was the one who killed me.”
Nhien stopped breathing.
Behind her—
Footsteps.
One step.
Then a second.
Nhien slowly turned around.
A figure stood in the darkness.
She could see only his eyes.
And a familiar voice rang out:
“An Nhien.”
She recognized it.
Khai.
He stepped out of the darkness.
“You shouldn’t have come here.”
Nhien looked at him.
Tears still streaked her face.
“Khai…”
“Yeah.”
“You know my mother?”
Khai was silent.
“You know what happened ten years ago?”
Still silent.
Nhien stood up.
“Answer me.”
Khai looked at her.
For the first time, there was no trace of amusement in his eyes.
“Yes.”
“Then tell me.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because if I tell you…”
He stepped toward her.
“…you’ll be the next one to die.”
Nhien looked straight into his eyes.
And for the first time—
She heard Khai’s thoughts clearly enough to feel pain.
*I’m sorry.*
*But I can’t let you remember me.*
Nhien froze.
“You…”
Khai closed his eyes.
A drop of water fell from his hair.
“You remember now.”
“Remember what?”
Khai opened his eyes.
“Remember the person who was with you the night your mother died.”
Nhien looked at him.
An image suddenly exploded inside her mind.
Rain.
The sound of shattering glass.
A woman screaming.
A little girl’s hand—her hand at nine years old.
And a boy standing in the middle of the room.
She couldn’t see his face clearly.
But she heard the boy say:
*Don’t be afraid.*
*I’ll save you.*
The image vanished.
Nhien clutched her head.
“No…”
Khai stepped toward her.
“Nhien!”
“Don’t touch me!”
She screamed.
Khai stopped.
Nhien raised her head.
Tears mingled with the rain still clinging to her face.
“You…”
She was breathing hard.
“…who are you?”
Khai didn’t answer.
But this time, she already knew.
Because her final memory had just returned.
And in that memory—
Khai was not a stranger.
He had been beside her ten years ago.
On the very night her mother disappeared.
The very night everyone said she had lost her memory.
And the most terrifying part was—
The boy in that memory was holding a bloodstained knife.