As time passed, my life in the city continued as usual.
But somewhere very far away, he was beginning a completely new life.
Sometimes, late in the evening, he would call me.
Sometimes the calls lasted only a few minutes.
Sometimes a little longer.
He told me about his life there.
At first, everything felt unfamiliar.
The climate was different.
The language was different.
Even the way people lived was different.
He said that in the beginning he had to adjust to many things.
Studying there was not like studying in Vietnam. The workload was heavier, the expectations were higher, and he had to be much more independent.
One day he said,
"I studied until late tonight."
I asked,
"Are you tired?"
He laughed softly on the other end of the line.
"Of course."
Then he added,
"But it's interesting."
He told me about his university.
About the large lecture halls.
About the enormous library.
About students from many different countries.
New friends.
Conversations in languages he had not been used to at first.
As I listened to him, I imagined a world very different from mine.
A world much bigger than the small boarding house where I was living.
Once he said,
"People walk a lot here."
"The streets are very quiet."
"In the afternoon it's colder than in Vietnam."
I laughed.
"It sounds like something from a movie."
He laughed too.
"At first I thought so as well."
Then he added,
"But after living here for a while, you realize everything is still very normal."
Even though he was in a place far away, the way he spoke with me had not changed.
Still gentle.
Still calm.
Still caring for me in the same natural way.
He still asked,
"How was your day at school?"
"Did you eat properly?"
"Did you go to bed early?"
Those familiar questions made the distance between us feel smaller than I had once imagined.
One night he called me quite late.
His voice sounded a little tired.
I asked,
"Did you just finish studying?"
He replied,
"Yeah."
"The time here is different from yours."
"I just left the library."
I asked,
"Is it cold there?"
He smiled softly.
"Yes."
"But I'm used to it now."
Then he asked me,
"What about you?"
"Are you still living in that boarding house?"
I nodded, even though he couldn't see me.
"Yes."
We talked a little longer.
Most of the time he told me about his life there.
I listened.
I didn't understand everything, but I liked hearing him talk.
Maybe because his voice still felt so familiar.
As if, even though he was far away, he was still the quiet neighbor I had once known.
After some time, he became busier.
His studies demanded more of his time.
Our phone calls became less frequent.
But sometimes he still sent a message.
Just one short sentence.
"Are you doing okay?"
And every time, I replied the same way.
"I'm okay."
In truth, my life was still the same.
Nothing particularly special.
But every time I saw a message from him, I felt happy.
Not an overwhelming happiness.
Just a small warmth.
Like knowing that someone very far away still remembered me.
Once he sent me a photograph.
It was a small street in the city where he lived.
Old buildings stood along both sides of the road.
Yellow streetlights reflected on the pavement.
He wrote,
"This place is beautiful."
I looked at the photo for a long time.
I imagined him walking down that street.
Alone.
In a foreign place.
Yet still carrying memories of the place where he had once lived.
And perhaps within those memories… there was also me.
I realized that even though he was living in another country, in another life, he had not changed much.
He was still hardworking.
Still disciplined.
Still striving every day to become a better person.
And somewhere far away, he still kept a small space in his life for me.
⸻
Message of Chapter 17
Distance can place two people in completely different worlds.
But if they still remember each other,
then even in a foreign land,
someone may still carry the image of another person
through the most distant days of their life.