Time passed very quickly.
Within that one year, my life gradually became peaceful again.
There were no more tense days.
No more constant fear.
Everything returned to a gentle rhythm — something I once thought I would never have again.
And during that time, he was always beside me in his own way.
Not loud.
Not obvious.
But enough for me to clearly feel that he existed in my life.
During that year, he took me to many places.
Not luxurious trips.
Not anything complicated.
Just places that made me feel comfortable.
Especially Đà Lạt — his maternal hometown.
There were times he took me there just to look at flowers.
To walk along familiar roads.
To eat simple dishes that I liked.
Sometimes we went to his grandmother's house.
Sometimes it was just the two of us.
But every time I went there, I felt something very different.
A kind of quiet peace.
When I visited his grandmother, I realized she was very gentle.
The way she looked at me.
The way she spoke.
The way she cared for me.
It was not politeness.
Not something she did because of him.
It was real care.
Her eyes were warm.
Every small action made me feel accepted.
Not something I imagined.
But something I could clearly feel.
His family was still the same as the first time I met them.
Back when I saw him off at the airport.
Nothing had changed.
No distance.
No hesitation.
It was as if, in their eyes, I was still the same person.
Still someone they had once known.
Still someone they treated with sincerity.
And maybe because he was a man with strong principles, someone very mature in their eyes—
everything he chose… was right.
And because of that, they also cared for me in a very natural way.
During that time, I lived very peacefully.
Very comfortably.
There were moments when I forgot everything that had happened in the past.
Forgot the days I had endured.
Forgot what fear felt like.
I slowly got used to a life where I didn't have to protect myself.
Didn't have to worry.
Just simply… live.
And throughout that entire time—
he never once mentioned anything beyond the limit.
He never asked for anything.
Never hinted.
Never made me think about what we were.
He was still the same.
Still caring.
Still looking after me.
But in a very particular way—
a way that did not pressure me,
yet was impossible not to feel.
Sometimes, the things he did made me feel something very strange.
Not clearly happiness.
Not sadness either.
Just a slight touch somewhere deep inside.
A feeling I had never named.
But every time it appeared—
it made me pause.
Every week, he still came to pick me up to Saigon.
No need for clear plans.
No complicated arrangements.
As long as I was free, he would appear.
Take me out to eat.
Take me for a walk.
Or simply… stay beside me.
On days when I had more time, he would take me to other places.
Short trips.
Not far.
But enough to make me feel like I was living a different life.
There were very ordinary days.
We were about forty kilometers apart.
No special reason.
Yet he still bought food in Saigon and brought it down to me.
Not because I asked.
Not because he had to.
Just because he wanted to.
Those things were small.
But repeated over time—
they became something very clear.
From the outside, people often thought we were a couple.
Because there was no clear distance between us.
We went places together.
We ate together.
We existed in each other's lives very naturally.
And yet—
there was no name.
No confirmation.
Just presence.
Between us, it felt like there was no boundary.
But at the same time, there was always respect.
No one crossed the line.
No one made the other uncomfortable.
Everything stopped at the right point.
Held at a distance that both of us understood—
without needing to say it.
And maybe…
it was exactly because he never asked for anything,
never forced anything,
never tried to define what we were—
that I could stay beside him so naturally.
Without thinking.
Without pressure.
Without needing an answer.
Just… continuing.
Day by day.
Little by little.
Message of Chapter 36
Some feelings do not need a name.
As long as there is no demand, no control—
they can still be deep enough to remain in each other's lives.