Hanoi’s sky turned gray — like a whisper from the past, where forgotten memories suddenly reemerged. In the sweet air of a fading spring, An stood in the small courtyard behind her house, where the sidewalk tea stalls of life now seemed to exist only in memory.

Raindrops fell like dust, and with them, old wounds resurfaced.

Linh — who once vowed to leave the past behind — had returned.
But not for reconciliation.
She came back for revenge.

Revenge masked as longing.
Revenge fueled by wounded pride.
Revenge… through An’s younger sister.

In the past, it was An who exposed Linh’s impersonation — her attempt to infiltrate an elite family by pretending to be An.
An wasn’t jealous; she simply wanted the truth acknowledged.
But Linh didn’t see it that way.
She believed An shattered her dream — and so she retaliated by slandering An’s younger sister, who was then a radiant, innocent girl — pure as morning dew.

“She stole my boyfriend. It’s because of her I had to leave the country,” Linh said, then walked into the arms of a foreign man.

An’s sister, who had done nothing but honor her love with quiet dignity, was thrown into the fire of public gossip.

What An didn’t expect was this:
The Vietnamese man — once the very reason for Linh’s fury — chose truth over lies.
He stayed.
He held An’s sister close amidst the rumors, with a quiet but resolute affirmation:

“She is pure.”

And life seemed to settle once more.

Until today.

When An finally decided to speak out about her past injustices — about being drugged, about having her identity stolen — Linh didn’t remain silent.
Her old accusations held no more weight, so she reached back into the shadows… and attacked a different weakness:
An’s sister’s past.

Once again, an innocent person was dragged to the stand.
Once again, a person who had done nothing wrong had to justify herself because of old scars.

An, in tears, said:

“You’re taking revenge on someone who never deserved your hatred.”

But Linh wasn’t listening.

She had become the embodiment of insecurity — of things lost and dreams denied. She no longer struck at An directly.
She went after what An loved — her compassion, her spirit.

That night, An came home to find her sister sitting quietly, wrapping rice balls for Tết. Her hands moved with practiced care, the kind you learn when you’ve had to build your own path through life.

“I’m sorry,” An said.

“For what?”

“For not being able to protect you… again.”

Her sister smiled.

“You don’t need to protect me. I can protect myself. You just need to live with truth — and that’s enough.”

An wept.
Her tears fell onto the white glutinous flour — but there was no stain of hatred.

A week later, at an old school reunion, the man from the past appeared.
He was the first to speak:

“If someone has once been loved with purity, then that person carries eternal honor.”

The room fell silent.
Linh was there too — and for the first time, she said nothing.

She had lost.

Not because she lost An.
But because she had lost herself.

The chapter closed on a windy afternoon.
An and her sister walked across the old bridge, one that had seen many currents flow beneath it.
On the other side was something new — a land untouched by gossip and slander.

Only laughter remained.

And the peace of those who had chosen the right side.