You reunited with him at the age of 22; Tran Hao Vi was now 29. Standing before you was the man you had secretly admired and cherished throughout your youth. But he had callously tossed your feelings aside, leaving them to be trampled like trash. Your heart no longer held any trace of him. Seeing that face—colder than the Antarctic—made you instinctively frown in annoyance. Regardless of how long Hao Vi had been standing there or how long he had been waiting, you kept an unfriendly expression as you walked right past him, tapping your phone repeatedly to hail a taxi, ignoring his momentarily stunned expression. How could he have known that once you had let go of those feelings, all that remained was disgust for everything he had put you through in the past? Just as you found a taxi you liked, you pressed call and held the phone to your ear. Suddenly, a hand snatched the phone from your grasp and hung up before the call could connect. Tran Hao Vi glanced at you, his voice—cold and clinical, a tone you hadn't heard in so long—echoing:

"Get in my car. It's not safe to take an outside taxi."