Reng... reng... reng...
The shrill sound of the alarm clock tore through the silence of the small room. On the bed that still carried the scent of sunshine and freshly washed sheets, a lazy hand reached out from under the blanket, fumbling for the switch. Click. The room fell silent once more.
Under the covers, Thiên Ân stirred, his sleepy eyes slowly opening. His lashes trembled like a kitten being woken from a midday nap. His slightly wavy black hair fell over his forehead in messy curls, yet it couldn't hide his delicate, doll-like face that still bore traces of seventeen-year-old innocence.
He sat up, back slightly bent, eyes half-lidded as he glanced around the bright room filled with morning light. When his gaze stopped on the alarm clock, his entire body jolted.
"Crap! I'm late!"
With just that cry, Thiên Ân jumped out of bed, dashing into the bathroom—half brushing his teeth, half fumbling into his wrinkled school uniform.
Downstairs, the morning kitchen glowed with warmth. Steam rose from a pot of soup, blending with the rich aroma of coffee. His father, Mr. Trọng, dressed neatly in a shirt, sat leisurely reading the newspaper, occasionally sipping coffee. His mother, Mrs. Lan, slender and graceful, was deftly flipping food in the pan, the sizzling sound lively and cheerful.
Placing a plate of hot food on the table, she called out, "Thiên Ân! Come eat quickly or you'll be late for school again. Honestly, you oversleep every day—just like who, I wonder?"
Mr. Trọng calmly put down his paper and smiled. "You gave birth to him, dear. If he's not like you, who else could he be like—me?"
Mrs. Lan turned sharply, eyes like daggers. "I wake up early every day to cook breakfast for you two, and you say he's like me?"
She slid the plate of food out of his reach.
Seeing his breakfast being "confiscated," Mr. Trọng's gentlemanly demeanor instantly vanished as he pleaded playfully, "Hey, hey... darling, I was wrong. He's like me, all my fault~."
Mrs. Lan gave him a look of exaggerated disgust. "You're too old to be acting cute. Move aside!"
Mr. Trọng grinned. "But I only act cute with you—never with anyone else."
Despite her words, Mrs. Lan couldn't hide her amusement, eventually handing the food back to her husband.
At that moment, footsteps echoed from the stairs. Thiên Ân appeared with neatly combed hair and a freshly pressed uniform. He greeted softly, "Good morning, Mom, Dad."
Mrs. Lan urged, "Come eat quickly, you'll be late!"
Thiên Ân nodded and sat down.
He ate quietly, not saying a word. His mother lovingly placed food in his bowl, her eyes full of warmth. His father, seeing his wife ignore him, complained, "Have you forgotten about your poor husband?"
Mrs. Lan didn't even glance at him and just added more food for her precious son. Embarrassed by their affection, Thiên Ân quickly focused on eating. He was already too used to his parents' daily displays of affection—there was nothing he could say anymore.
After finishing breakfast, Thiên Ân grabbed his backpack. His mother called out, "Thiên Ân! Your lunch box! Be careful on your way to school!"
He took it with a nod. "Yes, I'm going now."
The door closed softly. The bicycle wheels rolled down the sunlit street.
This was Lam Tinh Planet—the third planet in the solar system. After tens of thousands of years, it had formed five continents and two interlacing regions, each with its own culture and history.
In the East lay nations of long-standing traditions, where ancient streets and heritage blended with modern rhythms. The West was a land of industry and rapid life, glowing with lights and technology. The Southern Continent shone with vibrant colors, warm as an endless summer dance. The North lay silent in white snow—solemn and timeless. Between East and West stretched Lumina–Aravia, a crossroads of civilizations where trade, technology, and faith intertwined.
In a small corner of this world, Thiên Ân lived in the Eastern Continent, in the nation of Thien Hoa. Peaceful and steeped in history, it was famous for its literature, language studies, classical music, and performing arts—a birthplace of great scholars and philosophers.
The wind swept through his hair as his bike glided past rows of buildings. Earphones in, Thiên Ân pedaled and hummed softly to the rhythm. Ahead, the crowd moved like a living symphony—office workers rushing, students chatting excitedly, colorful billboards flashing on skyscrapers, cars plastered with celebrity posters, and a roaring high-speed train passing by.
Turning into the central square, he was greeted by dazzling lights from a giant billboard. The massive LED screen played music videos of popular singers, while a group of youths danced hip-hop on the street below. The city itself seemed to sing a lively morning melody.
At a crosswalk, a few schoolgirls chattered excitedly:
"Did you watch Đức Hữu's concert?"
"Of course! He's so handsome I could barely breathe!"
"Wanna go buy his new album this afternoon?"
"Absolutely! I just saved up enough—I can't miss this release!"
The light turned green. Thiên Ân continued riding, his music drowning out the city noise, his gaze distant, following the rhythm in his ears.
Then—
"Bang!"
A loud crash. The bike swerved, and Thiên Ân tumbled to the ground. At the same time, a tall figure also fell.
"Ouch!" a pained voice exclaimed.
Still dizzy, Thiên Ân lifted his head. The sunlight flooded his eyes—and there he saw a handsome face, bright like a movie star. The boy's brown hair was tousled, his uniform disheveled, his eyes gleaming with urgency.
The young man hurriedly reached out to help Thiên Ân up, his voice flustered and breathless. "Are you okay? I'm so sorry! I wasn't watching where I was going—I was in a rush!"
Clearly, he was running late for something. Before Thiên Ân could respond, the boy stepped back and called out hastily, "I have to go! Hope we meet again sometime!" He waved and dashed off, shouting, "Bye bye!"
Thiên Ân blinked after him—the boy's energy reminded him of an overexcited golden retriever. He just lifted his hand in a half-wave, silently returning the farewell.
Then he glanced at his watch—and froze. "Oh no, I'm late!"
He quickly mounted his bike and pedaled off, leaving behind only the sound of music, the rush of wind, and a fleeting encounter—one that he somehow knew he'd never forget.