The crowd was still roaring with applause. The claps came one after another, sharp and thunderous, crashing like waves colliding mid-sea.Maybe because Thiên Ân's own applause was a bit too loud, the person who'd been sleeping soundly since the beginning — Hoàng Nam, mouth still glistening with drool — woke up.
He blinked open his eyes, dazed, hair sticking up like a chicken crawling out of its nest. Before his eyelids even fully lifted, he jerked upright, looking around before joining in the clapping half-heartedly. As he clapped, he yawned so hard his eyes watered, nose running, mumbling through it all:
— It's over already…?
Đức Minh, sitting next to him, looked on in irritation. He'd been annoyed at his friend from the very start — everyone else was paying attention, while Hoàng Nam had been snoring like he was at home.
Unable to stand it anymore, Đức Minh smacked him on the back, thwack! A loud crack split the air.
— Ow! — Hoàng Nam yelped, nearly toppling forward. He glared sharply at Đức Minh. — Hey! What was that for!?
Đức Minh narrowed his eyes.— You're asking? You slept through the whole thing — wasted the ticket.
Hoàng Nam scratched his head, forcing a grin.— Well... the music was too good, you know, like... a lullaby.
Hearing the commotion beside him, Thiên Ân blinked, pulled back from the tangle of emotions still swirling in his chest. He turned toward the two — one rubbing his back, the other glaring daggers — and couldn't help but smile faintly. Wiping away the tear clinging to the corner of his eye, he said softly:
— You're awake already?
Hoàng Nam looked down, embarrassed.— Uh... was I asleep long?
— Do you even know what time it is? — Đức Minh crossed his arms, shooting him a look. — It's pitch dark now. Should've known not to invite you — waste of a seat.
Hoàng Nam hunched down, muttering under his breath, unsure how to respond.
The last of the applause faded. People began to stand, chairs scraping, voices rising and mingling through the hall.
Đức Minh's mother turned back, her tone gentle but firm:— It's late, kids. Let's head home.
All three nodded. Thiên Ân rose, straightening his collar and the bow at his neck. He followed the stream of people toward the exit, heart still lingering behind.
As he stepped out from the row, he looked back one last time at the stage. The crimson velvet curtain had closed, the lights dimmed, leaving only faint streaks of glow washing over the wooden frame and empty seats. In Thiên Ân's mind, Amazing Grace still played — its final note yet to dissolve.
He gazed at that stage — where the woman with the angelic voice had stood. Something about it wouldn't let him look away.
Outside the hall, a night breeze swept in, carrying the scent of varnished wood, velvet, and cool dew. Thiên Ân shivered, hugging his shoulders for warmth. The wind tugged his bow loose, the ribbon fluttering like a tiny butterfly in the pale gold light.
In the grand foyer, the two families were preparing to leave. Suddenly, Đức Minh's father called out:— Oh! Mr. Triệu! Still here after the show?
Mr. Triệu turned with a laugh.— Ah, just about to head home.
The woman beside him — his wife — gave a polite nod.— I may have been a little impolite this afternoon, please forgive me.
Đức Minh's mother smiled kindly.— Oh, nonsense. Every wife gets upset sometimes — my husband used to drive me mad too.
The two women shared a light laugh, while their husbands were already lost in low conversation and short bursts of chuckling.
Hearing them, Thiên Ân glanced back. Far off, camera flashes flickered — reporters crowding around Diva Shizuka and Mr. Kitaro.
— Miss Shizuka, how do you feel after tonight's performance?— Mr. Kitaro, what are your thoughts on this first collaboration?— Will you two continue working together in the future?
Standing in the spotlight, Shizuka held herself tall, hair neatly tied up, a poised smile on her lips. Her warm, steady voice flowed like calm water. The camera lights caught the curve of her phoenix-shaped eyes — impossible to look away.
Beside her, Mr. Kitaro radiated the stern dignity of a seasoned maestro, yet every word he spoke remained measured and courteous.
From afar, Thiên Ân watched them, something stirring inside him — admiration, fascination, and an inexplicable pull. There was something in her presence that reached deep within him.
A hand landed lightly on his shoulder. Hoàng Nam grinned.— What are you staring off into space for?
Thiên Ân shook his head.— Nothing... just thinking.
Hoàng Nam didn't press further, only nodded and switched topics.
When the two families said their goodbyes, Thiên Ân declined the offer to share a ride. He spoke softly:— Please go ahead, aunt and uncle. I can get home on my own.
Đức Minh's mother looked as if she wanted to insist, but seeing how firm he was, she simply nodded.— Alright then, be careful. Message Minh when you're home, okay?
Thiên Ân smiled and bowed slightly.Little Đức An tugged his sleeve, her voice clear and sweet:— Brother Thiên Ân, come play at our house sometime!
He crouched down, patting her head.— Sure, I'll come when I have time.
The girl beamed and nodded happily.
Once everyone had gone, Thiên Ân stood alone in the empty foyer. He pulled out his phone — nearly ten o'clock. His stomach growled, the sound echoing faintly in the quiet space.
"Hungry already," he thought, though his face remained calm.
He walked quickly toward the grand exit of the opera house. The night air was cold, the streets sparsely lit. Hugging himself for warmth, he called for a taxi.
The streetlights glowed dim and hazy. As he lowered his head to step forward, he suddenly collided with someone — a tall figure draped in a black coat, carrying the faint scent of expensive perfume.
Instinctively, he stepped back, murmuring:— I'm sorry!
But the step was too quick — his foot slipped. In that instant, he shut his eyes, bracing for a fall.A hand shot out, catching him by the waist.
Thiên Ân opened his eyes.Before him stood a man — tall, broad-shouldered, clad in a perfectly tailored black tuxedo that framed a strong physique. His blond hair was neatly combed, shining like metal beneath the lights. His eyes — deep and blue as the midnight sea.
His voice was low, resonant like a cello echoing in the still air:— Are you alright?
Thiên Ân froze for a second, then quickly pulled away, ears flushing red.— I... I'm fine.
The man only nodded, his gaze steady. Neither spoke, only the wind whispered through the stone corridor.
Thiên Ân finally broke the silence:— Thank you... for catching me.
He nodded again, still wordless.
Then Thiên Ân looked closer — and realized.This was the man who'd just been at the grand organ.
Sebastian Noir.
A taxi horn blared:— Beep! Beep!
Thiên Ân glanced at the car, bowed slightly.— I'll be going then.
He gave a polite nod of thanks before hurrying off. The door closed, and the taxi rolled smoothly into the night.
The man remained where he stood, his shadow stretched long across the lit marble floor. His assistant pulled up in another car, opening the door respectfully:— Sir, the car is ready.
Sebastian Noir gave a small nod, stepped in. The door shut, and the vehicle slid away, swallowed by the night.
Inside the taxi, moonlight washed over Thiên Ân's face — pale, serene, yet his eyes still held that lingering something — part wonder, part confusion.
He rested his hand against the window frame, staring outside.The night was silent.Only the flickering lights along the street slipped past — and no one could tell what he was thinking.