My name is Loc.
That’s on the paper. Some call me Lazy Loc, and some others call me the Ceiling Fan Guy since the broken fan incident.
But there was actually another one that not a lot of people knew about: The Poetry Cat. Which.. I despised with all my meanings and wanted to throw myself out of the window every time I heard of it.
The only reason why I brought this up is because of Minh wanting to do karaoke (synonym: torturing the entire apartment building) under the starry night all of sudden.
The rooftop was unusually lively that night. Minh had dragged up an old Bluetooth speaker and a half-broken mic from god-knows-where. We were halfway through our third round of warm beer, brutally murdering Vietnamese ballad songs under the hazy Saigon sky.
We had just finished a particularly heartbreaking rendition of “Noi Nay Co Anh” — complete with off-key high notes and dramatic hand gestures. Minh dramatically wiped fake tears from his eyes as the last notes faded.
“Man, that song always hits different,” he said, laughing. “My turn to pick the next one. Something cheerful or my heart’s gonna be broken for real.”
I stared at the half-empty can in my hand, the alcohol loosening my tongue more than usual. The melody of the sad song still echoed in my head. I took another sip, then suddenly spoke.
“Bro… it’s funny. That song reminds me of the high school days.”
Minh still had a battle in his mind choosing between “See Tinh” and “Co Em Cho”, immediately grinning as soon as he heard the term “high school” as if they’re his triggering words.
“Wait, high school? Was it the time you fell asleep in class and snored so loud the teacher thought there was a broken fan? Or when you tried to skip PE by hiding in the bathroom and got locked inside for two hours? The legendary incident where you brought the wrong backpack and had to wear your mom’s pink raincoat all day? Or the time you accidentally set off the fire alarm trying to microwave instant noodles in the dorm? Come on, which chaotic Loc story are we revisiting tonight?”
“..Never mind.”
“Oh, c’mon!”
I didn’t bother answering him. If he forgot about the incident, then I might just let it as well be buried till the day I die.
Instead, I leaned back against the low wall, letting the humid night air carry me back ten years.
---
Grade 10, Class 10A2.
Her name was Linh — or at least that’s what I kept calling her in my head tonight because my memory is as reliable as my ceiling fan. She sat two rows ahead of me, always with that long black hair tied in a simple ponytail, wearing the same white uniform shirt as everyone else yet somehow making it look effortlessly cool. She drew little doodles in the margins of her notebooks and never raised her hand in class unless forced.
I fell for her the way only a lazy, sarcastic 16-year-old could: quietly, pathetically, and with zero game plan.
It started innocently enough. I began “accidentally” forgetting my pen every Math period so I could borrow one from her. She’d roll her eyes but still hand it over with a small smile. That smile became my daily dopamine hit.
Then my friends noticed. Minh, along with our other two partners-in-crime — chunky Khoa who loved matchmaking more than eating, and tall Huy who thought he was a genius director — declared war on my single status.
“Operation Push the Boat starts tomorrow,” Minh announced during lunch. “We’re getting you a girlfriend before Tet.”
Their “help” was relentless and increasingly chaotic.
First, they swapped our seats during a group project. I ended up next to Linh for an entire week. We actually talked — real conversation about music and how much we both hated PE class. She laughed when I joked that running was against my religion. For those few days, I felt like the main character in a wholesome teen drama.
Just when I thought things were going well, reality slapped me with a handsome face named Tung.
Tung was the classic “rival” every awkward guy fears: tall, good at basketball, decent grades, and worst of all — he could actually talk to girls without sounding like a dying cat. He sat in the row next to Linh and had the annoying habit of borrowing her notes with a charming smile that made half the class sigh.
Of course, my friends immediately declared him Public Enemy No.1.
“Bro, Tung is moving in on your territory!” Khoa whispered dramatically during break. “We saw him lend her his jacket when she was cold on the bus!”
From then on, every small interaction became a battlefield.
Once, during PE, Tung “accidentally” passed the basketball to Linh during a mixed game and praised her catch loudly. I tried to look cool by attempting a three-pointer right after. The ball flew straight into the teacher’s coffee cup. Everyone laughed. Linh included.
Another time, Tung offered to help Linh carry a heavy stack of books to the library. I panicked and offered to help too. The three of us ended up walking together in the most awkward silence ever — me on one side sweating like crazy, Tung casually chatting, and Linh looking like she wanted to disappear.
My friends tried to “counter-attack.”
They spread a rumor that Tung was scared of cats (based on zero evidence) because they knew Linh loved drawing cats. For one glorious week, people kept meowing at Tung in the hallway. He took it surprisingly well and even started meowing back, turning the joke against us.
My friends thought that WE had to do something.
They escalated quickly and jumped straight to stage 4 of “Operation Push the Boat.”
During a class trip to Vung Tau, they stole my phone while I was buying snacks. They texted Linh from my number: “Hey, I’ve been wanting to say this for a while… I think you’re really cool. Want to watch the sunset together later?”
Linh replied almost immediately: “Sure :) Which spot?”
I only found out when I got my phone back and saw the chat history. Panic mode activated. I spent the entire afternoon avoiding her while my friends pushed me toward the beach like I was a reluctant shopping cart.
When I finally showed up (red-faced and sweating), Linh was already there, sitting on a rock, sketching the waves. We sat in awkward silence for ten minutes before she spoke.
“Your friends are terrible at keeping secrets, you know.”
I wanted the ocean to swallow me whole.
Yet somehow, that night became one of the best memories of my life. We talked about everything — dreams, annoying teachers, our fear of growing up. She even let me see one of her doodles: a silly cartoon of a lazy cat trying to climb a tree. “That’s you,” she said, poking my arm.
For two glorious weeks after the trip, things felt magical. We texted every night. She started saving a seat for me in the canteen. My friends were insufferable, constantly high-fiving behind her back.
It could’ve ended right there like a sweet romcom, but of course, life isn’t a dream.
Valentine’s Day. My idiot squad decided I needed to “make it official.” They forged a grand confession letter in my handwriting (they practiced my terrible penmanship for days), complete with terrible poetry I would never write. They slipped it into her bag during morning assembly.
“Your eyes look brighter than the stars I saw that night.” Something sounded like this.
Tung, on another hand, had prepared a real gift — a small box of chocolates and a handwritten note (actual good handwriting). He was about to give it to Linh after morning assembly when my friends, in their infinite wisdom, decided to create a distraction. Huy “accidentally” bumped into Tung from behind while trying to film my confession moment.
Tung stumbled.
His gift box flew forward in slow motion, sparkling under the fluorescent lights like a legendary artifact in an epic battle.
At that exact moment, Minh — who had spent the last three years comparing himself daily to Roberto Carlos and calling his right foot “The Plastic Cannon” — couldn’t hold back the protagonist energy exploding inside him.
“THIS IS MY MOMENT!!!”
“Here comes the Plastic Leg Minh!!!”
BOOM!
Minh swung his leg with the power of a hundred training arcs. The kick connected perfectly. The chocolate box rocketed across the classroom like a shooting star, leaving a trail of dramatic sparkles (or maybe just dust, who knows).
Tung’s eyes widened in pure shounen horror. With a heroic roar, he leaped into the air in a perfect mid-air dunk pose.
“NOT ON MY WATCH!!!”
WHOOSH!
He knocked the flying box downward with one hand while the entire class erupted in synchronized “Ooooooh!!!” and “Waaaaah!!!” like a live audience in a tournament arc.
Khoa, eyes burning with fighting spirit, punched Minh’s shoulder. “That guy’s tough! We’ve gotta do something!!”
Minh didn’t need words. This was the final boss moment. He leaped onto Khoa’s broad back like a summon beast, crouched dramatically, and launched himself into the air the second the box began its descent.
“HAAAAAAAAAAAAA—!!!”
The battle cry shook the windows. For a brief second, Minh looked like the protagonist of a weekly shounen manga — hair flowing in the non-existent wind, determination burning in his eyes.
CRASH!
He delivered the ultimate airborne strike.
The box changed trajectory mid-air, spinning beautifully like a perfectly curved free kick… and slammed straight into Linh’s desk.
The desk rattled.
Her bag flew off.
The bag opened.
And everything spilled out — Tung’s chocolates, the forged love letter with my terrible poetry, a half-eaten pack of chewing gum, and the dignity of three different people.
Linh picked up both items — Tung’s neat chocolate box and the crumpled letter filled with my terrible poetry. She read a few lines. Her face turned bright red, then pale, then red again like a traffic light having an existential crisis.
The class monitor, completely misreading the entire situation as one glorious group event, grabbed the letter with excitement and started reading it out loud in full dramatic voice.
“‘Your eyes are like two bright stars… brighter than the ones I saw that night..’”
At that moment, “my” confession was broadcast like a live proposal in front of the entire grade. Students from other classes had already gathered outside the windows and door, drawn by the earlier screams and chaos, whispering and filming like it was the finale of a school drama.
The laughter, the whispers, the pitying looks — everything hit at once.
That day, after the bell rang and the crowd finally dispersed, I saw her.
Linh was sitting alone at her desk, head down on her arms. Her shoulders were shaking quietly. She was crying.
I stood at the door for what felt like forever, heart pounding, fists clenched. Just one step forward. Just say something. Anything.
But I didn’t.
I turned around and ran away like the coward I was — because facing her tears felt scarier than any domino effect I had ever caused.
Maybe if I had stayed… maybe if I had comforted her that day, things would have turned out differently.
But I didn’t.
And that regret followed me quietly for years, much quieter than the ceiling fan that would one day destroy the city.
That single bump from Tung became the domino that destroyed everything.
By the next week, I was known as “Poetry Cat Loc who competed with the basketball guy,” Tung became “the cat-hater guy whose chocolates caused a scandal.”
Linh started avoiding eye contact. She transferred to 10A4 two weeks later, saying the class was “too noisy.”
I never got to explain that I never wrote half of that letter. I never got to tell her that my friends were the real chaos agents. All I had left was the memory of that sunset on the beach and a cartoon cat that looked suspiciously like me.
---
The flashback ended. I blinked, back on the rooftop. Minh was now fully into party mode, blasting “See Tinh” at full volume and screaming the lyrics off-key while pointing at me like it was the funniest joke in the world.
“See Tình~ Tinh Tinh Tinh Tang Tang Tinh Tang~” he howled, dancing badly and clearly teasing me.
I crushed the empty beer can in my hand and muttered under my breath,
“I swear I’m never falling for anyone again.”
---
I headed downstairs, still half-lost in those old high school memories, the lyrics of the heartbreak ballad looping uselessly in my head. The elevator doors opened on the 3rd floor.
A girl stepped in — short hair now, sharp confident eyes, wearing an oversized band tee and carrying a stack of books. She looked at me, paused, then smirked.
“You’re the guy on the 4th floor, right? The one whose ceiling fan caused the great blackout last month. The whole building still tells stories about it.”
My heart did something stupid.
It was her.
Tram.
Not Linh.
The same girl from high school. The one I had been calling Linh in my hazy, beer-soaked retelling because my brain sucks with names. She had cut her hair, gained confidence, and was now living in the same damn building.
“Small world,” I managed, still humming the ballad faintly.
“Or small building,” she replied, eyes twinkling with amusement. “Still writing bad poetry? Or have you changed your career now, like singing sad songs in the elevator?”
“…”
The elevator doors closed. As it rose, I muttered under my breath, half to myself:
“I swear I’m never falling for anyone again.”
Tram chuckled softly. “We’ll see about that, Poetry Cat.”
When I stepped into my apartment, the ceiling fan was still spinning lazily overhead.
I stared at it for a good while. Lowkey wished it would fall onto my head and end my misery right then and there.
