THE ABSTRACT SYMPHONY (ENGLISH VERSION)

In a world of dry numbers and financial reports, I, Ky Nhien, always found an escape through “abstract” humor. It all began two years ago when I met a stranger online over a post questioning the price of sausages. He was the only one who noticed the “sharpness” in my witty comment. From that moment, we became a pair.

Our relationship was like a strange stage play. He had a habit of using ancient aristocratic language for mundane tasks. Whenever his mother called him for dinner, he would solemnly text: “I must return to the ancestral home to dine with the Old Matriarch.” Intrigued, I immediately matched his energy: “The high-society card game cannot commence without the presence of this noble lineage.”

For two years of long-distance dating, we never video called, only communicating through these “power-scented” messages. I was convinced he was just like me—a regular office worker dreaming of a glamorous life through jokes. Little did I know, behind the screen, his real world was far more brilliant and powerful than anything I could imagine.

The storm broke near the Lunar New Year when he added me to a close friends’ group chat to introduce me. I froze when I looked at the member list. The name Trinh Khiem appeared with the caption: “Pho Viem’s Loyal Dog”.

I was paralyzed. Trinh Khiem was the stern, young CEO of the company where I worked. His profile picture—a cold man in a suit at a contract signing—perfectly matched the company’s internal posts. My heart raced as Trinh Khiem addressed me as “Sister-in-law” with a cute cat emoji.

As it turned out, my “abstract” lover was Pho Viem—the grandson of the founder of Dinh Viem Group, a massive financial empire. The other friends in the group were all legendary heirs: Thinh Canh Trach of real estate and Tong Thua of construction. It turned out that when he said he was “dining with the Old Matriarch,” he was telling the truth. When he said he “disliked alliance marriages,” he was also telling the truth. I was the only one “acting” the noble role out of poverty.

The harsh reality sent me into a panic. I looked at myself—a lowly marketing employee, bullied daily by my manager, Truong Kha. The gap between Pho Viem and me wasn’t just the zeros in a bank account; it was two parallel universes. Terrified of the truth being exposed and being labeled a gold-digger, I decided to be heartless. I intentionally picked fights, blamed him, and decisively blocked all contact, erasing the man I deeply loved from my life.

But fate would not let me escape. A coffee spill in the office lobby led Trinh Khiem to “assign” me to assist in a negotiation at the Dinh Viem Group.

Standing in the luxurious executive office, I wore a mask, trying to be a “blurred background.” But when that man walked in, my breath caught. It was Pho Viem. He was tall, wearing a black shirt, and an aura of sharp authority radiated from his black-rimmed glasses.

My play ended when he recognized the familiar scent or noticed the tiny red mole on the back of my hand—something he had seen in a video I once filmed of myself feeding stray cats.

The peak of the drama occurred at my office a few days later. Truong Kha, out of personal spite, slandered me for seducing him and bullied my colleague, Tieu Duong. In a fit of rage, I threw an ashtray at his face. As we were both dragged to the CEO’s office, I prepared to be fired.

But Pho Viem was there, protecting me. In front of everyone, he coldly told Truong Kha: “Do you really think you can compare to me? She is the one who dumped me and made me lose face for so long; why would she ever be interested in someone like you?”

After the crowd dispersed, in the quiet office, Pho Viem gently applied ointment to the bruises on my face. I choked out a breakup plea because of my background and the fear of “not belonging to the same world.”

He stopped, looked deep into my eyes, and said softly: “We are standing on the same ground, breathing the same air. Ky Nhien, I only need you to tell me one thing: Do you like me?”

I nodded through tears. It turned out he had known the truth for a long time but chose to play along with my abstract stories because he loved the real me—a girl who was tough, kind, and full of life.

All misunderstandings were washed away with a sweet kiss in the car, ignoring the phone in his pocket that vibrated incessantly with messages from the “hungry heirs” waiting for dinner. Truong Kha was fired, and Tieu Duong received justice. The love story that began with abstraction ended with the warmest reality I had ever known.