The rain was falling lightly, covering the small street with a thin layer of mist, as if hiding the cracks on the old sidewalk. I stood under the yellow streetlight, clutching my coat tightly, my eyes absentmindedly watching the garbage man pushing a cart full of plastic bags. He wore a worn-out blue uniform, his face hidden behind the brim of his cap, but his slow, diligent gait caught my attention. That night, my heart was heavy. My seven-year relationship with Nam had just ended, leaving me with an unfillable void. I no longer believed in love, no longer believed in sweet promises.

My parents, especially my mother, kept urging me to get married. “Lan, you’re almost thirty, you can’t live alone forever,” my mother said, her voice full of worry. I was tired of the pressure, of my father’s disappointed eyes every time I turned down a match. And then, in a moment of impulse, I decided to do something I hadn’t expected: marry the garbage man.

His name is Tung, thirty-two years old, quiet but with gentle eyes. I met him a few times when walking home, exchanging a few polite words about the weather, about the messy street after each night. He didn’t ask much about me, and I didn’t want to tell. One evening, under the streetlights, I blurted out: “Tung, do you want to marry me? My parents are urging me, I just need someone to reassure them.”

Tung looked up, his eyes slightly surprised but he did not refuse. “If you don’t mind me, I agree,” he said, his voice low and even. I smiled faintly, thinking that this was just a temporary agreement, a way for me to escape family pressure. I didn’t expect anything from Tung, didn’t expect anything from this marriage. But I was wrong, wrong in an unexpected way.

Nam and I have been in love since college. He was an outstanding guy in the department, smart, active, always knew how to make me laugh. We dreamed of a future together, of a small house, of children. But seven years passed, Nam changed. He became distant, his promises gradually turned into lies. Finally, I discovered he was seeing another girl, someone he said was “more suitable for his future”. I didn’t cry, I didn’t hold on. I just quietly left, carrying a broken heart.

After the breakup, I became withdrawn. I worked like a machine, from the office to home, from home to the street, over and over again. My parents were worried, but I didn’t want to talk about Nam, didn’t want to talk about anything related to love. When my mother introduced this person or that person, I flatly refused. “I don’t need love anymore,” I said, and my mother just sighed.

Tung appeared as a small bright spot in those dark days. He didn’t ask about my past, didn’t try to cheer me up with flowery words. He just worked quietly, quietly listened when I talked about life. When I proposed marriage, I didn’t think he would agree. But he nodded, and I thought, maybe this is the best way for me to continue living without opening my heart again.

The wedding preparations were quick. I told my parents that Tung was a good man who worked for an environmental sanitation company. My mother frowned, my father was silent, but neither of us objected. “As long as you’re happy,” my father said, though his eyes were filled with worry. I didn’t say anything more, just wanted everything to be done quickly so no one would ask too many questions.

Tung suggested holding the wedding at his house, a place he said was “his family’s house in the suburbs”. I thought it was a small house, probably like my boarding house, so I didn’t ask much. He also said he would take care of the black ceremony for my family, but I didn’t expect anything more than a symbolic few million dong. Everything went smoothly, until the wedding day.

That morning, I stood in front of the mirror in a simple white wedding dress, feeling empty. I didn’t feel the nervousness that other brides feel, just the fact that I was doing something I had to do. When the wedding car arrived, I was surprised to see that it was a shiny Mercedes. “It must be a rental,” I told myself, but my heart was starting to pound.

The car drove through the suburban streets, entering a luxurious villa area. When I stopped in front of a three-story villa, with a shiny black iron gate and a large yard full of cars, I was stunned. “Tung, where is this?” I asked, my voice trembling.

“My house,” Tung replied, smiling slightly. “I haven’t had time to tell you clearly.”

Before I could react, the gate opened. A middle-aged woman, elegantly dressed, came out to greet me. She introduced herself as Tung’s mother, Mrs. Huong, and hugged me as if I were her own daughter. “Hello, come in, everyone is waiting,” she said, her voice warm. I walked in, my mind spinning. The living room was large, lavishly decorated with fresh flowers and crystal chandeliers. The guests, all elegantly dressed, were laughing and talking. This was not the wedding of a garbage man.

Khi lễ cưới bắt đầu, tôi vẫn chưa hết bàng hoàng. Tùng, trong bộ vest đen lịch lãm, đứng bên tôi, ánh mắt dịu dàng nhưng đầy tự tin. Anh nắm tay tôi, thì thầm: “Anh xin lỗi vì không nói rõ với em. Anh muốn em yêu anh vì con người anh, không phải vì gia đình anh.”

Tôi không kịp đáp, vì lúc đó, mẹ Tùng bước lên, trao cho cha mẹ tôi một chiếc hộp gỗ. “Đây là lễ đen, thưa ông bà,” bà nói, giọng trang trọng. Cha tôi mở hộp, và tôi thấy mẹ tôi che miệng, mắt mở to. Bên trong là một xấp tiền mặt, hơn một tỷ đồng, cùng một chiếc vòng vàng lấp lánh. “Đây chỉ là chút lòng thành, mong hai gia đình gắn bó,” bà Hương nói.

Tôi sốc đến mức không thốt nên lời. Tùng, người công nhân dọn rác mà tôi nghĩ chỉ là một người bình thường, hóa ra là con trai duy nhất của một gia đình tài phiệt, chủ một công ty vệ sinh môi trường lớn nhất thành phố. Những ngày anh đẩy xe rác trên phố không phải vì nghèo khó, mà vì anh muốn tự mình trải nghiệm công việc của công nhân, để hiểu rõ hơn về công ty gia đình.

Sau lễ cưới, tôi và Tùng ngồi trong khu vườn sau nhà, dưới ánh đèn lung linh. Tôi vẫn chưa hết bàng hoàng, nhưng lòng tôi giờ đây ngập tràn cảm xúc lẫn lộn – vừa ngượng ngùng, vừa biết ơn, vừa bối rối. “Sao anh không nói gì với em?” tôi hỏi, giọng trách móc nhưng không giấu được sự tò mò.

Tùng mỉm cười, ánh mắt sáng lên. “Anh gặp em vào một đêm em đứng dưới đèn đường, nhìn như sắp khóc. Anh không biết em là ai, nhưng anh muốn làm em cười. Khi em đề nghị cưới, anh nghĩ đó là cơ hội để anh ở bên em, để chứng minh rằng anh yêu em thật lòng, không cần bất cứ điều kiện gì.”

Tôi cúi đầu, nước mắt lăn dài. “Nhưng anh biết em không yêu anh… Em chỉ muốn lấy chồng để yên lòng cha mẹ.”

Tùng nắm tay tôi, giọng trầm ấm. “Anh biết. Nhưng anh tin, chỉ cần em cho anh cơ hội, anh sẽ khiến em yêu anh, không phải vì tiền bạc, mà vì chính anh.”

Những ngày sau đám cưới, tôi dần khám phá con người thật của Tùng. Anh không chỉ là một người thừa kế giàu có, mà còn là một người đàn ông sống tình cảm, luôn quan tâm đến người khác. Anh vẫn thường xuyên mặc đồng phục công nhân, ra phố cùng các đồng nghiệp, không ngại đẩy xe rác hay dọn dẹp. “Công việc này giúp anh nhớ rằng mọi thứ đều bắt đầu từ những điều nhỏ nhất,” anh nói.

Tôi bắt đầu mở lòng với Tùng. Những buổi tối anh đưa tôi đi dạo, những lần anh kiên nhẫn lắng nghe tôi kể về Nam, về những vết thương lòng, khiến tôi nhận ra rằng tình yêu không phải là điều tôi cần từ bỏ. Tùng không hứa hẹn cho tôi cả thế giới, nhưng anh cho tôi cảm giác an toàn, cảm giác được yêu thương mà không cần phải hoàn hảo.

Một tháng sau đám cưới, Tùng đưa tôi về thăm căn nhà cũ của anh – một ngôi nhà nhỏ ở ngoại ô, nơi anh từng sống một mình để “trốn” khỏi cuộc sống giàu sang. Trong căn phòng đơn sơ ấy, tôi tìm thấy một chiếc hộp gỗ cũ. Bên trong là một xấp thư, viết tay, ghi lại những suy nghĩ của Tùng về tôi từ ngày đầu gặp gỡ. “Cô gái dưới đèn đường, em không biết em đặc biệt thế nào đâu,” một dòng thư viết. “Anh sẽ chờ, cho đến khi em sẵn sàng yêu anh.”

I hugged Tung, tears rolling down my face. “You’re so stupid,” I whispered. “I’ve loved you for a long time, and I don’t even know when.”

But the biggest surprise came one evening, when Tung and I were having dinner with my parents. My mother, who had been worried about Tung, was now completely won over by his sincerity. Suddenly, she stood up and took a small box from the cupboard. “Lan, this is something I’ve kept for you for a long time,” she said, opening the box. Inside was a silver ring, engraved with my name and Nam’s. “Nam gave me this before we broke up. He said, if you find someone who truly loves you, give this to you.”

I was stunned, not expecting Nam to still have feelings for me, even if it was only in the past. Tung took the ring and smiled. “I will keep it, as a reminder that I must cherish you more than anyone else.” He placed the ring on my finger, next to the sparkling wedding ring.

Under the streetlights where Tung and I started, I realized that love is not something to run away from, but something to seek, even in the most unexpected places. And I, the girl who once lost faith, now found happiness, in the arms of the man who once pushed a garbage cart, but brought the world to me.