Short story: Birdsong in the storm

Hoang had a habit of staying up late. Many times his wife had to remind him to go to bed early so he wouldn't miss his company's shuttle bus the next morning. Yet, on more than one occasion, by the time he woke up, the bus had already started moving, leaving him to hastily throw on his uniform and rush off. He knew staying up late wasn't good, but it had become a habit, difficult to break overnight.
Yet, the day before yesterday, for some inexplicable reason, Hoang suddenly woke up at dawn. Perhaps he had just escaped from a restless dream; he tried to close his eyes but couldn't fall back asleep. Well, he'd get up then. He gently pushed aside the blanket, tiptoed out of bed so as not to wake his wife and children. Stepping into the living room, he poured himself a glass of water, then leisurely leaned against the window frame. Outside, the sunrise was rising, a soft pink hue coloring the sky, the morning breeze gentle. A peaceful morning, as if made just for him.
Suddenly, Hoang heard the chirping of birds just outside his door. He listened intently, noticing the faint murmurs of hungry chicks mixed in. Curious, he pushed open the window and looked out. After a while, his eyes finally caught sight of a small nest nestled high in the foliage of a milkwood tree. His third-floor apartment was perfectly level with the treetops swaying in the early morning breeze. Hoang smiled, watching the parent birds circling and hopping from branch to branch around their small nest. It was a simple yet poignant scene that brought a sense of peace to his heart.
It was sure to be a beautiful sunny day. The sky was high and wide, with a few scattered white clouds drifting lazily by. Hoang suddenly thought, those little birds were just as greedy as his own son. Every time he wanted milk, he would cry until his ears ached, but as soon as he got the bottle nipple, he would immediately quiet down, lie still, and suckle with a soft, smacking sound. At that moment, looking at his innocent, round face, Hoang felt both pity and amusement, wanting nothing more than to lie down beside him, kiss him, and gently nibble on his soft cheeks.
The nest, though containing an unknown number of chicks, was obscured by dense foliage, revealing only a small corner of the tiny nest, skillfully woven from straw and dry grass. Surely, the parents would soon be hurrying from branch to branch, bringing back food for their young. The sun rose higher, its clear morning light flooding the earth. A gentle breeze seeped through the crack in the door, softly stirring the strands of hair on Hoang's forehead. Standing by the window, listening to the birds chirping, he suddenly felt an unusual sense of peace. It turned out that he had overlooked a peaceful, serene moment right before his eyes. Perhaps, he should occasionally try to wake up early, to catch the sunrise.
He took a deep breath, filling his lungs, then returned to bed. The baby's cries startled his wife. Hoang bent down, gently patted his son's back, and the little boy turned, hugging his pillow tightly, and drifted back to sleep. His wife smiled softly, whispering, "What's going on? Why are you up so early?" Then, she gently brushed her hair back and got out of bed to prepare breakfast. Everything returned to its familiar rhythm: When she dropped their son off at the kindergarten, Hoang boarded his company's shuttle bus. A new day began, seemingly ordinary yet somehow different, thanks to that morning.
Yet, the calm sky this morning made Hoang feel somewhat restless and worried. He remembered the news report: A storm had formed in the South China Sea and was rapidly approaching the shore. The storm was unusually strong, intensifying and shortening its path compared to other storms. Before a storm, the sky is usually unusually clear and blue, the wind is calm, and the sun is shining brightly, easily leading people to be complacent.
Arriving at the office and opening his computer, Hoang saw the urgent storm warning. It was due to hit the coastal provinces by tomorrow afternoon. His factory was located right near the storm's center. He and his colleagues had to rush to implement preventative measures today. Caution was always necessary, as several storms sweeping through this area each year were commonplace. Hoang still remembered the April storm, when the wind toppled a more than thirty-meter-long fence on the south side of the factory. Luckily, no one was injured. But this time, according to the forecast, the storm would be even stronger and more ferocious.
Hoang went to each place, personally checking the doors, awnings, and securing the structures. Only when he saw the reports marked with a green checkmark did he feel somewhat at ease. But this peace was only superficial; deep down, an indescribable unease still lingered in his chest.
At midday, the wind remained calm. The golden autumn sunlight poured down on the ground, not harsh like in summer, but gentle and caressing. September had arrived, and the autumn season was subtly present. Yet, with each change of season, the weather became capricious, and storms and floods often chose this time to strike. Hoang suddenly remembered the storms and floods of his poor hometown. Even with thatched houses and tiled roofs, no matter how well reinforced, the entire town would be devastated after the storm. Now, houses were built with sturdy concrete, which seemed safer, but he still had worries about corrugated iron roofs that could be blown away, advertising signs that could easily fly off, or trees uprooted in the fierce wind.
After work, Hoang returned home and helped his wife prepare dinner. Standing by the window, he suddenly listened intently; strangely, he no longer heard the chirping of the baby birds as he had in the morning. Perhaps the birds had fallen asleep. A moment later, in the distance, Hoang caught a glimpse of the father bird returning, followed by the chicks clamoring for food. They must have just brought back some wriggling worms for their offspring. But the wind was growing stronger, and the branch of the milkwood tree where the small nest rested swayed incessantly. Hoang suddenly felt worried: Would those baby birds survive the fierce storm raging offshore?
As dusk fell, the wind intensified, howling through the thick, damp air. The sky was heavy with gloomy gray clouds. Hoang looked up and suddenly heard the first raindrops pattering on the yard. The rain quickly intensified, the wind whipping the water against the windowpane. In just a moment, a thick curtain of rain enveloped the area; lightning flashed brightly, then thunder rumbled, shaking the windowpane.
The little boy was sitting on the couch watching cartoons when he heard thunder and panicked, rushing to hug his father's legs. Hoang picked him up, patted him gently, and whispered reassuringly, "Daddy's here, Shin, don't be scared." On the TV, the news was constantly updating: The storm was only about 190 kilometers from the mainland, with wind gusts reaching level 16. Thinking about the uprooted trees and flying roofs, his heart sank. He wondered if the trees in the residential area would be strong enough to withstand the terrifying winds that were about to come this year.
Tomorrow morning is a day off, so Hoang doesn't have to go to the factory unless there's an emergency. The kindergarten also announced that the children would have the day off. Luckily, it coincided with his day off, so he could stay home with his children. Outside, the rain was getting heavier, and the wind was howling in long gusts. The storm hadn't even arrived yet, but the world was already in turmoil. Occasionally, a flash of lightning streaked across the sky, illuminating everything before fading away, leaving behind a suffocating darkness.
Hoang held his child by the window, gazing out into the hazy distance. Suddenly, his heart ached at the thought of the small bird's nest nestled among the milkwood trees right outside the window. Would the young birds survive this fierce storm? In the yellow light cast down from the lamppost, he saw the branches shaking violently. If they were uprooted or broken, the fragile nest would have little shelter. He hugged his child tighter, worried about the tiny creatures he had only noticed the day before during a rare early morning.
As night fell, his phone vibrated incessantly with urgent messages about disaster prevention. The weather forecast said: The storm remained stationary out at sea, as if waiting, building up, before unleashing its terrifying claws on the central coastal strip. Hoang wished for a miracle to push it back out to sea… But he knew, wishes were just wishes.
That night, when Hoàng got up to get a drink of water, he heard a faint, soft chirp coming from through the door. The chirp was tender and fragile, like a sound of fear. It was that bird's chirp that kept him awake all night. And before dawn, he called the housing complex management. They listened, then agreed to help him remove the bird's nest the next morning.
The crane with its hanging basket lifted the worker up near the treetops. The sparrow's nest was brought down, revealing three tiny, red chicks, their eyes barely open. Hoang held it in his hands, a tender feeling welling up inside him. His son happily exclaimed, seeing these little creatures for the first time. On the bookshelf by the window, Hoang reserved a small compartment, lined it with a cloth, and placed the nest inside. The wind howled fiercely, rattling the windowpanes. The hungry birds chirped, and Hoang fed them a few grains of white rice, which they eagerly nibbled at before falling silent and huddling together.
Outside, the storm had arrived earlier than predicted. The wind howled, and the rain lashed down relentlessly. Water splashed through the cracks in the door, forcing Hoang to use a rag to seal it. He held his child in his arms, trying to soothe him, while the little boy remained curious, wanting to look at the birds on the bookshelf. The sky darkened; a long, stormy night awaited them.
By morning, the storm had passed. Only a light drizzle remained, the sky a hazy gray. If it weren't for the broken, uprooted trees scattered everywhere, one might think there had never been a storm. Hoang was startled to see the milkwood tree outside his window broken in half, lying sprawled on the tiled courtyard. He was relieved for the bird's nest; if it hadn't been brought down in time, nothing would have been left.
Inside the room, the baby birds chirped innocently, as if they had never experienced a stormy night. The little boy woke up early and insisted on being carried by his father to see them. And there, outside the window, two birds circled back and forth, then swooped down close, as if searching for their young. Hoang was surprised, then smiled: perhaps they were the father and mother birds.
This morning, Hoang knew what he had to do. He would find a sturdy branch, place the small nest back outside, so the baby birds could return to their parents, back to the wide-open sky. In the quiet room, their soft chirping mingled with the still-falling raindrops. Hoang's heart suddenly calmed. After the storm, there would always be peaceful mornings, when he would stand by this window, listening to the birds calling out to a new day.