I wished I died in that attack with my cousin, with my south

Host: The night was heavy, swollen with rain and the scent of charred wood. Across the old bridge outside Ho Chi Minh City, the river moved like liquid memory — slow, dark, and unending. Jack and Jeeny sat in a small tea stall beside the water, their faces lit only by the faint orange glow of a lantern swinging in the damp air.

A radio crackled softly in the corner, its voice weary with static: *“…Phan Thi Kim Phuc, the girl in the napalm photo, once said, ‘I wished I died in that attack with my cousin, with my South Vietnamese soldiers. I wish I died at that time so I won’t suffer