Chapter 4 — Anonymous Drawing

The first winter rain fell on Truc Giang city on a November afternoon, so suddenly that Dieu Linh had to stand under the school's porch waiting for it to stop, watching the water carry dry leaves along the drainage ditch in front of the gate. In her pocket, she only had exactly ten thousand dong - the bus fare was spent last week to buy medicine for her mother.

Ms. Ut Thao has been coughing for three days, but refuses to stop selling, saying that "if you take a break, you will lose a regular customer. If you lose a regular customer, the next month will be miserable". Dieu Linh knew her mother was hiding her cough every time she was around, trying to appear healthy, but every night she heard the sound of coughing echoing through the thin plank wall separating the two rooms.

"What are you standing here for? Aren't you going home?" Khoi Nguyen asked, appearing next to her at some unknown moment, holding a new black umbrella with new folds in his hand.

"Waiting for the rain to stop." She tried to keep her voice normal, but Khoi Nguyen still noticed something wrong in her eyes.

"Is something wrong?"

"Nothing." She shook her head, smiling wryly. "Just a bit tired today."

Khoi Nguyen did not ask further, just stood quietly next to her, opening the umbrella even though the rain had not yet hit the place where the two of them stood. After a few minutes of silence, he asked softly: "How are you, Ms. Ut?"

The question touched exactly on the worry she was trying to hide, causing her eyes to suddenly sting. "My mother has been coughing for several days now, but refuses to go to the doctor. She says she's saving money, and the small cough goes away after a few days."

"Have you taken her to the doctor yet?"

"Where's the money to go to the doctor?" Dieu Linh said, her voice more bitter than she wanted. "This month I still have to pay for my extra tuition. My mother has calculated every penny."

Khoi Nguyen was silent, looking out at the white rain. In his mind, he immediately thought of the simplest way to solve this problem - just one call to his father's assistant, a transfer of money to Mrs. Ut Thao's account, this matter would be resolved within an afternoon. But he knew that doing so would mean having to explain where the money came from, and he was not ready, nor allowed, to open that door.

"Let me think of something," he said, making no specific promises, just enough to reassure her somewhat.

Three days later, on a Monday morning, when Dieu Linh came to class, she saw a small envelope on her desk, with no name on the outside, only the printed words "Tru Giang Study Encouragement Fund - Unexpected Support for Difficult Students". Inside was five hundred thousand dong and a carefully typed notice, including a blurry, realistic-looking stamp, stating that she was selected to receive support this time "based on the homeroom teacher's recommendation".

She brought the paper up to ask Mr. Khang right at recess. The teacher looked over and scratched his head in confusion. "Eh, I don't know about this fund. Let me ask the academic department again."

Dieu Linh had no doubts — to a fifteen-year-old student, a piece of paper with a stamp looked serious enough to believe, and that money arrived just as she was frantically paying for her mother's medical examination. She took the money home, took her mother to a private clinic near the market, the doctor prescribed antibiotics to treat bronchitis, and told her to rest for a few days.

What Dieu Linh didn't know was that the "Truc Giang Education Promotion Fund" never existed. Khoi Nguyen asked an old classmate in the old city, the son of an acquaintance who worked in the printing industry, to help him design a fake notice that looked real, then put his own money - the money his father still sent him every month through a separate account for "personal expenses" that he barely touched - to stuff into the envelope. He chose this method instead of giving money directly, because he knew that if he gave it directly, Dieu Linh - with her high self-esteem - would definitely refuse, and might even be angry at him because she thought he pitied her.

That afternoon, when Dieu Linh happily told him about the "study promotion fund" that suddenly came to help her mother have money for medical examination, Khoi Nguyen just sat and listened, nodded, trying to keep a normal expression, feeling both relieved to know that Ms. Ut had been cured, and heavy because she had to lie to the person she valued most.

"You see, there are still good people in the world," Dieu Linh said, her eyes shining with hope. "I intended to write a letter of thanks to that fund, but Mr. Khang said he couldn't find the contact information, so they probably kept their name anonymous."

"Maybe they don't want anyone to know," Khoi Nguyen said, his voice was soft, and that sentence, even though he had no other intention, was unintentionally the most honest sentence he had ever said about himself.

On Sunday afternoon, Dieu Linh invited him to visit her house for the first time, telling her mother that she wanted to thank her "kind friend who has studied hard with me these past few months." Khoi Nguyen stood in front of a small, narrow four-level house in Cay Gon alley, looking at the rusted corrugated iron roof in some places, the wooden door frame warped by the rain and sun, a strange feeling arose in his heart - not pity, but like he was entering a world much more real than the spacious rooms he had grown up in.

Mrs. Ut Thao was wrapping sticky rice for the next morning's sale. When she saw him walk in, she immediately stood up, her voice much less hoarse than what Dieu Linh said.

"Are you Khoi Nguyen? Dieu Linh compliments you all the time." She smiled, her eyes had deep wrinkles from years of sun and rain. "Sit down and play, I just made green bean soup. Try it and see if it's delicious."

"Yes, have you stopped coughing much?" Khoi Nguyen asked, sitting down on a low plastic chair next to the table.

"I'm much better, thanks to the medicine the doctor prescribed and the timely support from the study promotion fund. If not, I'll have to endure it and wait until all my savings are gone before I dare go to the doctor." She scooped tea into a cup and gave it to him. "There are still such good people in the world, I'm very happy. Tell Dieu Linh, if you have a chance in the future, try to find out who they are, I want to thank you properly."

Khoi Nguyen held the cup of tea in his hand. It felt hot, but his heart felt a little colder. He nodded, not daring to look directly into Mrs. Ut Thao's eyes, afraid that her clear, grateful eyes would read something he was hiding.

"You cook sweet soup very well," he said, trying to steer the conversation in another direction.

"If it's delicious, have another bowl, I'll cook a big pot." Mrs. Ut Thao stroked his head, a friendly gesture she always gave to Dieu Linh, making Khoi Nguyen pause for a second because of the unexpected warm feeling. "You and Dieu Linh are close, I'm happy. Since childhood, she has few friends, has high self-esteem, and is afraid of people's pity, so she often keeps her distance. Having a friend like you, understanding things, regardless of rich or poor, makes me feel very secure."

Mrs. Ut Thao's words, seemingly just a social compliment from a mother, were like a small needle piercing Khoi Nguyen's chest. He looked at Dieu Linh who was busy cleaning up more chairs in the kitchen, thinking about Aunt Bay Nha's words the night before - about the layers of concealment that were piling up on each other - and for the first time, he clearly felt a real fear: fear that one day, this trusting look of Mrs. Ut Thao, and also of Dieu Linh, would change into something completely different.

On the way home, when it was already dark, Khoi Nguyen walked next to Dieu Linh through a small alley, on both sides were houses close together with yellow lights shining from the windows.

"My mother loves you very much," Dieu Linh said, her voice cheerful. "My mother rarely invites anyone into her house for dinner like that."

"You're so kind," Khoi Nguyen said, his voice deeper than usual.

"What's wrong with you? Is something wrong?" She looked at him, noticing his unusual pensive expression.

"Nothing," he shook his head, forcing a smile. "It's just... I feel lucky to know you and her."

Dieu Linh did not ask further, just smiled, strode and continued walking beside him in the twilight, not knowing that his last words, although they sounded like normal touching words, actually carried a torment that he did not know how long he would have to carry.

That night, Aunt Bay Nha discovered what he did after accidentally seeing a printed receipt he accidentally left in his coat pocket. She called him to sit on the doorstep, her voice was rarely stern.

"What you did was wrong, Khoi Nguyen," she said. "It's not wrong because you helped your friend, but wrong because you lied to her with a fake paper. If she knew later, what would she think?"

"I just want to help without hurting her self-esteem," Khoi Nguyen explained, his voice a bit confused. "If I give money directly, she won't accept it, aunt."

"Then you should find another way," Aunt Bay Nha said, her voice softened but still determined. "Money matters, no matter how well-intentioned, once you use lies to do it, sooner or later will become a burden. You also keep a much bigger thing a secret - your true identity. Now you add another layer of concealment on top. How many layers of hidden truth do you think that girl can endure before it all falls apart?"

Khoi Nguyen remained silent, looking down at his hands. He had no answer, he just felt a vague unease creep into his heart for the first time, like a small speck of dust falling into a regularly rotating gear, not enough to jam the whole machine, but enough to make a soft rubbing sound, signaling that something wrong was silently accumulating.

"I'll be more careful," he said, even though he wasn't sure what "more careful" meant in this situation.

Aunt Bay Nha patted his head, a rare gesture for a woman who was naturally reserved. "I don't blame you, Khoi Nguyen. I'm just afraid that one day, you will have to pay the price for all the good things you did in the dark, just because you had no way to do them in the light."

With that statement, Khoi Nguyen did not fully understand its meaning until many years later, when everything broke down in exactly the way she had feared.