Chapter 8 — Anonymous Drawing

The first semester of twelfth grade passed faster than Khoi Nguyen thought, bringing with it increasingly heavy exam pressure, but also bringing with it moments he knew he would treasure for the rest of his life. In mid-December, Tan Viet School held a farewell performance for the twelfth grade, held earlier than usual because this year the school planned to repair the hall right after Tet.

Dieu Linh and Khoi Nguyen's class signed up for a short tableau performance, recreating a real-life version of a poor alley, including a scene of a mother working hard to sell street goods, a scene of a child studying under an oil lamp, and the final scene is an image of a "dream house" illuminated by light - directly inspired by their "Tree Gon House" exercise from last year. Dieu Linh is in charge of the director and main actor, Khoi Nguyen is in charge of designing the scenery, hand-painting the entire stage backdrop.

During two weeks of practice after school, the whole class almost put all their effort into this performance. Ho Khanh Thu took on the role of narrator, constantly editing the dialogue to make it more reasonable, while Dang Nhat Huy - who initially intended to participate just for show, standing at the corner of the stage pulling a backdrop - gradually became surprisingly enthusiastic when he was assigned to be in charge of sound and lighting.

"Hey, in this part you have to turn off the lights slowly, not suddenly," Nhat Huy shouted from the light control corner, his serious face different from his usual joking attitude. "Let me correct this, this scene has to fade out to be emotional."

"Hey, Nhat Huy is so professional today," Dieu Linh teased, unable to hide her surprise.

"Whatever you do, you have to do it right. No one can see if you do it half-heartedly," Nhat Huy replied, a bit embarrassed, then turned away and pretended to be busy adjusting the lighting control panel borrowed from the school's equipment room.

Khoi Nguyen stood on a high wooden ladder, holding a brush to complete the final touches of the backdrop, occasionally glancing down at Dieu Linh who was instructing the supporting actors to rehearse their lines. Her eyes were serious and focused, sometimes bursting into laughter when someone made a bad performance, making the whole group laugh. He realized that this was probably the image he wanted to keep most in his memories of his time as a student - not the luxurious family meetings, not the foreign trips he had before, but this simple moment, the whole class preparing together for a small performance, full of enthusiasm and sincerity.

"Go down and rest and drink some water," Dieu Linh called out, handing him a bottle of water as he stepped down from the ladder. "I've been drawing all afternoon, aren't my hands tired?"

"It's okay, I like doing this." He received the bottle of water, took a long drink, then sat down on the steps next to her, watching the group of friends busy preparing. "I will miss training sessions like this very much."

"There's still a whole semester left before the graduation exam, why remember so early?" Dieu Linh laughed, lightly punching him on the shoulder. "You talk as if you're going somewhere far."

Khoi Nguyen just laughed, not responding to the joke, thinking to himself, perhaps she was more right than she thought, she just didn't know it yet.

The night went smoothly, the class's performance received the longest applause of the evening, so much so that the vice principal had to go up on stage to praise it in front of the whole school. After the performance ended, when most of the students had left, Dieu Linh and Khoi Nguyen remained on stage to dismantle the backdrop. The lights in the hall were almost all turned off, only a few light bulbs remained.

"You drew a really beautiful backdrop," Dieu Linh said, standing back to look at the nearly three meter high backdrop, the image of a house with a bright skylight amidst a meticulously hand-painted night sky. "It looks like a real painting, not like a student's drawing."

"You acted very well," he replied, standing next to her, both of them looking up at the backdrop in the dim light. "When you acted the mother scene, I almost thought you were really crying."

"I'm really crying," Dieu Linh smiled softly, her voice suddenly choking. "During that scene, I thought of my mother, of the many years she raised me alone, and couldn't help it."

Khoi Nguyen looked at her, feeling like his heart was being squeezed. He reached out to gently wipe the remaining tears from her cheeks - an unconscious, clumsy gesture, but so sincere that they both paused for a few seconds, no one said anything, only the hall's ceiling fan squeaked overhead.

"Hey Dieu Linh," Khoi Nguyen said, his voice soft, his hand still not leaving her cheek. "There's something I've wanted to tell you for a long time."

Dieu Linh's heart beat faster, she looked straight into his eyes, waiting. "What's going on?"

Khoi Nguyen took a deep breath, the words he had prepared in his head for many months - about his father, about the corporation, about the twenty-five-story villa, about the real reason he lived in Cay Gon alley - suddenly froze in his throat. You're afraid. Afraid that this warm, trusting look in his eyes would change as soon as he opened his mouth. Afraid that this precious moment, the moment the two of them stood so close together in the dim light, would crumble into something strange.

"I..." he began, then changed his mind midway, choosing another truth, smaller but equally sincere. "I think, you are the most important person I have ever met in my life. No matter what happens in the future, I hope you remember that."

Dieu Linh looked at him, eyes sparkling in the dim light, nodded slightly, her voice trembling. "Me too. You are... my closest, most important friend."

They both stood there for a long time, neither of them said anything more, just letting that moment speak for itself instead of words that hadn't yet formed sentences. Finally, the school security guard knocked on the door and reminded them to close the hall. The two were startled and hastily tidied up the remaining backdrops, smiling at each other to dispel the absent-minded atmosphere.

On the way home, Dieu Linh walked next to him, still fluttering because of his unfinished sentence just now, wondering if "the thing I want to tell you" was what she was thinking about - a confession he didn't have the courage to fully say. She didn't think about the other possibility, the real possibility that was hidden behind those words, a secret greater than anything she could imagine.

Returning to Aunt Bay Nha's house, Khoi Nguyen sat absent-mindedly at his desk, blaming himself for once again missing the opportunity to tell the truth. He took his phone and intended to text his father to ask for advice, but then stopped, afraid that his father would urge him to speak immediately, while he still couldn't find a way gentle enough to not hurt Dieu Linh.

Little did he know, that hesitation — even though it came from a completely understandable fear, from a desire to protect something precious he had never had before — would become the thing he regretted the most many years later. Because just three weeks after that performance night, the time he thought he had left to "choose the right moment" was completely exhausted, not by his own decision, but by an event beyond both he and his father's control.

That evening, Aunt Bay Nha saw him sitting quietly in front of the desk for a long time, neither writing nor drawing, so she came in to ask.

"What's wrong, is something sad?" she asked, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"I almost told Dieu Linh the truth," Khoi Nguyen confessed, his voice low. "But I don't have enough courage."

Aunt Bay Nha was silent for a moment, then sighed softly and placed her hand on his shoulder. "It's okay, child. You still have time. Just take it slow, find the right time, the right way, don't rush to force yourself to say it today or tomorrow. I believe you can do it, when you're really ready, and when that girl trusts enough to accept it."

Khoi Nguyen nodded, relying on that comforting word to reassure himself, unaware that the "time" she mentioned, in his situation, was getting shorter day by day, and the door for him to write his own story was about to close forever, giving way to a truth being exposed in a much more cruel way than any scenario he had ever imagined.

Aunt Bay Nha left the room, leaving him alone with the weak study light and the sketchbook still open on the community center drawing page. He sat for a while longer, flipping through old pages, looking back at the entire journey of nearly two years - from the first scribble under the cotton tree, to the increasingly neat and meticulous designs, each page bearing the mark of the afternoons spent working together with Dieu Linh. He closed the notebook, placed it neatly on the head of the bed, as if he were keeping the most important part of himself, before turning off the light and falling into a fitful sleep.