Chapter 15 — Between Two Runways

The controller's uniform, which had been hanging in the closet for six weeks, still had its neat folds intact, and when Boi Thu put it on that morning, she realized her hands were slightly fumbling with the buttons, as if her body needed some time to remember this familiar movement.

At six thirty in the morning, she arrived at the station forty minutes earlier than the shift check-in time, went straight to the radar room even though it wasn't her turn to be on duty yet, just to stand there, looking at the screen displaying a few sparse targets of the night shift about to be handed over, feeling the familiar rhythm of the room again before officially entering it.

On the way to the station this morning, she stopped by Chuong Ba Vong's office, even though she knew he usually arrived later than this time. He was there, the table lamp was on, a steaming cup of tea was on the table.

“Chief,” she said, standing at the door. "I just wanted to announce that I'm officially back today."

Vong looked up, nodded, a rare smile appeared on his face that was used to being serious. "I know. I saw the lyrics schedule last night. How are you mentally preparing?"

"I'm not sure," Boi Thu admitted. "But I think, no matter how much I prepare, the real feeling only comes when I actually sit down in front of the screen."

"That's right," Vong said. "I believe in you, Thu. Not because the documents say you're qualified. Because I've worked with you for ten years, and I know you would never step into that position if you were truly not ready, even if all the documents allowed it."

That sentence stayed in Boi Thu's mind the rest of the way to the radar room, like a thin but necessary layer of armor for what was to come.

"Wake up so early?" Than Van Khoat walked in, holding two cups of coffee, giving one to her. "I came early too. Thought we both needed time to mentally prepare."

"Thank you." Boi Thu received the cup of coffee, warmth transmitted through her palm, a feeling of reality that helped her anchor the thoughts swirling in her head. "I didn't think I would be this nervous."

"It's normal," Khoat said. "I once came back after a long break due to a shoulder injury, it wasn't anything psychological, just a motorbike accident, but I still remember that first shift clearly, my hand shook when holding the microphone, even though I was just coordinating a simple agricultural flight."

At seven o'clock, the afternoon shift begins. Van was on night shift, her face showing the familiar fatigue of someone who had just spent eight consecutive hours, but when she saw Boi Thu walk in, she smiled, a real smile shining between her haggard face.

"Welcome back," Van said, standing up to offer her seat. "Quiet tonight. Three commercial trips, two training trips, nothing unusual."

"Thank you Van." Boi Thu sat down in a familiar position, placed her hands on the keyboard, feeling each key press under her fingertips as if greeting an old friend after a long trip.

Khoat sat in the supervisory position right next to him, not a secondary position like students usually sit in, but the seat reserved for the official supervisor at the request of the evaluation board. He didn't say much, just observed, occasionally taking notes in a small notebook.

The first flight of the shift, another ATR, not VT205 but the same type, requested permission to lower altitude to prepare for approach. Boi Thu gave the command, her voice was steady and clear, no different from the thousands of times she had done this before — but inside, she clearly felt her heartbeat beating faster than usual, a feeling she had never felt before the incident.

"Are you okay?" Khoat asked softly, loud enough for only her to hear, not over the radio frequency.

“I'm fine,” she replied, and this time, she realized she wasn't lying, just stressed the way anyone would be stressed about doing something important again after a long hiatus.

The shift passed hour by hour, each flight came and went, each order was given and carried out exactly as expected. In the middle of the shift, when there was a short silence between flights, Bach walked into the room, carrying the training documents, and stopped at the door, not daring to enter immediately.

"Come in," Boi Thu said, without turning around, his eyes still glued to the screen. "Sit in your usual observation position."

Bach sat down, his expression both relieved and still a bit cautious, as if he didn't completely believe that everything was back to the way it was before.

"Miss Thu," he said softly, after a few minutes of silence, "can I ask a non-professional question?"

"Ask."

"Are you scared? Sit here, after everything that's happened?"

Boi Thu paused on the keyboard for a second, considering the most honest answer. “Yes,” she said. "But I think that fear is not like I imagined before. It's not a fear that makes me freeze. It's more like a signal that reminds me to pay more attention, to be more careful, not something that prevents me from working."

"So is there any difference compared to before the incident?"

That question made her really stop and think carefully before answering. "Yes. Before, I thought I was never afraid, because I never allowed myself to admit that fear existed. Now I know it's there, and I've learned to work with it, instead of pretending it's not there."

Mid-morning, in a rare silence between flights, Khoat turned to her, his voice softer than usual. "I heard that you submitted an additional declaration to the Bach Lung case file."

Boi Thu was a bit surprised that the news had spread to his ears so quickly, but did not feel uncomfortable. "That's right. Where do you know?"

"Investigator Khoi mentioned it to the station chief, without going into details, just saying that she did a very courageous thing." Look out at the screen, not directly at her, perhaps to make it easier for her to speak if she wants. "I'm not asking for details. I just want to say, after hearing that, I'm even more convinced that the decision to let you come back was the right one."

"Thank you," Boi Thu said, and the two said nothing more about that topic, letting it settle as a tacit understanding between two colleagues, without needing to reveal it all in words.

At sixteen o'clock, a small situation arose - not serious, just a training flight asking to change its approach direction because of a sudden change in wind direction. Boi Thu handled it with familiar calm, issuing new orders, adjusting the order of other flights accordingly, nothing worth writing down in any reports.

But when the shift ended, when she stood up from her chair and handed it over to the next shift controller, she realized something: for the past eight hours, she had been completely focused on her work, not once had her mind strayed to the old radar screen in Bach Lung, to the dot of light that deviated from the center line, to the small gap between the coordinate grid lines after Echo Tam Mot disappeared.

"You did a great job," Khoat said, closing the supervision book. "I will record this case as fully satisfactory."

"Thank you," Boi Thu said, then stopped and looked at him for a moment. "Thank you for saying what you thought directly last week, instead of just silently worrying. I think that helped me prepare better for today."

Khoat nodded and said nothing more, but his eyes, as he watched her leave the radar room, carried a look of quiet satisfaction that Boi Thu recognized immediately, even though he was never one to express his emotions clearly in words.

Outside, the afternoon light was fading on the runway, and Boi Thu stood for a moment in the hallway, looking through the large glass window, where the last ATR of the afternoon shift was taxiing toward the terminal, the landing lights still on, reflecting sparklingly on the runway wet with afternoon dew.

She pulled out her phone and texted Van a short message: "The first shift is done. It's okay." Then she stood there a moment longer, letting a feeling of relief — not an explosion of joy, just a slow, steady quietness — spread throughout her body, before leaving the building and walking out into the parking lot, where darkness was beginning to fall over the small city nestled between two mountain ranges.

The phone vibrated almost immediately, and a text message came back from Van: "I knew right away. I'll buy a cake tomorrow." Boi Thu smiled, put her phone in her pocket, then looked up at the sky that was turning dark purple behind Vinh Ky peak, a thin strip of clouds stretching along the mountainside, so beautiful that she stopped for a few more seconds just to look at it, something she didn't remember the last time she did before these past weeks.

There were fourteen more supervised shifts to go before she was officially qualified for full independent duty, and a re-evaluation in three months lay ahead. But tonight, as she drove home through the familiar route along the airport fence, Boi Thu felt, for the first time in weeks, that the road ahead was no longer a vague weight pressing on her chest, but simply the next steps, step by step, like any other shift in her ten years of working.