Chapter 4 — Contract of the Heart

On Saturday, Thảo Nguyên met Việt Anh at a small sweet soup shop at the end of the alley, just two streets away from her grandmother's house, where she often stopped by every afternoon on the way home from school. The shop was hidden in a quiet alley, with old wooden tables and chairs. The owner was a gentle old lady who rarely paid attention to customers, the ideal place to discuss private matters without fear of being heard.

She arrived fifteen minutes early, carrying a brown leather-covered notebook, inside was what she had been drafting all night long - not because she thought Việt Anh was joking about "making a contract", but because she herself felt more secure when everything was clearly written down.

Việt Anh arrived on time, not a minute early, not a minute late, wearing a simple navy blue shirt, carrying a thin leather briefcase, looking a bit too serious compared to the context of a popular tea shop.

"Did you bring a briefcase too?" Thảo Nguyên couldn't help but ask when he sat down opposite.

"In here is a draft of the essay I'm writing," Việt Anh replied, placing the briefcase on the table. "I think if we agree on a contract today, we can start the first lesson right away to save time."

"You're really someone who doesn't like to waste a second," she muttered, opening the notebook as she spoke and placing it in the middle of the table.

"These are the terms I drafted." She pushed the notebook towards him. "You take a look, if there's anything that needs to be added or removed, we'll discuss it."

Việt Anh picked up the notebook and read each line of Thảo Nguyên's neat handwriting with intense concentration, as if reviewing an important technical design.

**Contract terms**, the first line reads. Below is the list:

*One, the contract period lasts from now until the end of Ms. Ngô Thị Xuân's seventieth birthday party, scheduled for the end of June.*

*Two, Đinh Việt Anh is obliged to appear before Ngô Thảo Nguyên's family as a boyfriend when requested, at least once a week on weekends, no more than three times a week unless there is a special event.*

*Three, Ngô Thảo Nguyên is obliged to tutor Đinh Việt Anh in essay writing and scholarship interview preparation, at least twice a week, with each session lasting no less than ninety minutes, until the personal essay and final mock interview are complete.*

*Fourth, both parties commit not to let real feelings arise outside the scope of the contract. Any intimate actions in front of family are just for show and do not reflect true feelings.*

*The contract can be terminated early if either party feels it cannot continue, provided at least one week's notice is given.*

"The terms are quite detailed," Việt Anh commented, looking up at her with a look of surprise mixed with appreciation. "I thought you were just joking. I didn't think you'd prepared it so carefully."

"I'm a writer," Thảo Nguyên shrugged, trying to hide her satisfaction when she saw that Việt Anh seemed to appreciate her preparation. "Besides, if you do it, you have to do it properly to avoid misunderstandings later."

"I have a few suggestions." Việt Anh pulled out a pen from his pocket and underlined the second clause. "You wrote 'when requested', but didn't specify who decides when to request. So the specific rule is that you will notify me at least two days in advance, so I can arrange the schedule with the Robotics club."

"Okay, reasonable." Thảo Nguyên nodded and wrote a note in the margin of the page.

"As for the fourth clause," Việt Anh continued, his voice still maintaining its usual serious and calm tone, "I think it should be more clearly stated about the limits of intimate actions. For example, to what extent is holding hands acceptable, is it necessary to... call each other by affectionate terms or not."

Thảo Nguyên blushed slightly at the way Việt Anh discussed this issue with a dry attitude as if discussing the technical specifications of a machine, but she also had to admit that he had a point.

"Okay," she cleared her throat, trying to remain professional. "Holding hands and standing shoulder to shoulder at a normal social level is fine, like an ordinary couple in front of adults. In terms of address, we can use affectionate forms in front of Grandma, but at school we will keep our usual way of speaking."

"Reasonable," Việt Anh nodded, making additional notes in the notebook. "Then I suggest adding a sixth clause: all information about this contract must be kept absolutely secret, only two people know, unless it is necessary to notify a third person to avoid disclosure."

"Bích Vân already knows," Thảo Nguyên confessed immediately, not wanting to hide it. "She's my best friend; I can't hide anything from her."

"Then make an exception for Bích Vân," Việt Anh said, not as annoyed as she feared. "As for me, maybe I also need to tell someone, to avoid being asked questions when they see me often coming to your house."

"Who is that?" Thảo Nguyên asked, curious.

"Diệu Anh," Việt Anh replied, his voice slightly hesitant. "My best friend since childhood, also studies in the Robotics club. Our houses live near each other, our families have known each other for a long time. If I hide this from her, it will inevitably come out at some point."

Thảo Nguyên nodded and added Diệu Anh's name to the exception list, not thinking much about it at that time.

After completing the terms, they both read it again, then Thảo Nguyên took out her pen and signed her name at the bottom of the page, passing the notebook to Việt Anh. He held the pen and signed seriously as if signing a real commercial contract, his handwriting was square and firm.

"So it's official," she said, closing the notebook, feeling both relieved and a little strange seeing both of their signatures next to each other on the same page.

"Officially," Việt Anh repeated, then without hesitation, opened his leather briefcase and took out a stack of papers to print drafts of his essay. "So can we start our first lesson? I want to make the most of the rest of this afternoon."

Thảo Nguyên laughed at his ridiculous pragmatism, but did not object, picked up the stack of papers and started reading.

The essay opens with a sentence: "My name is Đinh Việt Anh, I like robots because robots always operate according to clear logic, unlike humans."

After reading the first sentence, she couldn't help but laugh and looked up at Việt Anh who was sitting across from her with a serious, waiting expression.

"What do you think?" He asked, a bit of worry flickering in his usually calm voice.

"Honestly," Thảo Nguyên replied, trying to suppress a laugh, "this sentence reads more like a misanthropic statement than the beginning of a scholarship essay."

"But that's the truth," Việt Anh countered, his voice serious without any joking. "Robots are much more reliable. They don't lie, they don't change their minds suddenly, they don't create awkward situations like—" he paused, his eyes glancing at the notebook that had just concluded the contract on the table, "—like the situation we're facing right now."

Thảo Nguyên burst out laughing, this time she couldn't hold back anymore. "Okay, okay, I see what you mean. But the admissions committee doesn't want to hear an essay that disparages humanity, they want to see the real person behind the achievement numbers. They want to know why you love robots, what's the story that made you choose this path, not a philosophical statement about the reliability of machines."

"So what should I write?" Việt Anh asked, his voice a bit confused and honest for the first time since the beginning of the meeting, different from the usual confidence when talking about technology.

Thảo Nguyên looked at him for a moment, realizing that behind that cold, pragmatic appearance was a person who was really struggling with what for her was instinctive - telling a story, touching other people's emotions with words.

"Tell me," she said, her voice softer, closing the contract book and setting it aside to make room for the real work. "The first time you touched a robot, how did it feel? Don't think about writing well, just tell it truthfully, like you're talking to a friend."

Việt Anh was silent for a moment, his eyes looking far away outside the shop door, where the afternoon sunlight was gradually turning yellow on the low roofs of the small alley, as if searching for a long-lost memory.

"When I was twelve years old," he began, his voice slow, "my parents divorced. At night I moved to a new room at my dad's house, I couldn't sleep, I just sat looking out the window all night. The next morning, my dad brought home an old robot assembly kit, saying he bought it at the second-hand market, and told me to try it out to relieve the sadness."

Thảo Nguyên listened silently, without interrupting, feeling that something true and precious was starting to reveal itself, something that no previous dry draft could touch.

"It took me three days to install," Việt Anh continued, his voice still steady but somehow softer than usual. "The first time it moved, I felt... strangely relieved. As if in that strange new home, there was only one thing I could control, making it work exactly as I wanted, unlike everything else in my life at that time."

"There," Thảo Nguyên smiled slightly, pulled out the pen, and began to quickly write down what he had just said. "That's the story you should write. Not about robots being more trustworthy than humans, but about them giving you a place to lean on when everything around you was falling apart."

Việt Anh looked at her, his eyes slightly surprised, as if he didn't expect a story he had never told anyone other than his family to blurt out so easily in front of someone he barely knew three days ago.

"Thank you," he said softly, his voice a rare bit of awkwardness. "I never thought about it that way."

"That's why we need someone as good at Literature as me," Thảo Nguyên replied, deliberately joking to dispel the suddenly serious atmosphere, even though in her heart she also felt something had just shifted, gently but clearly, between the two people who had just signed a purely beneficial contract less than half an hour ago.