Chapter 6 — Contract of the Heart

The school library on Wednesday afternoons was usually deserted, with only a few students studying for semester exams sitting scattered among the rows of high bookshelves. Thảo Nguyên chose the innermost table, next to the window overlooking the backyard filled with phoenix trees, where the natural light was enough to read without being too dazzling.

"Today I revised the opening paragraph," she said, placing Việt Anh's essay draft on the table, next to her own notebook, filled with bullet points and arrows connecting ideas.

Việt Anh sat down opposite, opened his laptop, his fingers were ready on the keyboard like a soldier waiting for orders to fight. "I rewrote it according to your suggestions last week. Please take a look."

She read the new passage and couldn't help but smile. It was still Việt Anh's characteristic dry, logical voice, but this time there was sincerity behind every word, telling the story of the old toy robot, about the first night in the new room after his parents divorced.

"Much better," she commented, underlining a few places. "But in this paragraph—" she pointed to a sentence, "—you return to the style of writing a technical report. 'After three days of assembling according to the instructions, the finished product worked stably.' It sounds like you're writing an acceptance report."

"So what should I write?" Việt Anh asked, his pen lightly tapping on the edge of the table, a habit she realized he often did when he was concentrating.

"Tell me how you feel, not the process," she explained. "For example, instead of saying 'the product works fine', say how you felt the first time you saw it move. Did your hands shake? Did you hold your breath? That little detail is what makes the reader remember you."

Việt Anh was silent for a moment, looking at the laptop screen, then started typing again. Thảo Nguyên took the time to edit his article for the school newspaper, occasionally glancing over to see his progress.

"Try reading this paragraph," Việt Anh finally said, turning the screen towards her.

She read, and this time she was really surprised. "My hand trembled slightly when I pressed the power switch for the first time. For a second of silence that felt like an eternity, I wondered if three days of hard work would only result in receiving a motionless mass of metal. Then the robot arm jerked slightly, turning a surprisingly precise ninety-degree angle, and I laughed out loud — for the first time since moving into that strange room."

"Việt Anh," she looked up at him, her voice filled with sincere surprise, "this part is really good."

He blushed slightly and lowered his head to avoid her gaze, a rare expression different from his usual calmness. "Just following your instructions."

"No, these are your true feelings, I'm just pointing the way," she said, then suddenly burst out laughing when she realized that they were both sitting and seriously debating whose credit was in a sentence, just like two real colleagues working on the same project, not two people who just signed a fake contract a week ago.

The class lasted until nearly six o'clock in the afternoon. When the library was about to close, the two packed their things and left. On the way down the stairs, they happened to meet a group of classmates gathered in the main lobby, including Hoàng Long — one of the most famous gossiping students in the twelfth grade.

"Hey, Thảo Nguyên and Việt Anh are going together?" Hoàng Long asked immediately, curious eyes scanning back and forth between the two people. "Are you two studying in a group?"

Thảo Nguyên and Việt Anh looked at each other for a brief moment, both understanding that this was the first test at school - where the contract stipulated that there was no need to be made public unless necessary.

"Yes, I asked Thảo Nguyên to help me edit my scholarship essay," Việt Anh replied, his voice surprisingly natural, not revealing any awkwardness.

"Oh really," Hoàng Long nodded, seemingly accepting the answer, then turned to teasing his friends about something else, without any further doubts.

Thảo Nguyên breathed a sigh of relief when the group was gone and turned to look at Việt Anh. "You answered so naturally, as if you had rehearsed it."

"It's true," he shrugged. "I don't need to act when I tell the truth, I just need to not add unnecessary parts. This is the principle I apply when giving technical presentations - speak correctly, enough, neither too much nor too little."

"You really have principles for everything," Thảo Nguyên shook her head and smiled, thinking that perhaps this was the reason why the deal between them went so smoothly - Việt Anh approached every situation with logic and careful calculation, completely opposite to the impulsiveness that pushed her into this situation in the first place.

The two of them walked out of the school gate together. It was late afternoon, pale yellow sunlight spreading across the tree-lined street. At the intersection where they had to turn in two different directions to go home, Việt Anh suddenly stopped.

"Ah, I forgot to say," he said, his voice holding a rare hesitation. "This weekend Diệu Anh is having a small birthday party at her house, just a few close friends in the Robotics club. I think I should tell you first, because maybe I will mention that we are... dating, to explain why I've been busier lately."

"Ah, okay," Thảo Nguyên replied, although in her heart there was a feeling of curiosity that was hard to name about her close friend named Diệu Anh that Việt Anh had mentioned at the contract signing session. "Is he your best friend? How close is he?"

"From childhood until now," Việt Anh replied, his voice still calm. "Our houses have lived next to each other since I was five years old, our parents are close friends. Diệu Anh and I went to the same school from kindergarten until now, and joined the Robotics club in tenth grade."

"That sounds very close," Thảo Nguyên said, trying to keep her voice normal, although for some reason, something unpleasant flashed through her heart, so quickly that she didn't even have time to analyze what it was.

"Yes, close," Việt Anh nodded, not paying attention to the slight change in her voice. "Diệu Anh is the only person I told about the contract between us, as agreed in the terms."

"How did he react when he heard the story?" Thảo Nguyên asked curiously.

Việt Anh paused for a second, as if remembering that conversation. "He... seemed surprised. But he also congratulated me, saying he hoped I could complete my essay well with your help."

"That's good," Thảo Nguyên nodded, although something about Việt Anh's answer made her feel incomplete, as if he was omitting part of the story. But she didn't feel comfortable asking more, so she pushed that feeling aside.

"So this weekend, do I need to go with you to your birthday?" She asked, moving on to more practical matters.

"No need," Việt Anh shook his head. "It's a private club meeting, not related to your family, so it's not within the scope of the contract. I just let you know in advance so you won't be surprised if someone at school mentions that we're dating."

"Okay, thank you for the advance notice," Thảo Nguyên replied, feeling a bit relieved even though she didn't know why.

They parted ways at the intersection, each turning in their own direction. On the way home, Thảo Nguyên kept thinking about the name Diệu Anh, about the close childhood story between the two, about the small silence when Việt Anh recounted her friend's reaction to the news of the contract.

She shook her head, telling herself she was thinking too much about something that wasn't worth paying attention to. This was just an agreement that benefits both parties, nothing more, nothing less - exactly like the fourth clause that Việt Anh himself proposed to write into the contract.

But when she got home, sitting at her desk to prepare for tomorrow's school newspaper, Thảo Nguyên still couldn't concentrate completely, her mind kept wandering back to the image of Việt Anh bowing his head and blushing when he heard her praise his essay, and the words "I don't act" from last afternoon still echoed somewhere in her head, making her wonder if the boundary they had agreed on in the contract was really as solid as what was written on paper.

She opened her phone and intended to text Bích Vân to tell Diệu Anh's story, but after typing half a sentence, she deleted it. Saying it out loud, the vague feeling lingering in her heart suddenly threatened to become something more concrete, which she was not ready to face. She put down the phone, telling herself that it was just because she was curious about a new friend of her partner in a work agreement, there was nothing to worry too much about.

That night, before going to sleep, she took out the notebook that recorded the contract, turned back to the page with both of their signatures, and read the fourth clause again: *both parties pledge not to let real feelings arise outside the scope of the contract.* The neat handwriting was her own, but reading it again now, the sentence suddenly seemed a bit more fragile than she thought when she initially wrote it. She closed the notebook, turned off the light, trying to banish idle thoughts to save energy for tomorrow — the school newspaper editorial board meeting, and a new week with a packed schedule between studying, writing for the newspaper, and now even keeping a lie looking so real that even the person involved began to no longer be sure where the line was.