Chapter 14 — Icebergs Also Know Red Eyes

“I know,” I interrupted, “I didn't come here to ask this.”

“So I came—”

“To Nghien,” I took a deep breath, my hands trembled, clenching them into fists, “I like you.”

He was motionless. The whole person seemed to be nailed to the spot. The street lights hum, in the distance there are sounds of people laughing and joking passing by, the night wind rustles the leaves.

"It's not out of guilt, it's not out of pity, it's not because I've known you since freshman year that I feel indebted," I poured out, my voice trembling, "It's just like it. I don't know when it started, but now I'm sure."

He stood there, the light dividing his face into light and dark halves. And then I saw the rims of his eyes red again — red again. Second time. The first time was in the cafeteria when I asked to break up. This time is when I said I like you.

“What are you crying for?” I panicked, "You said you liked me and I cried too?"

He tilted his head to the side, using the back of his hand to wipe his eyes.

“Don't cry.” Small voice.

“You're clearly—”

“Don't cry,” he turned around, his eyes were red, but the corners of his mouth curled up, “The wind is too strong.”

There is no wind today. I stared at him and suddenly burst into laughter.

“Can you stop blaming the wind for everything?”

He also laughed. It's not that quick, almost invisible smile. It's a real smile - the eyebrows relax, the corners of the mouth curl up, the eyes sparkle with light. This is the first time I've seen him smile like that. So handsome I want to faint.

“So,” he took a step forward, only half a step away from me, “You're not breaking up again, are you?”

“No more breaking up.”

“Are you sure?”

“Sure.”

"You won't break up after this?"

“Not later either.”

He raised his hand, hesitated for a second, then placed it on top of my head. Gently rub it.

“So about going abroad,” he said, his voice low, “I might not go.”

“You just go.”

His hand stopped.

“It's worth going, it's worth going,” I said, “It's half a year, not half a lifetime.”

He looked at me, his hand slid from the top of my head to my cheek, his thumb lightly touching my earlobe.

“Wait for me?”

“Yes, wait for me.”

He withdrew his hand, but moved a little closer. So close that I smelled the scent of laundry detergent on him — faint, clean.

“Khuong Loc.”

“Yes.”

“I like you too.”

Obviously it's a redundant sentence — it's already come to this point. But my heart still skipped a beat. As if someone was pushing me down from above, the feeling of losing weight came over me.

“I know.” I replied, my voice much quieter than I expected.

He laughed out loud, very softly. Then he pulled me into his chest. 12 What happened next, To Niem summed up in one sentence — "The complete collapse of my brother's image." To Nghien, after falling in love, and To Nghien before, are two completely different people. That's not true, on the outside it's still the same. When he goes to school, he still maintains a cold face. In crowded places, he absolutely doesn't say more than half a sentence. When juniors see him, they automatically run eight meters away. But in front of me—

“Khuong Loc, what do you want to eat today?”

“Whatever.”

“Hot pot or grilled meat?”

“Didn't you forbid me to eat these things?”

“Once a week, today is the day.”

“Then let's eat hot pot.”

“Go.”

He grabbed his coat and naturally held it My hands, ten fingers interlocked, led me out of the library. A few students passing by gaped at the thousand-year-old iceberg holding a girl's hand, their mouths open so wide they could fit an egg.

“To Nghien, do you know people are looking at you?”

“Yes.”

“Don't you care?”

“Don't care.”

“Before you didn't—”

“Before, there was no you.”

I kept my mouth shut. The hot ear can fry an egg.