Chapter 27 — Late Table Lady

An first chose his future by turning down a scholarship party. Her father arranged for her to meet with a representative of a prestigious university, which had its own hotel and dormitory management program. The three-hour schedule includes dinner and a tour of the lab.

An read the invitation, then replied that she could not attend because of the scheduling conflict with the creative festival.

Dad called right away. “You can reschedule the festival.”

"Are not."

“One meeting does not decide a lifetime.”

“But the way you choose will determine whether you are living according to someone else's schedule.”

Father was silent. Her mother asked An if she was sure. An said she didn't know what major to study, but wanted to see the schools with her own eyes, not through the list her father chose.

“Then you'll go see for yourself,” Mom said.

“Are you coming with me?”

“If you want.”

An smiled. “I want.”

At school, the group prepares for the festival. The backyard has shelves, a rain garden, a changing table and a usage schedule. Small unfinished tasks: a flickering light bulb, a trash can without a lid, a book loan book with almost no pages.

Huy made a list of errors and named it "The Will Before the Festival". Like deleting the word "will".

“I'm creating emotions.”

“Emotions don't need to scare people.”

“So the ‘Final Test’.”

An receives a list, divided by level. Safety bulb first, decorative panel later. Khang checked the power cord and did not allow anyone to connect it himself. Mai took pictures of the corners that needed fixing, and Nhu called for volunteers.

A 10th grade student brought in his grandfather's wooden chair, which had been varnished. He said he didn't use it anymore and wanted to donate it to the yard. An asked if he needed to write down his name. He shook his head, just wanting everyone to sit.

“So we write ‘a grandfather’?” Huy asked.

“Please write 'donor not named',” Nhu replied.

With three days left of the festival, the school board announced that the council would announce the decision about the land right in the summary section. That news made the whole group tense. If the plan to keep the field fails, the festival can become a farewell party.

An stood next to the planning board, not wanting to tell anyone that she was most afraid of that. Khang came and gave her a small screw.

“You gave me too many snails.”

"This one is from the first shelf. It's extra."

“Why keep it?”

“To remember there are things that seem redundant but are needed somewhere.”

An turned the screw in his hand. “Are you talking about the yard?”

“I'm talking about everything.”

The sentence made her so distracted that she wrote down the opening hours wrongly. Must fix it tomorrow.

In the evening, An and her mother went to see a university in the south of the city. The campus is not as luxurious as the school she studied at, but has a community space design studio and a small practice room. One student instructor said they often do projects with neighborhoods, schools and libraries.

An looked at the cardboard models and remembered the backyard. She no longer sees design as just making beautiful places; it is about making a place where people can stay.

“You like it?” Mom asked.

"I don't know yet. But I want to find out more."

“That's enough.”

Dad called to ask for the results. An said he was undecided. He did not force.

“You can submit many applications,” he said. “Don't choose a door just because it has a family name plate on it.”

An smiled. “It was good that Dad told me that from the beginning.”

“If I told you from the beginning, you wouldn't have listened.”

“That's right.”

The festival started with an incident: the school yard speakers lost sound. Huy ran as if the school had just lost its entire civilization. Like using a club's portable speaker. Mai placed a photo board there sunny location. Khang checked the rain garden because it was cloudy.

Students and parents came in large numbers. Some people read books, some people exchange things, some people participate in planting trees. A security guard sat on an anonymous chair and said it was sturdier than his chair.

An led the group of guests through the yard. One parent asked why the project was not named after her father's hotel. An replied: "Because the yard belongs to the school and the neighborhood."

The parent nodded, then placed a book on the shelf.

Huy organized a joke-telling game, but a 10th grader told a joke that was too long. Huy still clapped his hands, saying it was "a comedy with a novel structure". Mai takes photos of everyone smiling, no need to write names.

When it rains lightly, the rain garden comes into action. Water flows into the tank, does not overflow. Khang stood under the roof, his eyes shining. An looked at him, seeing the joy of someone making useful things.

At the conclusion, the council walked onto the stage. Father An stood with the principal, representatives of parents and the neighborhood group. An held the screw tightly in his hand.

The principal announced: the backyard will be retained, Khai An company will move the entrance to the east, the school will sign an operating agreement with students and the neighborhood. The option is re-evaluated after one year, with publicly available data.

Applause rang out. Huy shouted until he was hoarse. Mai hugged Nhu. Khang stood still for a few seconds then looked at An.

An did not run to hug him. She just held up the screw. Khang understood and smiled.

After the stage, his father said to An: "Have you chosen a future for yourself today?"

“No. But I know how to choose.”

Father nodded. “That's enough.”

The festival ends with everyone cleaning up trash. There are no fireworks scenes. Only the chairs are folded, books are put on shelves, potted plants are watered. An swept the yard with Khang, just like the first day but not as clumsy as before.

“You scan better,” Khang said.

“I have experience.”

“I had to find a new compliment.”

“Just take your time.”

Afternoon light poured on the sign "Please leave a place for those who come later". An read that sentence and thought about the unnamed future. She doesn't need to close it right away. Just know you want to make places that make others feel like they have a place.

After the festival, An and her mother went to three universities. The first school has beautiful classrooms but no workshop. The second school has moderate tuition but the design program is more commercial. The third school is smaller, has a project with the neighborhood and a practice room open until evening.

An asked students about group work, material costs and how to ask for support. She did not ask which school was the most "prestigious". Her mother didn't suggest it, just wrote the answer in the notebook.

When he returned, An made his own comparison table. She added a column "feeling after leaving", then felt embarrassed because she didn't know how to measure it. Mom said not everything important requires a score.

Her father looked at the board and asked why the third school ranked first. An said because there she found herself wanting to continue what she started in the backyard.

“Then you can submit it,” Dad said.

"There's no need for dad to choose for you."

“I'm studying.”

In class, Khang said he also went to see the school. He likes the computer lab but worries about tuition and rent. An wanted to ask his father for support, then stopped.

“Would you like to hear a scholarship option?” she asked.

Khang nodded. “Listen, but I turned myself in.”

An provides program information, does not send email instead. He read, asked the deadline and prepared the documents himself. When he needed someone to proofread, An helped like a classmate.

“Thank you,” Khang said.

"Me not doing much.”

“That's a good thing.”

An understands that helping doesn't always mean leaving his fingerprints. Sometimes it means opening a drawer of information, then letting someone else take it for themselves.

An submitted the application on time. She didn't know the outcome, but knew that this time she chose the door she wanted to knock on.

Khang sent her a short message: "Don't forget to eat before waiting for the results." An replied with a photo of a home-cooked lunch box.

An opened Khang's scholarship letter, read the program name and smiled. She didn't tell her father, because it was Khang's achievement. He told me he would notify me when he got the results. An replied that she would wait.

In the afternoon, An realized he was opening the banking app out of habit. The account still had enough money, the extra card was still in her wallet, but she no longer used that number to measure whether today was worth it or not. She bought a glass of iced tea at the school gate, sat at the last table and wrote three lines in her notebook: "I want to study. I want to do useful work. I want to have time for others.” She left the fourth line blank because she didn't know who she wanted to become.

Mom saw the page when she brought An home. She did not ask why her daughter left the room blank. She just said that in the past, she also had a notebook with many blank pages, and it was those pages that allowed her to change jobs, change cities and meet Father An. “The future is not a multiple-choice test,” Mom said. “You are allowed to answer later.”

At school, Khang started repairing an old bicycle for a 10th grader so he could go further to school. He made a list of spare parts, asked for Ms. Dung's opinion before receiving support money from the class fund. An asked to write down each item clearly. Khang nodded but said she didn't need to do it for her. Two people sit next to each other, one calculates the price, one checks the brakes. No one talks about the distance between them. The numbers on paper are enough to show they are doing the same thing.

That night, Khang texted: "If I get a scholarship, I will treat you to a cheap meal." An replied: "If I get accepted, I will cook for you again." Khang asked her what she knew how to cook. An sent a photo of a pot of slightly mushy rice. He replied: "Then I will bring extra bread." An smiled alone in front of the screen, seeing that waiting could also be a fun part of the future.