Chapter 30 — Music Sent After School

The end-of-semester broadcast began with the sound of chairs being pulled out. Nhien deliberately did not use a musical score, so that the listener would realize that there was someone waiting in the room. Lam greeted each class group, Khang read the privacy rules, and Ms. Mai briefly told how the audio archive was maintained. Duy stood in front of the microphone, holding a song that had gone through too many revisions.

He said not everyone needs to become a singer, broadcaster or sound engineer. Some people just need to record their laugh, an apology, or the sound of the way home. The club exists so that those things are not considered too small to keep.

Nhien continued with a story about the first day she opened the door to room 3C. At that time, she thought she came to find a family secret. Finally she found people who would listen without asking her who she should become. She thanked Duy, Lam, Khang, Ms. Mai and everyone who sent the recording and then withdrew it.

The music is played last. It has the sound of the train, the sound of the classroom door, the sound of rain, the sound of strings and just enough silence. When the song ends, the listeners do not applaud immediately. They send back their sounds: the sound of a pen, the sound of a bicycle, the sound of their mother calling them down for dinner. The screen displays short lines with no names or numbers.

After the broadcast, everyone went to the rooftop. The city under their feet gradually brightened. Duy asked Nhien what he would study next year. She said she didn't know yet, but this time she would choose for herself. Duy said he was the same. Lam stood nearby pretending to cough, and Khang announced that if the two of them talked in circles again, he would turn on the microphone.

Nhien smiled and gave Duy one earphone. They heard the sound of the school after school: it was no longer an empty space, but a song that continued.

On the opening day of the workshop, each person brought a favorite sound. There was the sound of a clock, the sound of a bicycle, the sound of boiling water and laughter. No one needs to prove that their sound is better than another sound.

Ms. Mai opened the door, Lam turned on the light, Khang checked the source. Nhien and Duy stood next to each other in front of the microphone, ready to ask each person questions before recording.

The frequency of tomorrow

One year later, room 3C is no longer called an equipment warehouse. On the door is a new sign: **OPEN FREQUENCY — COMMUNITY SOUND STUDIO**.

Every Friday, students can come record an audio, learn how to store it, ask for permission, and tell the story behind it. No one has to pay to listen. Those who want to contribute equipment are registered, but do not have the right to make decisions. Recordings can be shared for classrooms, libraries, and community projects.

Quynh Lam became the person in charge of the program, still speaking quickly but knowing how to stop at the right time. Technical manager Tuan Khang no longer accidentally plugs chicken sounds into the news but still keeps chicken files in storage because "history needs laughter". Ms. Mai works as a consultant. Every time she sees someone ignoring the permit, she knocks the clock on the table.

Sound design course at another school, return to Binh Minh on weekends. She no longer hides her last name, but she also doesn't use it as an introduction. In her collaborator profile, she wrote: “Ha An Nhien — listener and sound designer.”

Duy completed his internship and was invited to stay at the studio. He chose to work part-time to continue supporting Open Frequency. Every time he calls home, he still asks what new sound there was after school today.

On the opening day of the community workshop, Duy brought home a small tape recorder. Nhien carries a red coil. Lam hangs the Master's photo Tich has grown older, lying on the roof of the speaker. Aunt Huong placed the old radio in the reading corner, next to the handwritten copy of The Letter Without Envelope.

Minh Quang came as a technical support person, not sitting in the front row. He has completed the transfer of After School Frequency files to Huy's school and family. Original tape 03 is stored in a sealed warehouse; The rights to use belong to Duy, on the condition that no commercial broadcasts are made and Nhien's voice is not used when she disagrees.

Duy has never played the entire original. There are parts that should only exist between the people in them. That doesn't make the song any less important; it makes them understand that the right to silence is also part of sound.

The first broadcast of the new year has the theme "Tomorrow's Frequency". Lam asked students what they want to send to someone they haven't met yet. Some people send the sound of new shoes, some send the sound of boiling water, some send a greeting in the language of their grandparents.

Nhien and Duy sat in front of the control desk. He put on headphones, she read the time. The two no longer compete for gain; They know when to increase and when to leave space.

“Three, two, one,” Nhien counted.

Lam opened his mouth. The sound of school after school poured through the speakers, clear and filled with background noise.

When it comes to the music, Duy plays the first three notes. Nhien included the sound of the train, the sound of newly collected rain, and the footsteps of students going home. After the chorus, she leaves a three-second silence.

During those three seconds, Nhien heard Duy breathing. He looked over at her, asking with his eyes if she could keep it. She nodded.

The sound of breathing becomes part of the song.

At the end of the program, Lam read the list of people who had contributed, including those who chose to remain anonymous. She said: "A good story is not because it is the loudest. It is good because the teller has the right to choose how to tell it, and the listener knows they are listening with responsibility."

After turning off the microphone, Duy and Nhien went to the terrace. The city has changed a bit: there are new train lines, new trees, and a cafe under the gate. The sound is also different, but the sound of the wind still finds its way through the railing.

“Do you remember the first time the song played?” Nhien asked.

“Remember the sound of loudspeakers.”

“I remember you saying ‘no way’.”

“I didn't know then that songs could take people to another place.”

"Now?"

“Now I know people have to choose whether to go or not.”

Nhien took out a three-point, two-point, three-point pick from his pocket. She kept it for a year.

“Are you still there?”

“Borrowed item.”

“I'll let you borrow it for longer.”

"How long?"

Duy looked at her, not using data to dodge. “Until you don't have to ask.”

Nhien laughed. “Then I will ask.”

“I will answer.”

They stood next to each other, listening to the sound of the schoolyard. Duy reached out and gently touched her hand. Nhien did not withdraw. No fireworks, no big promises. Only one fist is clear enough.

From the stairwell, Lam shouted: "If you two are a couple, remember to submit your license to use breathing sounds!"

Nhien replied: "Already exists!"

“When did you sign?”

“Right after school.”

Lam laughed loudly. Laughter ran down the hallway, through room 3C, hit the old speaker and became the final sound of the show.

In the Open Frequency repository, a new file is created:

**after_school_30 — Tomorrow's frequency.**

Creator: HiBook Original and Binh Minh community.

Usage rights: sharing for education, attribution, no resale.

Note: "Don't delete laughter. Don't cut parts that other people haven't given permission for. And if If you hear a door close, ask before breaking it — there may be someone inside learning how to open it.”

Music Sent After School ends not with a period, but with the sound of the school bell. After that, each student walked on different paths, carrying their sounds with them.

Tomorrow, if they meet again, they will recognize each other by listening.

Before leaving the terrace, Nhien opened the audio store application. The map shows a new point in the city Duy is working in: the sound of the train at 5:16 p.m. He sent it, along with the studio's license and a note: "I heard myself walking, not leaving."

Nhien replied in the school yard at 5:10 p.m. She did not write the lyrics, only sent the audio with your consent. Two files join each other in the warehouse, like a conversation without needing to stand in the same room.

Lam set a delivery schedule for next week, Khang updated the kit, and Ms. Mai unlocked the notebook. Aunt Huong closed the counter late, but still left the radio running low. Minh Quang left school without any staff accompanying him.

Open Frequency continues to grow with very normal things: the sound of a chair being pulled out, laughter, the sound of someone apologizing, the sound of someone saying "don't use this part". Each time, the group remembers why they started.

Music Sent After School doesn't come out on top because it's the loudest. It is remembered because it does not use one voice as an excuse for another. It lets those who have been cut choose which part to listen to.

And when a speaker suddenly makes a crackling sound, no one is quick to call it a ghost. They checked the wires, asked the person in charge, and then listened a little more.

After school, the door to room 3C is always open.

Not for everyone at the same time, but for anyone who knows how to type, who knows how to wait, and who knows how to ask.

In the corner, the Chairman stretched his neck. Lam held the microphone away from it and asked: "Are you allowed to record the lizard's sound?"

The lizard blinked.

Khang wrote in the notebook: "No answer yet."

Everyone laughed. Laughter ran through the room, entered the map, and remained as an open dot.

After school, the door to room 3C is always open.

Not for everyone at the same time, but for anyone who knows how to type, who knows how to wait, and who knows how to ask.

After school, the door to room 3C is always open.

Not for everyone at the same time, but for anyone who knows how to type, who knows how to wait, and who knows how to ask.

In the corner, the Chairman stretched his neck. Lam held the microphone away from it and asked: "Are you allowed to record the lizard's sound?"

The lizard blinked.

Khang wrote in the notebook: "No answer yet."

Everyone laughed. Laughter ran through the room, entered the map, and remained as an open dot.