Chapter 7 — No One Wants to Lose

The school library on a Saturday afternoon was almost deserted, with only the gentle sound of the ceiling fan and pale sunlight filtering through the curtains covering the rows of old bookshelves. Lam Khe sat at the table in the corner, in front of her was a book analyzing classic chess games that Nam Phong had borrowed for her from the club's library.

"You're here so early," Nam Phong appeared, pulled out a chair and sat down opposite, holding a stack of notes in his hand. "I thought I had to wait for you at least fifteen minutes like usual."

"I've been curious about this match since last night," Lam Khe replied, pointing to the open page of the book, which reprinted a famous match between two grandmasters from decades ago. "White sacrificed the queen on move twenty-three, I don't understand why he did that when there was clearly a safer move."

Nam Phong looked over the page and nodded. "This is one of my favorite games. White sees five moves ahead, knowing that sacrificing the queen will lead to an inevitable checkmate, even though on the surface it looks like suicide. That's the beauty of chess — sometimes what looks like the biggest loss is the surest path to victory."

"But how can people dare to believe in their own calculations to the point of being willing to sacrifice the strongest piece on the chess board?" Lam Khe asked, her voice a bit genuinely concerned, not just an academic question.

"Because they have practiced enough to believe in their own calculating ability," Nam Phong replied, his eyes looking at her meaningfully. "That belief does not come from blind recklessness, but from thousands of hours of practice, hundreds of games played, dozens of failures experienced and lessons learned. No one is born daring to sacrifice for the future, Lam Khe. It is a skill built over time, like any other skill."

Lam Khe remained silent, looking back at the page, trying to imagine the process behind that bold move — not an impulsive moment, but the result of a persistent training process that she had never thought of in that direction.

They spent the afternoon analyzing a few more classic games together, each giving their own perspective — Nam Phong focusing on his intuitive sense of when to take a risk, and Lam Khe meticulously analyzing every possible defense that could occur if that risky move failed. Gradually, she realized that those two perspectives were not as opposed as she once thought, but actually complemented each other, creating a more comprehensive picture of each chess position.

"You know," Nam Phong said, leaning back in his chair, his voice thoughtful, "working with you has made me look at many games differently. I always thought defense was just a stepping stone before attack, but you showed me that defense can also be an art of its own, requiring just as much patience and precision as attack."

"Thank you," Lam Khe smiled, feeling warm at that recognition. "I think that was the first time someone said my defense was an art, not a weakness to be overcome."

"It's not a weakness," Nam Phong affirmed, his eyes steady. "The weakness is when you only know how to defend. When you combine both, you will become an extremely formidable opponent, I'm sure of that."

The afternoon passed quickly in that lively atmosphere of exchange. When the library was about to close, the librarian gently reminded them, and they were both startled to realize they had been sitting for nearly four hours without paying attention to the time.

"Are you hungry yet?" Nam Phong asked as they packed up their books and walked out of the library. "There is a tea shop near the school gate, the tea is quite good, or..."

He left his sentence unfinished, with a rare hesitation, causing Lam Khe to look over curiously.

"Or what?" she asked.

"Nothing, just asking if you want to eat tea," Nam Phong replied quickly, a bit hastily, making Lam Khe laugh at that sudden awkwardness - something that rarely appeared in him.

"Okay, let's go," she replied, feeling strangely happy at the slight change in Nam Phong's attitude.

The small tea shop is hidden in an alley near the school gate, with only a few low plastic tables and an elderly shop owner who is familiar with Trung Vuong students. They ordered two glasses of green bean sweet soup with coconut milk, sat down at a table near the door, looking out at the small alley that was gradually lighting up as dusk fell.

"I have a question," Lam Khe said, gently stirring the cup of tea in front of her. "Have you never been afraid of losing? Like, really afraid, not just saying it."

Nam Phong was silent for a moment, seemingly considering the most honest answer. "I'm scared," he said finally. "But I think my fear is different from your fear. I'm more afraid of regretting not daring to try, than afraid of failing when I try my best. As for you, I think you're afraid of loss itself, right?"

Lam Khe nodded slowly, surprised at that precise understanding. "That's right. I'm afraid if I take a risk and fail, I'll lose something I can't get back."

"But in chess, most of what you lose can be regained," Nam Phong said softly. "One lost game is not the end. You can still play the next game, learn from your mistakes, do better. It's just a matter of whether you believe it or not."

Lam Khe looked down at the cup of tea and was silent for a moment. "There are things in life that aren't like chess," she said softly, her voice carrying a slight sadness that she didn't intend to reveal. "There are losses that don't have the next game to fix."

Nam Phong looked at her, realizing there was something deeper behind those words, but he didn't ask further, just nodded slightly, letting that silence exist without trying to fill it with hasty words of comfort.

"Then maybe," he said after a moment, his voice more cautious than usual, "chess could be a place for you to practice taking risks, before you're ready to apply it to real-life things, which are much more important."

Lam Khe looked up at him, a feeling of deep understanding spreading in her heart, different from the superficial understanding she often received from people around her. She didn't answer right away, just smiled slightly, a smile that contained more than words could describe.

They sat at the tea shop for a while longer, talking about other idle things, but in Lam Khe's heart, Nam Phong's words still lingered, like a small seed that had just been sown, waiting for time to germinate.

When it was completely dark, they walked together to the intersection where their paths turned in two different directions. "Thank you for this afternoon," Lam Khe said, standing for a moment before saying goodbye. "I learned more than I thought, not just about chess."

"Me too," Nam Phong replied, his eyes gentle under the streetlight that had just turned on. "See you Tuesday."

She nodded, turned and walked away, but her heart still held the warm feeling from this afternoon, a feeling she had never fully experienced with anyone other than Yen Chi for many years.

When she got home, she saw that Yen Chi had texted her to ask about the "chess group lesson" as she had told her best friend in the morning. Lam Khe sat down on the bed and quickly typed a few lines of response, but when Yen Chi asked "group study or disguised dating", she was confused and didn't know how to answer satisfactorily. In the end, she only sent back a red face emoji with the words "shut up", making Yen Chi giggle through the voice message sent immediately afterwards.

She put down the phone, lay down on the bed, looked up at the ceiling, letting thoughts of this afternoon slowly pass through her mind - the daring game of sacrificial chess, the cup of green bean tea in the small alley, and especially Nam Phong's last words about how chess could be a place for her to practice taking risks before taking it out in real life.

She wondered if the "much more important things" he mentioned included the relationship between her and her father - a relationship that still had many awkward silences, many things that had never been said directly even though they both implicitly understood that they were always present somewhere between them. Or does it include the vague feelings that are gradually growing in her heart every time she thinks about Nam Phong, feelings she hasn't dared to name yet, and hasn't dared to admit frankly even to herself.

She took out her notebook, not to jot down missed opportunities on the chessboard as usual, but to jot down a new line of thought: "Maybe taking risks doesn't mean losing control. Maybe it just means believing enough — in yourself, in others, in the possibility that everything will be okay, even though there are no guarantees."

Reading those words again, Lam Khe smiled alone in the darkness, feeling like she had just completed a small move, not on the familiar wooden chess board, but right in her own mind - a move that moved forward, instead of forever shrinking back like before.