Chapter 13 — Realizing It's Too Late

There were no flowers inside, nor jewelry. There is only one set of Russian learning notes that he arranged himself. The first page contains a sentence in Russian that is not really fluent. “Sorry, I realized it too late.” I closed the notebook and assigned the student to be in charge of retrieving documents. Ha Canh Chau was still standing outside the door. “Aren't you going to keep it?” “No use.” “I studied for half a year.” “That's your harvest.” He looked at me, the corner of his lips pulled up into a faint smile: "You still refuse to forgive me." “I don't hate you.” “It's even more annoying than being hated.” “So that's what you have to endure.” He nodded, not begging anymore. As he walked down the steps, he suddenly stopped: "Thu Y, after that house was sold, I went back and looked at it once. On the kitchen wall there is still the menu you wrote down. After the tomato noodles, there was a little salt written on it. Until the end I still didn't know you didn't like sweets. It's just that every time I bought a cake, you would eat it." “Now you know.” “That's right, now I know.” He put his hands in his pockets and walked into the crowd of people on the side of the road. I don't turn around. In the spring, I led the first group of young interpreters on a mission. In the hall were representatives from different countries. Once the headset is connected, the speaker's voice is transmitted. The intern interpreter next to him was so nervous that he couldn't hold his pen firmly. I helped her adjust the device: "Don't be afraid. Listen to the whole sentence first." She nodded, took a deep breath. The speech begins. I pressed the talk button, accurately conveying another language into everyone's ears. During the break between sessions, the trainee interpreter gave me a cup of warm water: "Miss Khuong, someone is looking for you outside." The person standing outside the door was Roman, the customer I had met in the restaurant that night. He specially went to Beijing to submit an additional written apology, and also apologized to me for the joke in Russian. “Miss Khuong, I thought it was just a joke between husband and wife, but I didn't expect it to hurt you.” I replied in Russian: "Putting an ignorant woman in your joke is not a game." He bowed his head: “I understand.” “Leave the documents behind, you can go.” After Roman left, the trainee interpreter asked me: “Do you know him?” “Used to know.” “He spoke Russian so fast, I only understood half of it.” “Listen for a few more years and you'll understand.” She followed me towards the hall, asking again why I chose Russian as my first foreign language. I pushed open the soundproof door and saw my name placed neatly in front of the interpreter position. “Because there are words, the sooner you understand them, the better.” The next speaker's voice rang out in the headphones. I sat down, turned on the microphone. This time, I don't have to stay silent for anyone else. — End of story —