Chapter 30 — Second Floor Library Girl

The last page of the book loan book is no longer blank.

The library board placed the notebook in a low glass cabinet, next to messages from former students. Torn pages should not be re-glued to pretend they were never lost. Ms. Hanh placed a caption next to it: "There are things that were once kept private to protect readers. From now on, we protect them with rules and consent."

Ngoc read that sentence on the final day of the semester. She didn't know who wrote the first message, but gave up trying to find the name. The room can be remembered without making a person the owner of memories.

Phuc walked in with two loaves of bread. He placed a nest in front of Ngoc.

“Treat?” she asked.

"Discount."

“Haven't you been promoted yet?”

“I'm learning a trade, not yet a shop owner.”

“So how much do I have to pay?”

“A true assessment.”

Ngoc took a bite. "Tasty."

Blessed waiting.

"Very delicious."

“I take note.”

“Do you have a rubric?”

“In mind.”

“So it's not transparent.”

Phuc smiled. “I will vote.”

Two people sat at a table near the window. Outside, the school yard is setting up booths for the book festival. Tell the commander to hang the lights, Lam checks the name tag, and Minh Chau arranges the schedule. Hoang Duy is in charge of the elevator area and for the first time did not argue with everyone about the paint color.

Ngoc asked him if he had changed his mind about the second floor.

“I no longer think I have to choose a side,” Duy said. “I think we have to ask what each space can do.”

“That's progress.”

“I learn from you.”

Bao heard it and said Duy had to pay copyright fees. Lam gave him a roll of tape and told him to go to work.

Book festival is open. People who come are not only students but also parents, neighbors, former students and people learning vocational skills around the neighborhood. The first floor has easily accessible shelves, the second floor has a quiet corner, the new block has a computer room. The three places are connected by a clear sign.

Ngoc stood at the second floor door, asking customers if they needed assistance but did not pull anyone's hand. Phuc checked the path, then guided a child to use the elevator. Bao distributed cakes outside the reading area, keeping the rules despite complaining.

A former student recognized the glass cabinet and said she used to borrow books here but didn't dare write down her name for fear of being reminded to return them late. Ms. Hanh asked if she wanted to record the story. The former student nodded, but did not want to write down his name. Ngoc gave her paper and let her write it herself.

New message: "I used to think the library was a place for good readers. It turns out it's a place that helps me read more slowly without getting behind."

Ngoc read and felt her eyes sting. Phuc stood next to him without asking. He just gave me a tissue.

“I haven't cried yet,” Ngoc said.

“I haven't said yet.”

“You give the towel first.”

“I'm prepared.”

“Did you prepare everything?”

“No. I just put the towel in my bag.”

Ngoc received the towel and smiled.

In the afternoon, Father Ngoc gave a short speech. He did not mention An Nhien's name more than once, just said that the company was fortunate to participate in a plan that users had a clear right to request. He thanked the students for pointing out things that adults easily miss.

Then, he looked for Ngoc on the stairs.

“Are you happy?”

"Have."

“Do you still want to stay at this school for the rest of the year?”

Ngoc looked at the second floor. "Have."

"Afterward?"

“I don't know yet.”

“You can return to An Nhien to learn an apprenticeship if you want.”

“I will try many places first.”

Father nodded. “Dad waits for you to choose.”

Ngoc realized that was a bigger gift than her father arranging a position.

Phuc called her from the door. He said a 10th grader needed to find books about mechanics but the new shelves have not been updated yet. Ngoc went with him. They looked up the catalog, found the book on the first floor, and brought her there. Phuc explained how to view the code, Ngoc showed how to write a message.

A 10th grade friend asked: "Are you going to work at the library forever?"

Phuc said: “No.”

Ngoc said: “But there will be others.”

“What if someone else doesn't do well?”

“I give my opinion.”

“What if they don't listen?”

Phuc said: "Record it, ask the responsible person, then fix it together."

She nodded and borrowed the book.

At the end of the day, the library board meets on the second floor. They look at festival metrics, feedback, and operational errors. There were three times the elevator waited too long, two books were misfolded, and one sign was difficult to read. No one hides mistakes for fear of ruining the image.

Bao recorded in the minutes: "The cake ran out before closing time."

Minh Chau said it was a private business matter. Bao said reader hunger is an operational problem. Ms. Hanh gave permission to write in the appendix.

Phuc asked Ngoc about next year's plans. She said she wants to create a book exchange program and reading time for beginners. Phuc said he wanted to teach safe car repair at the yard. Lam wants to make a career bookcase. Hoang Duy wanted to design the signage to be easier to read.

Everyone has a plan, no one waits for the richest person to answer.

It was dark, the lights on the second floor were on. Ngoc stood at the door, remembering the first day she got off the wrong bus, wiped the dust, argued about bread and didn't know one room could hold so many people.

Phuc stood next to him. “What are you thinking?”

“I think the second floor can be kept.”

“No. We're keeping it.”

Ngoc turned. “Did you correct your sentence?”

“I clarify the conditions.”

“So what are the conditions to keep you?”

Phuc was silent, then asked: "Do you want to keep me?"

Ngoc felt her heart beat fast. She could joke and change the subject like he did. But she remembered the written rules: ask first, be clear, let others choose for themselves.

“I want you by my side,” she said. "Not because of the library, not because you have to fix everything. I want to try and see if we can grow up together."

Phuc looked at her and didn't immediately smile.

“I want too,” he said. “But I don't promise to text every minute.”

“I don't need it either.”

“I will be busy.”

“I'll be busy too.”

“I still return the books on time.”

“That is a mandatory condition.”

Phuc smiled. He asked if he could hold her hand. Ngoc nodded.

Two hands touching each other next to the window frame. No fireworks, no big vows. There were only the sounds of people clearing tables below, the sound of bicycles outside the gate and the light from the second floor falling onto the floor.

Bao shouted from the stairs: "Are you two going to come down to eat cake?"

Ngoc and Phuc let go and laughed together.

“Let's go down,” Phuc said.

“Are you a treat?”

"Discount."

“I accept.”

Before leaving the room, Ngoc opened the book to borrow books and wrote on the last page:

"The library doesn't keep you by locking the door. It keeps you by a place to sit, a question to be heard, and the chance to come back after you've gone away. If you've read this far, leave a page for the next person."

Phuc read it and asked if she was going to sign it.

Ngoc shook her head. "No need."

“I know who wrote it.”

“You know that's enough.”

They turned off the lights, locked the door and went down together. The second floor is no longer where the publisher girl tries to pretend to be poor, nor is it where the bread seller tries to prove he doesn't need anyone. It is a room occupied by many people, where differences do not disappear but are juxtaposed long enough to become trust. thought.

Outside the gate, grandmother Phuc was waiting. Father Ngoc stood next to the car and said he would take the group home if anyone wanted. Bao asked if the car had room for wheels. Ngoc's mother sent a text message asking if she had eaten dinner yet.

Ngoc looked at Phuc, then answered her mother: "I'm about to eat. I have a friend with me."

Phuc heard it and said nothing. He just squeezed her hand gently, then let go before walking down the steps.

That night, the second floor's lights were on for an extra minute after closing time, because someone came back to pick up a book that was left on the table. Ms. Hanh opened the door and asked if the person wanted to borrow it too. The person nodded, wrote down his name and return date.

The new page started with a name no one in the group knew. And that's the best way for a happy story to continue: not to close completely, just to make room for those who come later.

On the bus ride home, Ngoc opened the notebook and saw that Phuc had secretly written a line on the edge of the paper: "Don't return the book late." She wrote below: "Don't say good things and then leave."

Phuc read and laughed. “I can do both better.”

“You won't be perfect.”

"You too."

“I know.”

“I like you know.”

Ngoc looked through the glass window. The city moved backward, signs flashing on and off. She misses the big house, the meals with lots of cutlery, and the car that used to pick her up every morning. She doesn't hate those things anymore. They are just a part of her life, not her whole being.

She also remembers the small cake stand, her grandmother, Bao, Lam, Minh Chau, Hoang Duy and Ms. Hanh. Each person has put a chair in the room, sometimes with effort, sometimes with a question, sometimes by listening.

Dad texted to ask if she was home yet. Ngoc replied: "I'm returning. Today on the second floor there is another person borrowing books."

Father sent: "That's good."

Mom asked what the egg recipe was like. Ngoc sent a photo of dinner, this time the tomatoes were cut more medium. Phuc texted the clapping symbol, then asked her if she remembered to eat vegetables.

Ngoc realized that everyone in her life did not need to stand in the same room to become part of the story. They just need to leave enough space for her to choose her own path.

Tomorrow, the library will reopen according to a new schedule. There may be errors, someone forgets, a cake falls to pieces, and a book is returned late. But the door will open, the window will have a new line, and a person standing outside will be asked what they need before being given directions.

Ngoc closed the book and leaned her head against the car door. Phuc sat next to him, not sleeping because he was afraid of going to the station. She didn't mention it. She just gave him a leaf-shaped clip so he could put the bus ticket in his pocket.

“You keep it,” Phuc said.

“I'm keeping it.”

“Keep what?”

Ngoc looked at him and smiled. “A place for those who come later.”