Chapter 31 — Summer After the Rain

The court sent a notice to temporarily close the theater because the dispute had not been completely resolved. It was a brief piece of paper but enough to make the whole group speechless when reading it. Hau's hand shook so much that he dropped the cup of tea he was holding. Linh had to return to the city to work with a lawyer for a few days. She said she would be gone for three days. Minh asked if he needed him to come with him. She told him to stay and hold the projector, because the theater could not be left empty even for one evening.

At the bus station, her mother gave her a lunch box carefully wrapped in a warm banana leaf. She said people often think leaving is a betrayal. Linh replied that she only left to find a way to come back, an answer that made her mother smile slightly.

Minh stood outside the car door, hands in his pockets, saying no one would scold him for plugging in the wrong wire again. Linh told him to video call her if he missed her too much. He asked if there was a fee. She gave him a signed theater ticket on the back, a little joke before parting.

In the car, when the town had retreated, Linh received an email from Tuan: the group agreed to suspend the project if the community came up with a feasible conservation plan within the time limit. She had to prepare the complete documents in two weeks, a frighteningly short amount of time.

In the city, she works late every day in a cramped lawyer's office filled with papers. The lawyer taught her how to read land plans and dry legal terms that she had to memorize. Mom sends pictures of the theater every day via text message, from the corner of the ticket counter to the rows of empty seats. Minh sent a photo of a cat lying on the projector, with the caption "the head of the technical department is on vacation", making Linh laugh amid the dry pages of documents.

Linh misses An Binh more than she thought. She doesn't remember the sound of the rain or the specific scenery, but remembers the way people argued and then fixed the roof together, the way a tense evening could end with group laughter around a pot of instant noodles.

One evening, while sitting alone in a small, temporarily rented room in the city, Linh reopened old photos on her phone: photos of the theater when it was just dusty, photos of the first test screening, photos of her mother clumsily standing behind the ticket counter, photos of Minh falling asleep next to the projector. She realized that she had lived in this city for many years and was used to the fast pace of life, but just a few weeks in An Binh made her miss it to an unexpected extent. She called an old close friend and told her briefly about what was happening. The friend asked Linh if she was in love with that place, or loved someone there. Linh didn't answer right away, just laughed it off and changed the subject, but that question kept lingering in her mind all night.

The next day, during her lunch break at the lawyer's office, Linh took the opportunity to go to a nearby coffee shop, where she used to sit and work for hours when she worked full-time in the city. The familiar scenery, the melodious background music, the properly brewed coffee she once liked, but this time she felt something was missing, an emptiness that she had never noticed before. She found herself comparing, unconsciously, the noise of the city with the humorous quarrels at the Ha Vang theater, the aloof politeness of city people with the sometimes clumsy straightforwardness of Mrs. Nam or Aunt Tam. She finished her cup of coffee, paid, then returned to the office with a new determination: this file must be completed well, not only because of professional responsibility, but because of a place she had begun, without daring to say it out loud, to call home.

On the third day, she decided to return earlier than planned, without informing anyone. Minh was falling asleep under the screen, holding the speaker like a pillow. He woke up when he heard footsteps and asked her if she brought the cake home. Linh said yes, but only told someone to apologize for falling asleep instead of being on duty properly at night.

Minh immediately apologized, but not for falling asleep, but because he missed her so clearly that he felt embarrassed admitting it. She threw the cake at him, but still deliberately left one on the table for him, a soft-hearted gesture hidden behind a stern look.

Linh returned from the meeting with the district, carrying a thick stack of additional requests. The conservation plan was not immediately approved because it lacked a detailed safety report, a specific three-year estimate and a commitment not to turn the theater into an uncontrolled gathering place. She put the paper on the table and sighed heavily. Hau asked if he could commit to controlling his eating of popcorn. Ms. Nam said that is the biggest issue that needs to be resolved in the entire file.

Minh helped her read each request, sitting next to her all evening. He knew the electrical system, roof and emergency exits well, but did not know how to express them into administrative reporting language. Linh showed him how to turn the sentence "this connection is very scary" into "the connection shows signs of overheating, needs to be replaced before...". Minh said the new sentence sounds much less emotional. She replied that emotions should be reserved for when people sit and watch movies, not when filling out safety forms.

They worked hard until the next evening. Linh's mother brought rice to the desk, Tuan volunteered to repair the old electrical panel, Hau called to ask for quotes from a few different places for new chairs. Each person is responsible for a part of the job, no one has to understand everything. When Linh completed the last page of the application, she realized it did more than prove that Ha Vang was technically safe. It also proves that they have learned how to operate a team without a single person holding all the responsibility on their shoulders.

Minh asked if she planned to stay in An Binh after her application was approved. Linh said she wasn't sure yet. He nodded, then didn't ask any more questions. That quiet respect made her feel like her answer could wait a little longer without being forced.

Hau gave Linh the completed new budget, this time without the "money coming from nowhere" column like before. He also voluntarily marked items that needed double checking to avoid errors. Linh praised him, Hau said he had grown much better after being scolded by Mai three times in a row. Mrs. Nam said it was indeed an educational method that took a lot of effort from the scold.

The last night before submitting the application, Linh called Tan to check all the technical data one last time. Tan didn't ask about the numbers, just asked if she was sure she wanted to be named as the person responsible, because that meant she would bear all the consequences if there were any mistakes. Linh looked through the window. Ha Vang is darker than usual because they have turned off the lights to save electricity, but in the yard there are still people diligently repainting the emergency exit arrows under flashlights.

“I'm not sure,” she said. “But I know that if I don't put my name on it, I'll be handing my life over to someone else to decide.”

Tan was silent for a moment then said that was a good enough answer to get started. After the call, Linh divided the documents into three identical copies, stored one copy in a moisture-proof cabinet in the projection room, sent one copy to Mai via encrypted email and put the last copy in her personal bag. She texted Minh the time the car would return, not telling her how scared she was. Minh replied with a photo: a cat lying on a stack of papers, one paw pressing on the words "backup plan".

Linh burst out laughing, her laughter breaking away some of the tension in her heart. She walked down the hall, woke up a dozing Hau and asked him to sign to confirm that he had carefully read the entire new procedure. Hau complained that adults turned everything into cumbersome paperwork, but still signed very neatly, his signature became more and more neat than before. As the clock passed midnight, the group came together to close the theater one last time before the decisive day. Linh stood for a long time in front of chair number 13, touching the edge of the chair as if touching a sacred appointment. Tomorrow morning they would face trial and the future was uncertain, but for the first time, she didn't see herself walking that road alone anymore.

Minh waited for her on the outermost step, both hands in the pockets of his raincoat even though it wasn't raining, it was just a habit he hadn't broken yet. He asked her if she wanted him to take her home, even though it was only a few steps from the theater to the apartment upstairs. Linh shook her head, but still held his hand as they both walked up the dark stairs, the only light left on was the yellow hallway light. She told him, her voice quiet but firm, that no matter what the outcome tomorrow was, she was grateful for these weeks, learning to trust a team instead of just believing in herself. Minh did not respond verbally, just squeezed her hand a little more gently before the two parted ways to the room, each carrying a piece of hope for tomorrow.