Chapter 44 — Summer After the Rain

Linh began to renovate the upstairs apartment into a real place to live, instead of just a temporary place like before. Minh brought a new bed, but it was missing a base. He quickly made a temporary stand using four thick books. Linh discovered that one of them was an important accounting book of the theater, so she asked him if he really wanted to read a book or have a decent place to sleep.

Linh's mother moved to a small room in the back, but continued to help sell tickets every day. She and her daughter gradually learned to live close together without having to ask too much about each other's private matters.

Minh didn't officially move in with him, but his toothbrush gradually appeared in the bathroom, then the repair tool box, then even a strange cat running from nowhere. Linh set a personal rule: do not edit anything while the two of you are arguing. Minh complained that this would take away half of his daily work.

The two of them invited each other to have a general health check-up after the recent storm because they both had a persistent cough. The doctor asked what the relationship was between the two, Minh quickly replied "colleagues with development prospects". Linh immediately gently kicked his leg under the examination table.

In the evening, they sat on the terrace overlooking the sparkling river. Linh confessed that she was still afraid of losing the theater, afraid of losing her mother, and afraid of losing him too. Minh said fear is not a bad omen, it is simply an alarm bell that reminds me clearly of what is really important to me.

Linh placed her head on his shoulder. This time he didn't joke like usual. They both looked at the small sparkling lights along the riverbank, each light fluttering and changing color with each passing wind. Minh said that his mother once told him never to build his whole life based on a promise with no way out. He had spent many years misunderstanding that that advice meant being ready to leave everything at all times.

“Do you understand differently now?” Linh asked.

“It's about building a place where people can leave at any time without feeling locked in.”

Linh thought of her mother, her father, and all the people who had been forced to keep silent for so many years. She said that if one day she wanted to study in the city, Minh absolutely could not use the theater as a rope to tie her down. He said he would personally help her pack her luggage neatly.

“What if I want to stay?”

“I'll ask if you stay because you really want to, or just because you're afraid of something.”

The two did not kiss at that moment. They just sat quietly next to each other, letting a kind question open up a long road ahead without needing to rush to answer.

Down in the yard, Hau called out to ask who took his ladder. Minh replied no one, it was still in the same place as always. Hau asked why he didn't see it anywhere. Mrs. Nam called out from the kitchen that it was because he was not looking in the right place.

Linh laughed out loud. She realized that loving someone does not mean being saved by that person from all the difficulties in life. Love is sometimes simply having someone remind you to look in the right direction, then wait patiently while you take your own steps.

Minh asked her if she wanted him to come with her during her first days in the city. Linh said she could completely manage on her own, but still wanted him to know her classroom address for peace of mind. He wrote it down carefully in his notebook, without asking any more questions. Both are gradually learning how to care for each other without turning that care into a stifling form of control.

Linh sat up straight and looked straight into his eyes. She realized that Minh's last question was different from all the clinging words she had ever heard in her life. No one asked her to prove her feelings by sacrificing herself, nor did anyone put the responsibility on her shoulders to make a place absolutely perfect. Minh simply wants to know if she can walk with him and still fully maintain herself.

“I want to stay in An Binh,” she said slowly. "But I also want to go to school, I want to have days when no one calls my name just because the theater has trouble. I want you by my side, but I don't want you to be the one guarding the door for me."

Minh smiled softly. He said he also wanted to accompany her, but still retained the right to go home early when he felt tired. They both agreed on three small rules: don't arbitrarily make decisions for the other person, don't use silence as an implicit punishment, and each month must set aside a day completely without mentioning anything about the theater. Hau accidentally overheard from the stairs and asked him if he could take time off from electrical repair work that day. Linh replied yes, but in return he had to wash his own clothes.

The next morning, they wrote those three rules together on a whiteboard hanging in the projection room. It was not a formal vow, merely a gentle reminder. Linh looked at the brand new words and suddenly realized that her feelings were like a room being gradually repaired: needing enough light, needing a clear way out, and needing someone willing to come back to check regularly, even when she thought everything was fine.

In the following days, Linh and Minh tried to seriously apply the rule of not talking about the theater. They walked around the market together, arguing passionately about whether the rolls should be added with fried onions or not, then discovered that neither of them could remember the way home without the familiar train whistle to guide them. Minh recounted the story of her childhood dream of becoming an artist, while Linh confessed that she once hid a comic book at the bottom of her suitcase the day she decided to leave home.

They do not try to completely resolve all the problems of the past in just one short evening. There are parts of the story where Minh just listens quietly, there are parts where Linh needs to keep quiet for herself. When passing by the riverbank, he asked her if she wanted to go back. She replied that not yet, because today's vacation hadn't ended yet. Minh nodded, not even glancing at his watch once.

When it suddenly started to rain, the two quickly took shelter under the awning of a store that had been closed for a long time. Linh couldn't help but laugh when she saw that one side of his shirt was soaked. Minh said that was proof that he had always walked next to her, not leading the way forcefully. That sentence was somewhat clumsy, but it was enough to make her hold his hand tightly until the rain stopped.

When the rain stopped, they slowly walked back to the theater under a sky that had just been washed clean of dust, small puddles on the road reflecting the sparkling street lights like broken mirrors. Minh asked her if she wanted to stop by Aunt Tam's sweet shop for a cup of tea before leaving. Linh nodded, then the two sat on the sidewalk, sharing a cup of hot green bean soup, not saying much, just quietly enjoying that rare, simple moment.

Aunt Tam looked at the two of them, smiled but didn't say anything, just quietly scooped them some more coconut milk without charging extra. When they got up to leave, her aunt told them to keep peaceful evenings like this, because life will always get busy again. Linh nodded, feeling that that simple advice was heavy with a deep understanding that she had probably drawn from her own life.

Returning to the theater, Linh stood for a moment in front of the three-rules board hanging in the projection room, then took a pen and added a small line below: "And always remember to visit Aunt Tam's tea shop whenever possible." After reading it, Minh burst out laughing, saying that it was the only provision in the entire code that he was willing to comply with unconditionally without further discussion.

That night, before turning off the light in the projection room, Linh stood for a moment and looked around the small room that had become strangely familiar: the desk littered with papers, the old projector still labeled with her father's hand, and now a whiteboard recording the two people's little rules. She realized that this room, through each layer of dust and each repair, had silently become a witness to a long journey that she had never dared to imagine when she first set foot back in An Binh, planning to stay for exactly seven short days, then quietly leaving like so many times before in her life.