Chapter 45 — Summer After the Rain

The community fund finally had enough money to buy a completely new projector. Minh seemed inexplicably sad because the old machine would no longer be used regularly, even though it often burned out the light bulbs and often went haywire on the most important screening nights.

They decided to keep the old machine in a separate display corner. The small screen placed next to it always shows the first movie, recording the moment Linh's father officially opened the theater in the past. People in the town took turns signing next to it, noting the first movie they had ever seen here in their lives.

Minh carefully installed the new device, but forgot to remove the lens protection cap before turning it on. The whole room was engulfed in pitch darkness without a trace of light. Hau clapped his hands loudly, thinking it was an intentional artistic effect. Linh quickly took off the lens cap, then suddenly leaned over and kissed Minh lightly on the cheek to the surprise of everyone around.

He stood frozen in place. Hau asked if we needed to turn on more background music to match the scene. Mrs. Nam threatened that if he dared to turn on the wedding music, she would immediately throw the speaker at him.

The new projector produces much brighter images and colors that are much more realistic and vivid than before. But Linh still insists that theaters do not need to be absolutely technically perfect; The most important thing is always that someone is willing to sit down and watch it together.

That night, Minh gave Linh a handmade bracelet from a piece of metal taken from the old dike gate. He clarified that this was not a wedding ring, simply a promise that the two would always fix things together, whether it was machines or their relationship itself.

Linh immediately put the bracelet on her wrist. She said that if he accidentally lost it, she would force him to repair the entire bridge himself to atone for his crime.

The ring has not been polished smoothly, the edge of the ring still shows a small scratch. Minh carefully rounded the sharp edge so as not to cut her hands, but deliberately kept the natural rust layer of the metal intact. Linh asked where he got that piece of metal from. He explained that Tan had allowed him to reuse the metal part removed from the old dike gate, after clearly recording the origin in the archives.

“You gave me a gift and still didn't forget to make a record?” she asked, her voice filled with teasing.

“I learned that from you.”

They walked around the theater yard together, checking each door before closing for the night. Linh's mother saw the new bracelet on her daughter's hand and did not ask anything else. She just said that her father once gave her a hairpin made from a broken piece of film wire. These family gifts always seem to carry a bit of hidden danger along with a lot of effort put into them.

Linh told her mother what Minh had said to her on the terrace the previous day. Mom told her there was no need to answer right away. She used to think love meant taking the person you love far away to avoid all dangers. Now she understands that sometimes love is choosing to stay and learning to open the door of her heart.

Minh stood in the hallway, pretending not to hear the conversation between mother and son. Hau passed by, patted his shoulder and told him that if he wanted to be the official son-in-law in this house, he had to learn how to tear tickets well first. Minh asked if there was any need to take a test. Ms. Nam replied that she definitely had to take another test to endure the heat of summer.

Linh looked at both of them and couldn't help but laugh. She still hadn't officially called Minh her lover in front of everyone, but when he held out his hand, she took it without hesitation.

Linh's mother looked at the new bracelet and asked if it needed to be recorded in the theater's general asset book. Linh replied that it was not necessary, but she would record the metal origin and manufacturing date for completeness. Minh lamented that his feelings had just been placed under official archive management. Ms. Nam responded that anything worth preserving should have a clear label.

On the day Linh was about to go to the city to enroll in a new management course, her mother prepared a full bag of rice, warning her daughter not to just eat lightly with bread at the station. Minh gave her a familiar yellow raincoat, saying that if it was sunny, he could temporarily use it as a sitting cover. Hau intended to give a long speech, but Mai promptly pulled his hand back because he had prepared ten minutes just to talk about how to miss his lover without affecting his duty schedule.

Linh did not promise to call every night. She just promised to report as soon as anything happened that made her feel like she wanted to avoid everything. Minh also did not promise to wait at the gate every day. He only promised to keep seat number 13 until she returned, but if a customer needed it, he would still sell tickets normally. They both laughed, understanding that love cannot make the whole world stop working for them.

On the bus, Linh opened her notebook and began planning the new semester: three core courses, two practical projects, and one full day of rest each week. At the bottom of the page, she added a line: "Ha Vang is not an excuse to avoid your own future." Minh texted her a short message: "The projector is working fine. There's no need for you to save it anymore." Linh texted back: "Very good. But don't arbitrarily remove the red wire."

That afternoon, Ha Vang was still open to show a children's movie as usual. Hau stood to welcome guests at the door, Linh's mother sold tickets, and Minh was on duty in the projection room. When the screen started to light up, the whole group looked towards the vacant seat number 13. None of them felt sad about it. That chair is no longer a place to wait for someone to return, but has become a seat that is always ready for anyone who needs a place to sit down and rest.

Before the bus left the station, Linh turned back to pick up the notebook she had forgotten on the seat. She saw Minh standing alone in the projection room, attentively rereading the three rules on the whiteboard. He picked up the pen and added a fourth line: "If you don't know what to do, just ask the person standing closest to you." Linh said this sentence sounds like the rules of an elementary school. Minh replied that even adults sometimes need to be reminded of such simple things.

She took a photo of the board and immediately sent it to a group of friends in her management class in the city. A friend responded that their group was also trying to maintain a community reading space, but the original founder was exhausted and thought of giving up. Linh did not accept the offer to act on their behalf. She just sent back the sample of the process she was using and suggested that if they really wanted, Ha Vang was willing to share her experience through an online chat. Minh asked when did she become such a real consultant? Linh replied that since she learned not to take everything into her own hands anymore.

The bus left the station just in time for clear weather. Linh put the yellow raincoat on the chair next to her, opened the book and started reading. For the first time in my life, leaving a place no longer felt like an escape; it was exactly like a road connecting two places she had every right to call her home.

Along the way, she texted her mother, asking if the ticket counter situation in the morning was going smoothly. Mom replied very quickly, along with a photo of her standing next to the new cash register, smiling brightly even though she was still a bit fumbling with the buttons. Linh looked at that photo for a long time and felt strangely warm inside. She remembered the image of her mother standing outside the theater gate on her first return home, looking so timid and unfamiliar that no one knew how to welcome her. Now, she has become an indispensable part of the machine running this place, no longer just a lost guest.

Halfway through the journey, the car stopped at a rest stop along the highway. Linh went down to buy a glass of sugarcane juice and stood leaning against the side of the car, watching the bustling flow of people passing by. She took out her phone to review the video Minh sent from last night: the scene of him clumsily practicing stamping a new ticket, the scene of the cat jumping onto Hau's desk and then being chased around the lobby. Those small, simple images made her laugh alone in a crowd of strangers, and she realized that, even though she was on the way away from An Binh, a part of her heart would always stay there.