Chapter 48 — Summer After the Rain

The morning of the official community operating agreement signing ceremony, Minh pulled Linh into the projection room earlier than usual, among two old film rolls and a box of unfinished screws. He said he didn't bring flowers because he was afraid that falling petals would jam the ceiling fan blades. Linh asked him what he was going to say to make it so serious.

“I've been thinking about our marriage since three months ago,” he said, his voice slow and different from usual. “But every time I try to speak, someone calls me to fix the roof.”

Linh laughed, half joking and half serious, asking him how far he had prepared. Minh scratched his head and admitted that he still had no ring, no specific plans, only one thing to say: that he hoped that one day, when they were both ready, there would be a wedding without a stage, without one person speaking and hundreds of people listening. Linh looked at him, neither nodded nor shook her head. She just said to let the conversation take its time this time, because there was something more important waiting for them down the hall today.

The signing ceremony of the community operating agreement took place right in the theater lobby, without a large stage or loudspeakers. Each group in charge will sign their respective tasks: general fund, community classes, movie schedule, maintenance work and witness data protection regulations. Linh wants all terms to be so clear that a complete newcomer will immediately understand that he or she has the right to ask anything.

The atmosphere that day was so bustling that it was no different from a real wedding. Hau personally made invitations to send all over town, but printed the wrong date, forcing Mrs. Nam to correct each one with a pen. Aunt Tam cooked a pot of sour soup for guests, and Linh's mother made cakes all morning. Tuan donated a whole set of new chairs to the theater lobby, careful not to write the company's name anywhere. People passing by on the street saw the scene of setting up tables and chairs, bustling flowers and leaves, and assumed that this was a wedding, even though no one stepped forward to clarify.

Phuc's name was not on the guest list, but he still sent a short letter, wishing the two of them would never choose to live in silence like what he once chose. Linh finished reading, put the letter in the general archive with other documents, and did not respond.

During the ceremony, when it was the turn to represent the youngest people in the theater to speak, Minh stood up and said that he could not promise to fix everything that was broken in life. He just promised to always let you know in advance if something goes wrong, and to ask for advice before chipping away at any wall, whether it's the wall of your home or the wall of someone else's heart. Linh continued, saying she couldn't promise to stay here every day of her life, but she promised that whenever she wanted to leave, she would always say so first, and not silently disappear like she once did to this same theater many years ago.

Everyone laughed and cried at the same time, then ate all the dishes on the banquet table. Someone tied a red bow around its neck to the theater's cat for air, but responded with a scratch straight at Minh's hand, making the whole hall laugh.

Linh's mother was the last person to sign the agreement. She wrote slowly, her handwriting was slightly shaky. Linh grabbed her mother's hand as soon as she put down her pen. No one immediately applauded; Then Hau suddenly clapped his hands too loudly, causing the whole hall to laugh.

After the signing ceremony, Linh and Minh cleaned up the tables and chairs together. They found under seat number 13 a brand-new hairpin, which did not belong to her mother. The girl who drew a raincoat explained that it was a gift so that "Miss Linh wouldn't forget to tie her hair neatly when she's busy working." Linh immediately put the clip in her hair. Minh looked at her and said she looked like a real manager.

“I'm still temporary,” she replied, her voice deliberately joking.

“How long will your temporary stay last?”

“When will you stop saying those two temporary words?”

That night, the theater did not show movies as usual. Everyone sat around in the lobby, listening to the sound of light rain falling on the newly repaired corrugated iron roof. There are happy days that don't require a screen at all. Just need a room large enough to accommodate everyone who has been on the sidelines.

Linh's mother carefully put the signed agreement in the common locker, then gave the locker key to three different people to keep. Minh said that was a way to force everyone to gather together if they wanted to open the cabinet to see. Linh replied that that was exactly the case, a place that belonged to the whole community could not depend on just one key.

After the ceremony, Linh reopened the notebook to note unfinished tasks. There's an awning that needs repainting, an air conditioner that needs its filter replaced, two sets of documents that haven't yet been digitized, and a meeting scheduled with the local school. Minh looked over the long list, then asked if she could leave at least one thing for tomorrow. Linh can say it, but it must be clearly written as "tomorrow", not in general as "later" as was often done in the past.

They divided all the remaining work into three groups: things that could wait, things that needed someone else to take over, and things that only Linh could decide for herself. When she saw that the last group was now just two short lines, she felt a strange joy welling up in her heart. Ha Vang now no longer forces all important questions to go through her hands.

That evening, Minh brought a completely new key. He personally engraved on the keychain the small words: "not the only key". Linh asked him if he was intentionally romanticizing the dry job of archiving documents. Minh replied that if he didn't make it a little more beautiful, Hau would probably lose it. The two of them put the new key together in a common box, placing it next to a piece of paper with three questions about kindness that Minh once gave her. There were no bright fireworks at all, just the soft sound of cabinet locks clicking and the feeling that a place truly belonged to many people, and no longer belonged to just one person.

On the day of digitizing all the paperwork, the old scanner kept jamming, making the whole group angry. Hau wanted to hit it hard to make it run again, but the girl who used to draw raincoats suggested trying to remove the paper tray and wipe off the dust first. Minh gave step-by-step instructions, Linh held the instruction manual to read aloud, and Hau held a flashlight to illuminate. It took the whole group an entire afternoon to scan exactly ten pages of documents, but no one was willing to do it faster.

A document is so blurred that the date written on it can no longer be read clearly. Linh carefully noted "undetermined" instead of arbitrarily guessing and finishing the matter. Mai says that little honesty may make some people uncomfortable, but it's what keeps the entire archive from turning into a story re-painted to please the reader. They save three different copies, assign separate access rights, and set clear periodic check schedules.

Minh looked at the slow document scanning progress bar on the screen and asked her if she regretted the past days. Linh said she was sorry, but regret did not mean she wanted to go back to the original starting point. She closed the scanner lid, turned off the projection room light, and walked down the hall with him. Outside, the sound of children busy rehearsing lines for their new movie rang out, chaotic but full of fresh vitality.

Before locking the theater door that night, Linh stood for a moment in front of the agreement that had just been put in the cabinet, her hand gently touching the glass surface of the cabinet as if saying goodbye to a long day. She thought about Minh's words this morning in the projection room, about the wedding that had never officially taken place but the whole town thought it had happened. She was not bothered by the confusion; On the contrary, it warmed her heart to know that, even though no promises had been made clearly, everyone around her was ready to welcome a future with both of them in it.

Minh locked the main door and turned around to see Linh still standing hesitantly next to the filing cabinet. He asked her what she was thinking. Linh said she was thinking about the whole town mistaking today as their wedding. Minh smiled and said perhaps it wasn't really a mistake, but a clever reminder that when they were truly ready, there would be no need to inform anyone, because everyone had already been silently waiting for a long time. Linh lightly punched his shoulder, telling him not to be too happy, but in her heart she also secretly thought that maybe he was right, and she kept that thought for herself, not wanting to say it out loud right now.