Chapter 22 — The Alley Is No Longer On The Map

A few days after the souvenir box digging session, Vy proactively texted Khanh to invite Khanh to dinner, not to discuss the project, but simply a meal between two old friends. They chose a popular restaurant near the alley, where Khanh often visited after closing hours, not luxurious but cozy, in the right style, both of them felt more comfortable than the high-end restaurants Vy often frequented for work.

The restaurant is hidden in another small alley, with simple wooden tables and chairs, and a handwritten menu posted on the wall, yellowed by steam from the kitchen. The owner, a woman in her fifties, recognized Khanh as soon as he walked in and warmly greeted her like a long-time regular customer.

"Are you bringing your girlfriend today, Mr. Khanh?" The shop owner teased, making both of them confused and not knowing how to respond.

"Old friend, aunt, friend from high school." Khanh quickly explained, her ears slightly red from embarrassment.

"Well, it doesn't matter if it's an old friend or a girlfriend, the main thing is good food." The owner smiled and brought out two hot bowls of sour snakehead fish soup, the aroma wafting sweetly into the small restaurant space.

The two of them ate in silence for a while, only the sound of spoons and chopsticks clashing and the fan whirring overhead. Vy tasted a piece of sour soup, the harmonious sweet and sour taste awakened a whole world of childhood memories in her, different from the sophisticated, delicate but lifeless dishes she often used at parties to entertain partners.

"So delicious." She blurted out, her eyes shining with genuine amusement that rarely appeared on her normally calm and professional face.

"Yes, I've been eating at this restaurant since it first opened. The prices are reasonable but the quality is stable." Khanh replied, then remained silent for a moment, his eyes became more serious. "What's wrong with you asking me out to eat?" He asked, picking up the food and looking at her quizzically.

"Nothing special." Vy replied, but her eyes clearly showed that something was about to spill out. "It's just that, after the canned peaches the other day, I kept thinking about the question you asked me during the argument - why did I disappear for so many years? I think I owe you a more complete answer, not evasive like the previous times."

Khanh put down his chopsticks, looked at her intently, did not urge, just waited silently.

"At first, it was because it was really busy." Vy began, her voice slow as if trying to organize the thoughts that had been scattered in her head for many years. "But later on, I realized there was another, much deeper reason, that I had never dared to admit, even to myself."

"What reason?" Khanh asked softly.

"I'm scared." Vy said, her voice shaking. "I'm afraid that if I keep in touch regularly, telling him about my life over there - about the opportunities, achievements, new things I experience - he will feel self-conscious, will feel the gap between us growing bigger. I'm afraid my own success will become a weapon that will unintentionally hurt him."

Khanh was silent, feeling the painful yet logical truth in her explanation.

"So I chose to gradually withdraw." Vy continued, tears began to roll down. "I told myself that it was a way to protect him, to protect our friendship from comparison, from guilt. But looking back now, I realize it was just a selfish excuse. I withdrew not because of him, but because of myself — because I was afraid of facing the guilt of finding myself farther and farther away from where I came from, afraid of having to explain, of having to take responsibility for my choices. Staying silent is much easier than having to face honestly with sir."

She stopped, took a deep breath before speaking again, her voice breaking into a small sob. "I used the name of 'protecting you' to hide my own cowardice. That's the truth I've owed to you for the past fifteen years, and I'm sorry it took me so long to have the courage to say it."

Khanh sat silently, Vy's words were like a beam of light shining into a hidden corner he had never seen clearly during all the years of holding on to his doubts and silent resentment.

"You know," he said, his voice starting to tremble, "I'm partly to blame for this, and I've never admitted it to anyone, not even myself."

"What error?" Vy asked, surprised.

"There were times when you called, I didn't pick up, even though I was free at the time, sitting idle at the shop." Khanh confessed, his eyes avoiding her for the first time that evening. "I'm also scared, you know. I'm scared to hear your voice talk about life over there, about new friends, new opportunities, and then I feel small and insignificant in this car repair shop. So sometimes I intentionally let the phone ring and then turn it off, telling myself 'I'll call you back another time', but then I never call back."

The parallel confession of both people, each revealing a hidden part of their own selfishness, creates a moment of deeper understanding than any unilateral apology could ever bring.

"So it turns out," Vy said, her voice both laughing and crying, "we were like two angry children, each waiting for the other to call first, then in the end no one called, letting fifteen years pass in silence."

"Yeah, that's stupid." Khanh smiled, even though her eyes were still red. "If someone had picked up the phone first back then, maybe we wouldn't have had to go through all those years of misunderstanding and separation."

"But if we hadn't gone through all those years, maybe we wouldn't be mature enough to sit here and talk frankly like today." Vy said, a bit of philosophy suddenly emerged amid the chaos of emotions. "Sometimes you have to go a long way, it's painful, to understand the true value of what you once had."

Khanh nodded, did not refute, just quietly poured another cup of iced tea for her, a simple gesture but filled with a concern that did not need to be expressed in words.

"So we all contributed to pushing each other away." Vy spoke, her voice both bitter and strangely relieved, as if a burden that had been weighing her down for so long had finally been laid down, though not completely gone.

"YES." Khanh nodded, reaching out to gently wipe away the remaining tears on her cheeks, a gesture so natural that neither of them had time to realize the sudden intimacy in that action. "But at least now we can talk it all out, no longer having to guess, no longer having to carry around the misunderstandings that have been simmering for years."

Vy looked at him, her eyes filled with an emotion that she did not dare to name clearly, afraid that if she named it right now, amidst so many unfinished things of the project, the neighborhood, and the whole past that had not yet completely healed, everything would become more complicated than what either of them could handle.

"Thank you." She said, her voice quiet. "Thank you for giving me the opportunity to speak out, and for being brave enough to say your part as well."

The two of them sat there, in the middle of a popular restaurant, noisy with people's voices and the sound of dishes and chopsticks colliding, but it seemed like a private space had been created around them, where fifteen years of separation, misunderstanding, and hurt had finally found a way out, even though the road ahead, between work, between the liberation project was still hanging in the balance, there were still many things that could not be completely resolved in one evening.

On the way home, Khanh drove Vy on the shop's old motorbike. She sat in the back, no longer shy like before, her hand gently holding onto his shoulder every time the car went over a bumpy road. The cool night wind blew through, carrying the lingering smell of kitchen smoke from the houses on both sides of the street, a familiar smell that Vy realized she had missed all those years away from home without daring to admit it.

"Thank you for driving me." She said as the car stopped in front of her car park at the beginning of the alley.

"No thanks, it's a small matter." Khanh replied, but then he hesitated one more sentence before she could get out of the car. "Tomorrow, if you're free, come over and have dinner with my mother. She's been asking about you since the day she found out you're home."

"I'll stop by." Vy replied, the smile on her lips for the first time in many days became relieved, no longer forced or hiding anything behind.

She stood watching the shadow of Khanh's car disappear into the dark alley, her heart filled with a rare feeling of peace, even though she knew clearly that tomorrow, when the sun came up, she would have to return to meetings, deadlines, and an internal battle that had not yet ended to protect the plan she had promised to the people here.

She opened her palm, looked at the assembled coin sparkling under the streetlight, then carefully put it in her breast pocket, right next to her heart, as a reminder to herself that no matter how difficult tomorrow was, she could not allow herself to lose what she had just found again.