Chapter 10 — The Arrow That Missed the Mark

There are only three weeks left until the regional tournament, and the training pace of the entire club's official competition group has increased significantly. Thanh Tam now trains five times a week, a combination of the official club schedule and private sessions with Nam Khanh, although she is much more careful in balancing the intensity of training and rest compared to the hectic first months.

One Thursday evening, while Thanh Tam was studying in her room, the phone downstairs rang. She heard her mother pick up the phone, her cheerful voice coming from the living room, and not long after, her mother called up the stairs.

"Thanh Tam, Ms. Van called to talk to me!"

Thanh Tam put down her pen, walked downstairs, and took the receiver from her mother's hand. "Miss Van?" she spoke into the phone, her voice still a little surprised because her sister rarely called the landline, usually only texting via cell phone.

"Yes, it's me," Thanh Van's voice rang out over the line, warm and familiar. "Did you hear mom tell me you joined the Archery Club? Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"I... I wanted to say it but I didn't have the chance," Thanh Tam replied, a bit embarrassed. She never proactively told her sister about joining the club, partly because she was shy, partly because she didn't know how to explain her initial motivation.

"How long have you been practicing? How many rounds can you shoot now?" Thanh Van continued asking, her voice full of excitement, with absolutely no intention other than the sincere concern of an older sister for her younger sister.

But for Thanh Tam, those questions, even though they came from genuine love, still made her feel a familiar pressure creeping back. She briefly talked about her training process over the past few months, trying to keep her voice normal, but inside she couldn't help but compare her achievements with what she knew about her sister's journey at the same age.

"Wow, that's fast progress," Thanh Van commented when she heard Thanh Tam talk about the steady shooting of rounds nine and ten. "When I first started practicing, it took nearly half a year to reach that level. You're much better than I was before."

That compliment, although well-intentioned, accidentally touched on an old worry that Thanh Tam thought had gradually subsided. She smiled wryly even though her sister couldn't see it through the phone. The familiar feeling of being compared on the scale returned, although this time the person comparing was her older sister, whom she knew for sure had no intention of pressuring her.

"I think it's because I have a good club captain who teaches me well," Thanh Tam replied, trying to steer the conversation in a different direction, less related to direct comparisons between the two sisters.

"Is that so, that captain must be very good," Thanh Van smiled, not realizing the change in her sister's tone. "Will you participate in the upcoming regional tournament?"

"Yes, I am on the official competition team," Thanh Tam replied.

"Wow, that fast," Thanh Van said, her voice full of surprise and pride. "I was only able to join the official team when I was in eleventh grade. You're faster than me. I'm sure you'll do very well, it's our genes."

"I'll try," Thanh Tam replied, her voice fading, the familiar feeling of heaviness crept back into her heart even though she tried not to let it dominate the conversation.

The call lasted a few more minutes, revolving around other things — Thanh Van's new job as a youth coach in another city, her plans to be able to visit home at the end of the year. When hanging up the phone, Thanh Tam stood silently for a moment by the landline, a conflicting feeling rising in her heart - both happy because her sister cared about her, and heavy because of the unintentional comparisons that kept appearing in every conversation between the two sisters, even though neither of them really meant it.

"What did Ms. Van say that made your face so sad?" the mother asked, noticing the change in her daughter's face when Thanh Tam returned to the living room.

"It's nothing, Mom," Thanh Tam replied, trying to smile. "She just asked about practice."

Mom looked at her for a moment, her eyes a little worried, as if she was considering whether to ask more or not, but in the end she just nodded and did not ask further questions. "Go to your room and continue studying. Don't stay up too late."

Thanh Tam went to her room, but instead of continuing to study, she sat down on the bed, took out her phone and texted Nam Khanh, briefly recounting the recent call. She didn't expect much, she simply wanted to share the feeling that was weighing heavily on her heart with the person she trusted the most right now.

Nam Khanh replied after a few minutes, the message was short but full of understanding. "I don't think you mean it, but I understand why you still feel heavy. There are words, even if they come from love, that can still make the listener feel pressured if they have been used to being compared for too long. You're not wrong in feeling that way, just like my sister isn't wrong in asking. It's just that the two sides haven't found a way to talk to each other without accidentally touching on old wounds."

Thanh Tam read and reread that message several times, feeling somewhat comforted by his non-judgmental understanding. She texted back: "Thank you. I think maybe one day I need to talk frankly with Ms. Van about this, but I don't know where to start."

"When you're ready, I believe you'll find a way," Nam Khanh texted back. "And now, don't let that call affect tomorrow's practice session. You've improved a lot, don't let an accidental sentence make you forget that."

Those words helped Thanh Tam feel a little lighter, although the heavy feeling had not completely disappeared. She put down her phone, took out her notebook, and wrote a few thoughts before going to sleep.

"Today, Ms. Van called, and I realized that even though I have learned many new things in the past few months, the feeling of being compared can still return in just a short conversation. Maybe it's not a sign that I haven't improved, but just a sign that I still have a long way to go to learn how to separate the love of my family from the pressure I put on myself. I think, one day, I need to talk frankly with Ms. Van. But not yet. now."

She closed the book, turned off the light, lay down on the bed, looking up at the ceiling in the dark. The regional tournament is three weeks away, the first stage that will truly test everything she's learned over the past few months — not just about her archery technique, but also about how she handles pressure from those she loves the most. She hopes that when that day comes, she will be strong enough to carry all those lessons into every arrow she shoots, instead of letting old fears control her again.

The next morning at school, during recess, Thanh Tam told Yen Thao about last night's call, her voice still filled with a hint of heaviness that hadn't completely dissipated. Yen Thao sat and listened attentively, occasionally nodding, then sighed when Thanh Tam finished telling.

"I think the problem is not with Van, nor with you," Yen Thao said, her voice rarely thoughtful. "The problem lies in the way your whole family, from your parents to Ms. Van, are used to talking about achievements as a way to show love, without realizing that it accidentally turns every conversation into a ranking. Ms. Van complimented you on being better than she was in the past, she must have thought it was a sincere compliment, without knowing that you would feel heavy after hearing it."

"I know she didn't mean it," Thanh Tam said, her voice low. "Because I know she didn't mean it, it's even harder for me to say how I feel. Saying it feels like I'm blaming her for something she doesn't even know she did."

"But if you don't say it, that feeling will keep repeating itself," Yen Thao said, holding her friend's hand. "I think at some point, you will need to sit down and talk frankly with Ms. Van, not to blame, but so that you both understand each other better. But it doesn't have to be now. Just let the tournament pass, then move on."

Yen Thao's advice, although simple, helped Thanh Tam feel somewhat relieved, as if sharing that burden with someone who understood her had made it a little less heavy. She nodded, thanked her friend, then the two moved on to talk about other light topics before the bell rang signaling the end of recess.

During practice that afternoon, Thanh Tam tried to put last night's call out of her mind, focusing completely on each movement as Nam Khanh often reminded. But occasionally, between shots, the image of Ms. Van's excited voice on the phone flashed back, causing her hand to pause for a split second before letting go of the arrow. Nam Khanh, with her familiar subtle observation, immediately noticed the difference in her shooting rhythm.

"Are you still thinking about last night's call?" he asked quietly, when the two of them had a short break in the middle of practice.

"A little bit," Thanh Tam admitted. "I keep thinking, I don't know when I will truly get rid of this feeling, even though I have tried so hard."

"Maybe not completely free," Nam Khanh said, his voice gentle as if sharing something he had contemplated for a long time. "It's about learning how to carry that feeling without letting it control you. It's like the fear of missing a shot - you don't have to completely stop being afraid to shoot well, you just need to learn how to shoot well even though that feeling still exists in parallel."

Thanh Tam nodded, those words were like a familiar reminder but still had the power to soothe her whenever needed. She took a deep breath, raised her bow, and continued the practice session with a calmer mind, carrying both the fear of comparison and the newfound belief that she could learn to live with it without letting it overwhelm her, at least until she had the courage to confront her sister frankly about all the things that had never been said between them.