Chapter 13 — The Arrow That Missed the Mark

Two weeks before the regional finals, Thanh Van unexpectedly came home earlier than expected, taking a few days off from her job as a youth coach to have time to spend with her family and, as she said on the phone, "to watch her sister practice before the competition."

Thanh Tam was having breakfast when she heard the door open, and Thanh Van walked into the house with her suitcase in tow, her familiar bright smile appearing as soon as she saw her sister. "Tam!" she called, putting down her suitcase to hug me.

"You came back so early, why didn't you tell me in advance?" Thanh Tam said, although in her heart she was both happy and a little surprised and worried.

"I wanted to make it a surprise," Thanh Van smiled, sitting down at the breakfast table with the whole family. "Besides, I want to have time to watch you practice before the official competition. Maybe I can give you some advice."

That statement, even though it came from goodwill, made Thanh Tam feel a slight tension creeping into the otherwise happy breakfast. She smiled and nodded, but in her heart began to worry about having to practice under the watchful eyes of her sister who was once a "legend" of her school's Archery Club.

That afternoon, right on the club's training schedule, Thanh Van asked permission to accompany her to the practice field, using the excuse of wanting to visit the place where she had been during her high school years. Teacher Kien was visibly happy to see his former student appear, spending the first fifteen minutes of practice chatting and reviewing old memories in front of the entire club.

"This is Ly Thanh Van, former captain of my club, a silver medalist at the national student championship," Mr. Kien introduced to the new members who had never heard of Thanh Van, his voice full of pride. "You have a very good example to follow."

Those introductions, although not aimed directly at Thanh Tam, still made her feel the eyes of everyone in the club immediately focused on her, as if secretly comparing her with her sister standing next to her. She tried to keep a neutral expression, but her hand began to tighten as she grabbed her bow to begin the practice session.

"Just practice normally like always," Nam Khanh said softly, coming to stand next to her before the official training session started, realizing the tension rising in her. "Don't let Ms. Van's presence make you change the way you are used to shooting."

"I'll try," Thanh Tam replied, took a deep breath, trying to focus on her familiar process.

But no matter how hard she tried, she still couldn't completely get rid of the feeling of being observed and evaluated when she knew that Ms. Van was standing in the corner of the field, watching her every move with the expert eyes of someone who had reached the pinnacle in this sport. The results of that day's practice session were not bad, but not as good as recent practice sessions, the scores fluctuated more erratically than usual.

"You shot pretty well," Thanh Van commented after practice, approaching Thanh Tam with an encouraging smile. "But I noticed that when you pulled the rope, your elbow was a little lower than standard. I made the same mistake in the past, it took me a while to fix it."

That comment, although professional and well-intentioned, made Thanh Tam feel a different kind of pressure — the feeling that even in an area where she thought she was beginning to be confident, her sister could still point out shortcomings after just a short observation, something that made her remember all her old obsessions about always being inferior to her sister's standards.

"Thank you," she replied, trying to keep her voice normal, even though the heavy feeling in her heart had returned more clearly than in recent weeks.

On the way home, Thanh Van continued to talk endlessly about her memories of competing, about how she overcame the pressure, about the psychological strategies she used, all with the good intention of helping her sister prepare better for the upcoming finals. But for Thanh Tam, each story and each piece of advice is like a small brick piling up on the pressure that already exists in her heart.

That night, when Thanh Van went to bed early because she was tired after the long car ride, Thanh Tam sat in her room, texting Yen Thao, the tone of each word filled with fatigue. "Miss Van is back, and I feel the same pressure to return as when I first joined the club. She doesn't mean anything bad, but everything she says makes me feel like I'm not good enough."

Yen Thao replied immediately, her tone through the message was full of understanding. "I understand that feeling. But remember that you have improved a lot, don't let a few days of Van being at home make you forget that. Can you try talking to her, just gently, no need to stress?"

"I don't know how to start," Thanh Tam replied, sighing through the text message. "I'm afraid that telling her will upset her, or worse, she'll think I'm blaming her for something she didn't mean."

"Just take it slow," Yen Thao texted back. "There's no need to solve it all overnight. There are still two weeks until the finals, just focus on practicing first, talking to Ms. Van can be done later."

Thanh Tam nodded even though you couldn't see it through the text message, feeling somewhat relieved after the conversation. She put down her phone, took out her notebook, and wrote down a few thoughts before going to sleep, although her hand shook slightly when holding the pen, a sign of the tension that had been building up all afternoon.

"Miss Van came home, and I realized that even though I've improved a lot in controlling my emotions while practicing, her presence still has the power to make all the old fears resurface in just one afternoon. I don't blame her, I know she just wants to help me get better. But I also realized, maybe I need more than one practice session to learn how to stand up to her eyes, especially when the actual competition day gets closer."

She closed the book, turned off the light, lay down on her bed in the dark, her heart heavy with a new worry that she knew she would have to find a way to face in the two short weeks left before the regional finals — not only facing her opponent on the field, but also facing her own complicated feelings for the sister she loved deeply but also harbored a fear that could never be matched.

In the following days, Thanh Van continued to accompany her sister to practice sessions, and although she always tried to maintain a supportive attitude and not give too much feedback, Thanh Tam still felt a dull pressure every time she knew she was watching her from the seats outside the shooting range. During a practice session, she shot much better, and Thanh Van clapped her hands and cheered proudly; On another day, she shot worse than usual, and even though she didn't say anything reproachful, the look of worry that flashed across her face was enough to make Thanh Tam feel like she had just disappointed her.

One evening, after dinner, when her parents went to their room to rest, Thanh Van called Thanh Tam to the living room to sit and talk, bringing with her an old photo album that she found in the closet. "I found these photos from when I first learned archery," Thanh Van said, opening the album and pointing to the old, slightly yellowed photos. "Look, back then I was much clumsier than you are now."

Thanh Tam looked at the photos and saw a younger, thinner Thanh Van, standing with a rather clumsy archery posture, completely different from the perfect image she always imagined when thinking about her sister when she was in school. That surprised her a bit, but it wasn't enough to completely erase the feeling of pressure weighing on her heart.

"Were you also that clumsy?" Thanh Tam asked, his voice mixed with curiosity and skepticism.

"Of course," Thanh Van smiled, flipping through a few more album pages. "No one is born good, Tam. I also had to practice hard, cried because I missed a shot, and thought about giving up. It's just that I rarely tell you those stories, because I always just want to tell happy stories, the times when I succeeded."

Thanh Van's confession made Thanh Tam pause a bit, a new feeling crept in between the familiar layers of pressure. But it was late at night, and both were tired after a long day, so the conversation just stopped there, not deep enough for Thanh Tam to say everything that was in her heart about the feeling of being compared over the years.

"Okay, it's late, go to sleep, you have to get up early to go to school tomorrow," Thanh Van said, closing the album and stroking her sister's head affectionately like when she was a child.

"Yes, you should go to bed early too," Thanh Tam replied, stood up, brought her unresolved feelings to the bedroom, telling herself that perhaps, one day soon, she would need a longer conversation with her sister, a truly frank conversation about what they had never said for many years.