Chapter 19 — The Arrow That Missed the Mark

That Tuesday, the day the club had its regular activities, Thanh Tam texted teacher Kien to take a break from practice, saying she was not feeling well, even though she was actually completely healthy physically. She couldn't face entering the practice field, seeing the eyes of the other members, and especially facing Nam Khanh after the bitter words she said on the day of the match.

Mr. Kien texted back, his tone through the text message was full of concern: "Please rest well. But I hope you come back soon, the whole team needs you, and I believe you still have a lot of potential that hasn't been shown yet."

That message, despite its good intentions, made Thanh Tam feel more pressured instead of comforted. She put down the phone, didn't answer, and continued to maintain the excuse of "not feeling well" for that Friday's practice session, then continued the following week.

Meanwhile, at school, Thanh Tam also began to avoid areas where she might accidentally encounter Nam Khanh, changing familiar routes, and eating lunch in hidden corners with few passersby. Yen Thao, the only close friend she still kept in touch with almost normally, immediately noticed this unusual change.

"Are you avoiding Mr. Khanh?" Yen Thao asked directly one afternoon, when the two sat eating in the cafeteria, seeing Thanh Tam constantly looking around as if alert for something.

"I don't avoid it," Thanh Tam replied, but her tone was so unconvincing that even she realized the lies in her words.

"Tam," Yen Thao said, her voice more serious than usual, placing her chopsticks on the table. "I understand you're going through a difficult time, but continuing to hide like this won't solve anything. You don't go to practice, you don't talk to Khanh, you don't even respond to messages from everyone in the club. You're locking yourself up."

"I just need time," Thanh Tam said, his voice a bit defensive. "I don't want to talk about this now."

Yen Thao sighed, not forcing her further, but her eyes were full of worry as she looked at her close friend who was gradually withdrawing, completely different from the confident, open-minded Thanh Tam that she had seen develop over the past few months since joining the Archery Club.

At home, the air is not much better. Thanh Van, after a few days of trying to start a conversation with her sister without receiving a positive response, gradually withdrew into herself and no longer actively talked like before, although she still stayed a few more days before having to return to the city to work. The family meal became much quieter, the parents realized the tension between the two sisters but did not know how to intervene properly.

"What's going on with you and Ms. Van?" Mom asked one night, when they were alone after dinner, Thanh Van had gone to her room to rest early.

"Nothing, mom," Thanh Tam replied, a familiar answer that she had repeated countless times in recent weeks, to her mother, to Yen Thao, to herself.

"You know I don't believe that," Mom said, her voice gentle but firm. "Since the day of the competition, both sisters have been like strangers in this very house. Do you want to tell me?"

Thanh Tam was silent for a long time, feeling like she wanted to vent everything that was building up in her heart, but at the same time felt a vague fear that if she spoke out, her mother would realize how she had ruined everything, not only for Ms. Van but also for herself.

"I just need time," she finally replied, repeating the familiar phrase, then stood up and went to her room before her mother could ask more questions.

That night, Friday of the second week after the bad competition, Thanh Tam received a call from Binh, the person she had been avoiding no less than Nam Khanh the whole time. She hesitated for a moment before picking up the phone, partly because she felt guilty about avoiding her teammates for so long.

"Hello, Binh," she said, her voice a bit forced.

"Tam, how are you these days?" Binh asked, his voice still maintaining the familiar friendliness even though he couldn't hide a bit of worry. "You've been out of practice for so long, the whole team misses you so much."

"I'm... fine," Thanh Tam replied, an answer that wasn't entirely honest.

"Look, I don't want to force you to talk if you're not ready," Binh said, his voice more serious than usual. "But I just want you to know, no one in the club blames you for that match. Not even Khanh - in fact, he worries about you more than anyone, keeps asking me if you're okay."

Binh's words made Thanh Tam feel a warm and painful feeling, knowing that she was making those who cared about her worry just because she did not have the courage to face her own feelings.

"Thank you for calling," she said, her voice choking up a bit. "I just need a little more time."

"Okay, I understand," Binh replied, not pressing further. "But don't wait too long, the second round tournament is still in the individual content, you still have a chance."

After hanging up the phone, Thanh Tam sat quietly on the bed for a long time, Binh's words kept echoing in her head - especially the details about Nam Khanh always asking after her, still worrying about her even though she had treated him so badly. That feeling of guilt, mixed with the fear of having to face it and the feeling of not being worthy of forgiveness, created a complicated spiral of emotions that she didn't know where to untangle.

She looked out the window, the streetlights cast a pale halo into the room, and wondered if she could still return to the path she had persistently built over the past many months, or if that door had closed forever just because of a bad match and words she couldn't take back.

In the following days, she continued to be absent from the club, although in her heart, the torment grew with each training session she missed. She began to notice that she no longer slept as well as before, often waking up in the middle of the night with an indescribable feeling of restlessness, and the dreams of arrows falling out of beer kept recurring, haunting both her sleep and class hours when her mind wandered, unable to concentrate on the lecture like before.

She also noticed a change in the way she viewed herself — no longer a sense of perfectionism that pushed her to try harder like in the first months of joining the club, but a feeling of paralysis, a silent belief that perhaps she didn't belong there, not in anything that required perseverance and courage in the face of failure. It was a completely different feeling from the familiar perfectionism, almost the opposite, but equally dangerous, because it made her want to give up completely instead of trying to fix it.

One Wednesday afternoon, after school, Thanh Tam accidentally passed by the training ground area and saw from afar the familiar figure of Nam Khanh instructing the other members. His voice echoed evenly even though she could not clearly hear the content. She stood for a moment, hiding behind a nearby tree, observing him from afar with a feeling of both nostalgia and pain.

She saw Binh shoot a shot that missed quite a distance, and instead of being upset, Nam Khanh just laughed, patted his shoulder, and said something that made Binh laugh too. That scene, simple but warm, made Thanh Tam's heart ache with deep regret - she missed the feeling of being a part of that scene, missed the patience and understanding that Nam Khanh always gave her, and she wondered if she was losing all those precious things just because she didn't have the courage to face a failure.

She stood there for a few more minutes, tears welling up in her eyes but not daring to come closer, then turned around and walked away quickly before anyone in the training ground could notice her presence, carrying with her a growing loneliness, created by her own fear and self-esteem that she had not yet found a way to overcome.

On the way home, she cycled slowly through familiar streets, with a heavy heart, and suddenly remembered what Mr. Kien had said during the official membership admission ceremony last year - that the club is not a place to find champions, but a place where each person learns to be patient with themselves. That sentence, which once moved her deeply, now sounded like a gentle reproach, reminding her that she was going against the most valuable lesson she had ever learned in that place.

She stopped the car on the side of the road, stood for a moment under the shade of a tree, looking at the afternoon sky that was gradually turning pale orange. Part of her wanted to turn around, run to the practice field, apologize to Nam Khanh, apologize to the whole team for disappearing without explanation for the past two weeks. But the fear and shame were still too great, holding her in place, not allowing her to take that brave step, at least not yet.

She sighed, continued cycling home, carrying with her a whole world of unresolved feelings, and told herself that perhaps she needed something more, some push from the outside, to have the courage to step through the door of fear that she had closed around herself.