Chapter 23 — The Chorus of Those Out of Rhythm

The day before the final night, the whole choir gathered at the city's large theater to get acquainted with the real stage - a large, modern space, completely different from their familiar old hall. The dazzling stage lights, modern sound system, thousands of empty seats waiting to be filled tomorrow night, all create a feeling of both overwhelm and nervousness for people who are only used to performing in a small hall.

"Oh my god, the stage is so big," Mr. Tam Loc exclaimed, standing in the middle of the empty stage, looking up at the towering audience seats above, his hands shaking from shock. "I'm so shaken, I don't know if I'll be able to remember the lyrics tomorrow night."

"Just imagine that this is still your familiar hall," Mrs. Nguyet reassured, although she could not hide the tension in her voice. "No matter how large the audience is, no matter how majestic the sound, the song we sing is still the song we have been practicing for the past two months. Don't let the space make us forget the most important thing."

The theater's technical team guides the group on where to stand, how to use the microphone, when to enter and exit the stage, and the basic rules of a professional performance. For many of the older members, this was their first time coming into contact with such a large-scale performance environment, and many people were confused by the modern equipment.

Thu An, in her new role, stood next to her mother throughout the rehearsal, carefully noting every technical detail, ensuring that everything was prepared as thoroughly as possible. She also took the opportunity to practice basic command signals on the real stage to get familiar with the space before the show officially took place.

The rehearsal went quite smoothly, although there were a few minor sound problems that needed adjusting. When the group tried singing "Urban Memories" on the big stage for the first time, the sound echoed throughout the empty auditorium, creating a completely different effect than the familiar small hall — stronger, more resonant, and with an emotional power that even the people in the group did not expect.

"It sounds so good," Ha Uyen said, standing in the audience with Viet Long, both moved by that resounding sound. "I feel like this is no longer a rehearsal, but a real performance."

Bao Quoc was also present, sitting in the back row, observing the entire rehearsal with special attention. He arranged for the company to sponsor a small amount of money to help improve the sound and lighting quality of the choir's performance, a discreet support that he did not want to make public, simply wanting to make sure everything went as perfectly as possible for the people who taught him a valuable lesson about the true value of life.

"What do you think tomorrow night will be like?" Ha Uyen asked her father, when he came to sit next to her after checking some technical details with the organizers.

"I think, no matter what the contest results are, tomorrow night will still be a memorable night," Bao Quoc replied, smiling. "Because what they bring to the stage is not just vocal technique, but a whole story about determination, about love, about perseverance and not giving up. That's something that not every competing team can have."

The theater's technical team continued to instruct the group on where to stand, how to use the microphone, when to enter and exit the stage, and the basic rules of a professional performance. For many of the older members, this was the first time they were exposed to such a large-scale performance environment, and many people seemed confused by the modern equipment, causing the rehearsal to sometimes be paused to explain from the beginning.

"How far should this microphone be held from the mouth?" Ms. Chin Thoa asked, struggling with the wireless microphone that she held for the first time in her life.

"It's only about a hand span," a young technician patiently instructed, unable to hide his smile at the cuteness of the older uncles and aunts trying to get used to modern technology.

After the rehearsal, when the group was preparing to leave to rest before the big day, Dr. Phuc, who was invited to monitor Ms. Nguyet's health condition throughout the preparation process, met privately with Thu An and Mr. Kha to discuss further contingency plans.

"I'll be backstage during tomorrow's show," he said, his voice serious. "If there are any unusual signs, you need to notify me immediately. I have prepared the necessary medicine and treatment measures, along with a full emergency bag to ensure maximum safety for her."

"Thank you for your concern, doctor," Thu An said, her voice filled with gratitude, her hand tightening on the notepad of musical passages she had memorized over the past few days. "We will carefully monitor my mother throughout the show."

Dr. Phuc nodded, then looked at Ms. Nguyet who was standing in the distance chatting with other members. Her hands were shaking slightly but her face was still beaming with a smile. His eyes were a bit worried but also full of respect. "I advised her to rest, but I also understand, sometimes there are things more important than absolute safety. I just hope tomorrow's show goes smoothly, because you all deserve this moment."

***

That night, before going home to rest, the whole group gathered one last time in the familiar hall, not to practice, but simply to be together, eat an intimate meal cooked by the members, and share stories and memories they had spent together during the past two turbulent months.

"I want to say thank you to everyone," Ms. Nguyet stood up, raised her glass of juice, her voice emotional. "Thank you for believing in me, for accompanying me through all the hardships. Regardless of the outcome tomorrow, I want everyone to know, I'm proud of each and every one of you, and I'm grateful to have you in my life."

The whole hall was silent for a moment, moved by that sincere statement, before Mr. Tam Loc, as usual, broke the solemnity with a witty statement. "Okay, okay, don't make me cry before I finish this plate of spring rolls, Ms. Nguyet!"

Laughter rang out, dispelling some of the tense atmosphere, and that intimate meal lasted until late, with stories and memories reviewed - from the first practice session when Ms. Nguyet fell because her hands were shaking, to the tense days of fear of losing the cultural house, to the heartbreaking moment when she learned that she would be kept. Each story told made the group both laugh and shed tears, realizing how memorable the journey they had gone through together was.

Mrs. Ca Yen, sitting in the most solemn position on her wheelchair, waited for everyone to calm down before speaking when the meal was almost over. "I have lived for eighty-five years, witnessing many ups and downs of life. But I can honestly say, the past two months have been one of the most meaningful times of my life. Thank you everyone, especially Ms. Nguyet and Ms. Thu An, for giving an old woman like me the opportunity to live fully again."

Those words made the whole hall silent with emotion, and Mr. Ba Nghia, sitting next to her, gently held her hand, a small gesture but containing the feelings that had silently blossomed between the two during the recent months of companionship, a feeling that both knew but no one dared to say, perhaps it would wait for a more suitable occasion in the future.

Before leaving, Ms. Nguyet walked around the hall, touching each old wall, each faded plastic chair, each broken window at a familiar corner, as if saying goodbye to a close friend before entering a big challenge. Mr. Kha stood quietly behind her, saying nothing, simply staying next to her, just as he promised.

"Tomorrow, no matter what happens," Mrs. Nguyet said, turning to look at him, her voice gentle but firm, "I will be satisfied with this journey."

"Me too, Nguyet," Mr. Kha replied, taking her hand, the two of them slowly walked out of the hall under the late moonlight, facing forward, towards the tomorrow that was waiting with all the hopes and worries mixed together, but most of all, with a rare peace that they both had to wait a long time to have.