Chapter 21 — The End-of-Day Train

Thien An returned from Thanh Chau late that evening, bringing good news about a travel agency agreeing to sponsor part of the cost to renovate the train carriages if the heritage route plan is approved. He texted Khanh Chi and arranged to meet her at the coffee shop as usual to share the good news, but when he entered the shop and saw her pale face and unusually avoiding eyes, he immediately realized something was wrong.

"What's wrong with you? Did something happen?" he asked, his voice worried, sitting down opposite her, still holding the documents he had just brought back from Thanh Chau, the excited smile he had when entering the shop had now completely disappeared from his lips.

Khanh Chi looked at him for a long time, trying to find any sign of deception in his eyes, but only saw sincere concern as always, which made her heart ache even more, because she realized she still couldn't hate him even though she was carrying a sea of mixed emotions in her heart.

"I went to Mrs. Tam's house this afternoon," she said, her voice trying to stay calm but unable to hide her trembling. "I saw the picture on your wall."

Thien An's face immediately changed color. He remained silent, without needing to ask further to understand what she was talking about.

"You told me everything," Khanh Chi continued, her voice beginning to tremble with the emotions that had been pent up all afternoon. "My father is Quach Van Thang. He was a signal guard on the night of the accident. He was wrongfully accused, fired from his job, and lived the last years of his life in poverty and humiliation." She paused, took a deep breath before asking the most important question. "When did you know this?"

Thien An bowed his head, his hands clasped together on the table, silent for a long time before answering, his voice hoarse and full of guilt. "I knew from the first night I heard you mention your father's name on that train. Tong Van Lich - that name, I had been learning about it for many years before I met you."

"Then why didn't you tell me right away?" Khanh Chi asked, her voice began to choke with anger and pain. "You sat next to me, listening to me talk about my father, about my pain, while still hiding such a big truth? How do you think I would feel when I knew I loved someone who kept secrets from me from beginning to end?"

"I'm sorry," Thien An said, his voice breaking, full of regret. "I know I was wrong. But Ms. Chi, you have to understand, I didn't mean to deceive you. Initially I boarded this train just to find out the truth about my father. I didn't know you were the daughter of the train driver that night. When I found out, I was too scared, afraid that if I told you right away, you would shun me, would look at me as a painful reminder of your father's death, instead of seeing me as myself."

"So how long are you going to hide from me?" Khanh Chi asked, tears began to roll down her cheeks. "When are you going to tell the truth, if I don't accidentally see that photo?"

Thien An did not answer immediately, his eyes were full of torment. "I was going to say it, after the hearing. I thought, if we save the road together first, if I can prove my worth through my actions, then when I tell the truth, it will be easier for you to forgive. I know it's a selfish thought, but I'm really afraid of losing you, Miss Chi."

Khanh Chi sat quietly, tears still falling. She partly understood his reasons, felt the sincerity in that fear, but at the same time, she also felt a deep betrayal, a feeling that their entire relationship, no matter how beautiful, had been built on a foundation that was not entirely honest.

"Do you know," she said, her voice trembling with emotion, "every time I told you about my father, about my pain at losing him, I believed that I was sharing with someone who was a complete stranger to that story, someone who could listen to me without any prejudice or other agenda. But it turns out, from the beginning, you knew more than I thought about the story itself. You heard me tell it, while already having in your mind part of the picture that I had. didn't even know it yet."

"I know, and I understand why you feel that way," Thien An replied, his voice filled with pain. "But please believe me on one thing - every time I listened to you, I never listened as the son of someone who was wrongly accused, trying to justify or contradict your story. I listened with all the sincere sympathy of someone who also lost his father, also carrying a similar pain, although the origin was different."

Khanh Chi shook her head, trying to sort out the chaotic emotions in her heart. "I don't know what to believe anymore right now. My mind is so confused, Thien An."

"I need time," she said finally, her voice weak but determined. "I need time to think about all of this. I'm sorry, but I can't sit here and talk to you normally right now."

"Khanh Chi, please..." Thien An reached out his hand, intending to hold her back, but she stood up and walked out of the cafe, leaving him sitting there alone in the quiet space, his face carrying an extreme pain that he knew he completely deserved to suffer.

That night, Khanh Chi did not go home immediately, but wandered around town, her mind reeling with hundreds of questions and hundreds of conflicting emotions. She loves Thien An, she cannot deny that. But she also felt deeply hurt by the prolonged secrecy, by the feeling that perhaps his feelings for her had, from the beginning, carried another purpose — though now she knew that purpose was soon overshadowed by the sincere love that followed.

She passed by her mother's noodle shop, saw that the lights were off, and knew that her mother had packed the goods and gone home to rest a long time ago. She didn't want to go home right now, didn't want to face her mother's questioning eyes, didn't want to have to explain anything while she herself couldn't sort out the chaotic thoughts in her head. She turned in another direction, going around the empty market, past the school where Boi Linh still studied at night, past the district hospital where Nhat Ha was on night shift, each step carrying a part of memories attached to the people who had accompanied her throughout her past journey.

She thought about how to face the group tomorrow, how to continue working with Thien An in the final days of preparation for the hearing, when every time she saw him, she couldn't help but remember the feeling of being deceived cutting into her heart. But at the same time, a rational part of her also reminded her that, no matter what, the goal of saving the railway was still more important than any personal conflicts, and she could not let her private emotions affect the collective efforts of the whole community.

She stopped in front of the quiet station platform, looking at the two old train cars sitting in the depot overnight, the train cars had witnessed her entire emotional journey with Thien An, from their first meeting to the sunsets they watched together. Now, looking back on it all, she doesn't know whether she should cherish those memories, or see them as a reminder of the lies that have been hidden all this time.

She sat down on the train platform steps, hugged her pillow, and let her tears fall freely in the dark, with no one to witness her except the cold moonlight above and the chirping sounds of insects echoing from the distant fields - the loneliest night since her father's death, when she realized that sometimes love and pain can come from the same source, so closely intertwined that they cannot be separated.

She took out her phone and looked at the old messages between her and Thien An — small stories about sunsets, about the photo book he gave her, about plans for the upcoming hearing. Each line of the message, re-read now, has a completely different nuance, making her both want to delete it all for peace of mind, and at the same time not willing to delete anything, because she knows that behind each line are still the true moments she has experienced, even though now covered with a new layer of darkness.

It was nearly midnight when she stood up, brushed the dust off her dress, and walked with heavy steps toward her house. The light from her mother's window was still on, perhaps she was waiting for her to come home even though it was late. Khanh Chi took a deep breath, tried to dry the remaining tears on her cheeks, mentally preparing to face a long sleepless night, and the difficult days ahead.