Chapter 6 — The Finish Line of Years Gone By

In October, Khue celebrated her seventeenth birthday at home, a small party that only invited close friends from class. She personally called to invite Son, her excitement in her voice not hidden.

"You must come, I'll be angry without you," she said, then laughed, knowing that Son wouldn't have the heart to refuse.

Son accepted, but over the next few days, he began to feel a vague worry that he did not mention to anyone, including Huan. He had never stepped into a house much bigger than his own, and had never attended a party with "close friends" of a family like the Khue family - people he guessed would probably wear branded clothes and talk in sentences he was unfamiliar with.

That night, Son wore the most decent outfit he had - a white shirt his mother bought two years ago for the end of the school year ceremony, a bit tight in the shoulders because he had grown taller, and old trousers that were carefully ironed. He cycled for more than half an hour from Bến Cá hamlet to the new urban area, parked his bike some distance from the gate of Khue's villa, not daring to let it lie alone in front of such a luxurious house.

Stepping inside, he immediately felt the difference: the floor was polished marble, a crystal chandelier hung in the middle of the living room, and about a dozen of Khue's friends were standing in small groups, laughing and chatting, everyone was dressed neatly, some of them were wearing watches that Son guessed were worth as much as his father's entire month's salary.

"Mr. Son is here!" Khue ran out to greet him, wearing a light dress, her hair hanging down instead of tied high as usual. She looked completely different from the girl sitting under the phoenix tree taking notes whom he was used to seeing. "Come here, I'll introduce you to everyone."

She pulled his hand and led him into the middle of the living room, introducing him to each group of friends. Most people were polite, nodding in greeting, but Son still felt a few eyes glancing at his slightly old clothes, looks that weren't exactly contemptuous, but enough to make him more aware of the difference.

Near the end of the evening, when everyone gathered around the party table to prepare to sing happy birthday, a guy whose name Son couldn't remember clearly - the son of a business partner with Khue's family - accidentally asked loudly among the laughing crowd.

"Whoa, what school does this guy go to, Khue? Why have I never met him before? Maybe he goes to an international school in the city?"

"I'm in the same class as you, at Vọng Hải school," Khue replied, her voice calm.

"Truong Vọng Hải?" The other guy raised his eyebrows, his voice was a bit surprised and couldn't hide it, although he probably didn't mean it maliciously. "That district school? I thought you went to a private school in the province."

The air around there slackened a beat. Son stood still, feeling his cheeks burning, not because he was angry at the other guy - who clearly just blurted out without thinking - but because he felt like he had just been put under a different lens, seen as a lost creature in this space.

"What about district schools?" Khue spoke up, her voice had an unexpected coldness that Son had never seen in her. "Mr. Son just broke the regional track and field record. Can you do that from a private school?"

The other guy laughed it off, knowing he had said something wrong, he quickly moved on to something else. But Son, although grateful that Khue stood up for him, still couldn't dispel the uncomfortable feeling that was growing in his heart throughout the rest of the party.

***

After most of the guests had left, Khue sent Son to the gate, clearly noticing his unusual silence all evening.

"Aren't you happy?" She asked, her voice worried.

"Nothing," Son replied, but her voice was harder than necessary, just like the first time she invited him to eat cake under the phoenix tree.

"Don't pay attention to what that guy said," Khue said, holding his hand. "He's just someone who talks without thinking, I'm sorry for him."

"It's not what he said." Son stopped walking, turned back to look at her, trying to express what was rolling in his heart. "It's the feeling that all night you stood there, everyone was polite to you, but you knew you didn't belong here. The clothes you wore, the bike you rode, all were different, and everyone saw it, even if they didn't say it."

"So what do you want me to do?" Khue asked, her voice a bit confused. "I can't change the fact that my family is rich, just like you can't change the fact that your family..." She stopped, realizing that what she was about to say could make things worse.

"Go ahead, your housework is poor, right?" Son said, his voice a bit bitter.

"I didn't mean that," Khue said quickly, her eyes red. "I just want to say that everyone's situation is different, no one can choose where they were born. But that doesn't mean we can't be together."

Son was silent for a long time, looking down at his worn canvas shoes, then looked up, his voice softer but still heavy. "I know. I don't blame you, nor do I blame today's party. It's just... sometimes I wonder if I'm trying to reach for something that's too far out of reach."

"Don't say that." Khue held his hand tighter, her voice resolute. "You don't have to reach for anything. I like you for who you are, not because you're rich or poor. If you keep thinking you have to prove something to be worthy of me, then you're making yourself miserable, and I'm not happy to see you like that either."

That sentence made Son stop and look at her intently. In the yellow light of the street lights, Khue's face no longer had the radiant confidence like at the party, but the sincerity mixed with the real worry of a person trying to keep something important.

"I'm sorry for being quiet all night," Son said, his voice less tense. "I'm not used to having to express these things. At my house, people don't express their feelings, they just endure it quietly."

"But don't be like that with me," Khue said, her eyes earnest. "I want to know what you're thinking, even if it's hard to hear. I'd rather hear you say it than let you keep it inside and then one day suddenly leave me without me understanding why." Son nodded, feeling much more relieved than when he walked out of the villa. "I'll try. But you also have to promise me one thing."

"What?"

"Don't ever feel the need to defend me in front of others like you did before," Son said, his voice serious. "Not because I don't appreciate it, but because I want to prove my worth myself, with my own abilities, not asking you to speak for me." Khue looked at him for a long time, then nodded slightly, understanding that this was not a selfish request, but a poor man's way of keeping his last piece of dignity in a world where he always felt he had to work twice or thrice to be recognized fairly.

"Okay," she replied. "But if there's a next time, and someone is really too mean, I won't promise to keep quiet." Son laughed, the heavy feeling in his heart gradually disappeared. He cycled home in the middle of the night, the road was dark with only the moonlight to guide him, but in his heart, the initial feeling of being lost had been replaced by something more stable - not because the gap between rich and poor had disappeared, but because he had just learned that true love does not need to erase that gap, as long as both of them learn to stand firmly on both sides and reach out to each other.

***

The next morning, on the way to the training ground, Son recounted last night's story to Huan, although he was careful to omit the parts that made him feel the most embarrassed.

"You worry too much." Huan was riding his tandem bike while speaking, his voice was straightforward in his style. "I think it's that simple, no matter what anyone says, as long as Khue treats you well."

"It's not that simple, Huan." Son shook his head. "You've never stood in the middle of a room full of people wearing designer clothes, holding a glass of water and being afraid of dropping it because you don't know how much that glass costs."

"Well, I haven't," Huan admitted, then smirked. "But I think, if you pay attention to those things every day, then maybe you are the one who built the wall first, not others?"

Huan's words made Son silent and thinking. Perhaps his friend was partly right - the feeling of being lost last night came not only from other people's eyes, but also from his own deep-seated inferiority complex from his years of growing up in poverty, making him always tend to see any gap between rich and poor as an insurmountable wall, instead of just a difference that needs to be understood.

"Maybe you're right," Son admitted, his voice slow. "But it's not easy to get rid of that feeling right away."

"Who told you to quit now?" Huan shrugged. "Slowly, you get used to it. Besides, you still have the whole month of November to practice for the upcoming competition, so take care of that first, let the love matter take care of itself." Son laughed, feeling much more relieved after that short conversation. The two rode their bicycles to the schoolyard just as Mr. Khuong was posting a new notice on the bulletin board - the provincial athletics tournament schedule, scheduled to take place in mid-December, was just over a month away.

Looking at the notice, Son felt all the worries about last night's party gradually recede, giving way to a more familiar nervousness - a feeling that he knew he could definitely control, because it only depended on his own legs and will, not on what family he was born into.