Chapter 17 — The First Heartbeat

That night, Thien Kim came home in an unusually quiet state, so much so that her mother, who was preparing dinner in the kitchen, had to stop and ask. "What's wrong with you? Your face is so pale."

"I'm okay, mom," Thien Kim replied, trying to keep her voice normal, but as soon as she finished speaking, she quickly went straight to her room, closed the door, sat down on the bed, hugging her knees.

Her phone still had dozens of unread messages — from Tuyet Mai, from a few club members who had heard the news, and from Minh Vu. She finally opened her phone, scrolling through the messages with a heavy feeling in her chest.

Text messages from Tuyet Mai, sent continuously throughout the afternoon: "Where are you? I'm so worried." "Thien Kim, please answer me." "I asked the homeroom teacher, she said you weren't there in the afternoon. Are you okay?" "Can I come to your house?"

Minh Vu's messages were fewer, but each line radiated sincere concern: "Are you okay? I heard what happened in the cafeteria. Where are you?" "Thien Kim, I don't blame you at all. This is something that could happen to anyone." "If you need to talk, I'm always ready to listen."

Thien Kim read those messages over and over again, especially the ones from Minh Vu, but instead of feeling comforted, she felt an even greater shame rising in her heart. She imagined his eyes when he heard that she froze in front of a real situation - the person she once made proud of with her outstanding progress, the person who once nominated her to be the vice president of the club just because he believed in her abilities, must now look at her with a completely different look.

"He must be very disappointed," she whispered to herself, even though she knew in her heart that this was just speculation, never confirmed. But in a state of extreme panic and shame, her mind was no longer able to think objectively and could only imagine the worst scenarios.

She texted Tuyet Mai a short reply: "I'm fine, I just need to be alone right now. Thank you for worrying." But she did not reply to Minh Vu's message. Even though she read it over and over again, her fingers hovered over the keyboard but could not type out a reply.

At dinner that night, Thien Kim could barely eat anything, just sat silently staring at the bowl of rice, causing her parents to nervously exchange glances with each other but did not dare to ask more, knowing their daughter needed time alone.

That night, Thien Kim could not sleep. She lay in bed, looking up at the dark ceiling, letting negative thoughts spin endlessly in her head. She thought about everything she had built over the past four months — her confidence, her skills, her relationship with Minh Vu, her role as vice president — and now, she felt like all of that was collapsing, like a sand castle swept away by a huge wave in just a split second.

Around midnight, she took out her notebook, intending to write something like she did every night, but this time, the pen just hovered on the blank page without being able to write a single word. She turned back the pages, rereading all the hopeful words she'd written in recent weeks—about believing she was worthy of love, about taking pride in being honored in front of the whole school—and now they all turned bitter, like a cruel satire of herself.

She closed the notebook and pushed it away, as if she didn't want to see it anymore. "I've been lying to myself," she whispered in the dark. "It's all just an illusion."

The next morning, Thien Kim woke up with puffy eyes due to lack of sleep and crying a lot. She considered quitting school, but thinking about having to explain to her parents the real reason, she found going to school, although scary, was more pleasant.

At school, Thien Kim clearly felt the eyes following her as she walked through the hallways — most likely just an exaggerated imagination of her traumatized mind, but there was also some truth, because news of the incident in the cafeteria spread quickly throughout the school through student chat groups.

During recess, Tuyet Mai immediately found her and pulled her to a deserted corner. "Are you okay?" she asked, her voice filled with worry, her eyes scanning her friend's face for signs.

"I'm fine," Thien Kim replied, her voice flat and lifeless.

"You're not okay at all," Tuyet Mai said frankly, without beating around the bush. "Thien Kim, listen to me, what happened yesterday was not your fault. Anyone can freeze in such an unexpected situation, even the most experienced person."

"You don't understand," Thien Kim interrupted, her voice beginning to tremble with pent-up emotion. "I'm the vice president of the Red Cross Club. I was just honored in front of the whole school for teaching others how to handle that situation correctly. And when there was a child in real danger right before my eyes, I couldn't do anything. Nothing, Tuyet Mai. Just like three years ago."

Her voice broke at the last sentence, tears began to flow again even though she had tried to hold them back all morning. Tuyet Mai hugged her friend, not saying anything more, just letting Thien Kim cry in her arms in the middle of the deserted hallway.

"I think I can't continue in the club anymore," Thien Kim said, her voice choking between sobs. "How can I stand there teaching others, being a vice president, when I can't even believe in myself when I need it most?"

"Don't make any hasty decisions," Tuyet Mai said, her voice gentle but firm. "You're in a state of shock, unable to think clearly yet. Give yourself time before deciding anything important."

Thien Kim nodded, but inside, the seeds of withdrawal had begun to take root, a decision that she felt, though painful, was perhaps the only sensible thing she could do to protect herself from facing further disappointment from others — and worst of all, her own disappointment.

Before leaving the corner of the hallway, Tuyet Mai held your hand tightly one more time. "Do you remember the words you wrote in your notebook? The day after that first club activity — you don't have to be perfect to deserve to be there. I think, today you need to remember that more than ever."

"But at that time I wrote that because I believed it would be true," Thien Kim replied, her voice bitter. "And now, I don't know if it's true anymore. Maybe some fears never really go away, we just lie to ourselves that we've overcome them."

Tuyet Mai didn't have an immediate answer to that, just silently squeezed your hand one more time before the class bell rang, forcing both of you to part ways to go back to your classroom.

During the afternoon class, Thien Kim could hardly absorb anything the teacher taught, her mind kept wandering in a spiral of shame and self-blame. She looked out the window, observed the almond trees bare of leaves in the cold of early winter, and wondered if she was repeating the same mistake of three years ago — trying to find a way out by retreating, instead of facing her own fears head-on.

But this time, unlike three years ago, she did not have the opportunity to quietly heal herself without anyone knowing. The whole school witnessed, the whole club knew, and especially Minh Vu - the person she cared deeply about, the person she had begun to open up to over the past four months - also knew about her weakest moment. That thought made her feel like she was stripped naked before everyone, with nowhere to hide.

When it was time to play in the afternoon, her phone vibrated with another text message from Minh Vu: "Today there is a voluntary practice session as usual. I will wait for you in the medical room, no need to rush, just come when you are ready." Thien Kim read that message many times, feeling the sincerity and patience in every word, but instead of feeling encouraged, she felt a heavier pressure - she didn't know how she would face Minh Vu's eyes, didn't know how to explain what had happened, didn't know if he would still look at her with the same trust as before.

She remembered all the beautiful moments between the two of them over the past four months — the first CPR session when he patiently led her through each move, the afternoon under the poinciana tree after the Festival, the small roll of gauze he kept as a souvenir — and now, all those memories, instead of bringing warmth, made her feel even more pain, because she feared that she would no longer be worthy of the trust he had shown her.

That afternoon, when class ended, instead of going to the medical room for voluntary practice as usual, Thien Kim stood hesitantly for a long time in front of the school gate, looking towards the hallway leading to the medical room, clutching the strap of her school bag so tightly that her knuckles turned white. Finally, she turned around and left the school immediately through the back gate, deliberately avoiding any possibility of encountering Minh Vu or any other members of the club. This was the first time, since joining the club four months ago, that she actively skipped a practice session without any legitimate reason other than the fear and shame that were taking over her entire mind.

On the way home, she turned off her phone completely, not wanting to see any more messages, not wanting to face having to answer, explain, have to make any decisions while her mind was still in chaos like a jumble with no way out. She just wanted to be alone, to cower in the familiar shell of silence and self-blame, like she did for three years after the incident with baby Bin.