Chapter 20 — The First Heartbeat

There are only five days left until the basic first aid certification exam, and Thien Kim has yet to return to any of the club's practice sessions since the incident in the cafeteria nearly two weeks ago. She missed the weekend review session, citing illness, even though in reality she just lay in her room all day, not wanting to face anyone.

Tuyet Mai, worried about her best friend's worsening condition, decided to go straight to Thien Kim's house one Wednesday evening, unannounced, bringing with her a late box of moon cakes left over from the Mid-Autumn Festival - a dish the two of them often shared whenever something sad happened in middle school.

"I don't want to talk," Thien Kim said when she opened the door, seeing you standing there with a box of cakes in your hand, but still let Tuyet Mai enter the room.

"I didn't ask you to say anything," Tuyet Mai replied, sitting on the bed next to her friend, opening the cake box and placing it between the two of them. "I just came to sit with you."

They sat in silence for a long time, eating cake without saying much, only the soft music playing from the small speaker on Thien Kim's desk. In the end, it was Thien Kim who broke the silence.

"I think I'm going to quit the club," she said, her voice even, as if she'd made up her mind a long time ago and was now just stating the obvious. "And I probably won't take the certification exam either."

Tuyet Mai put down the piece of cake and turned to look at you with serious eyes. "Are you serious? After everything you've tried for the past four months?"

"It's because I've been trying for the past four months that I see clearly that it's all just an illusion," Thien Kim replied, her voice starting to tremble. "I thought I had changed, thought I had overcome my old fear. But when I really needed it, I was still exactly the same as I was three years ago — standing there, motionless, useless. If I can't trust myself in a real situation, then having a certificate or not doesn't mean anything anymore. It's just a certificate for an ability I don't actually possess."

"You're talking as if one freeze defines your entire being," Tuyet Mai countered, her voice a bit harsher than usual because she was worried about her friend. "Have you forgotten everything you've done? The simulation practice you handled excellently, the Community First Aid Day you instructed dozens of people, the story you told in front of a crowd that made even adults cry. All of that doesn't disappear just because you were shocked by an unexpected situation once."

"But that's the problem, Tuyet Mai," Thien Kim said, tears starting to well up in her eyes. "Real situations are always unexpected. No one warns me when an accident will happen. If I can't handle the unexpected, then all the skills I learned in a controlled environment are meaningless. There will always be a moment, one time, when I really need it the most, and I freeze again, just like it happened twice already."

She paused, taking a shaky breath before continuing, her voice now turning to a deeper desperation. "And worst of all, I think I ruined things with Minh Vu. He must have realized I'm not the person he thought I was. His offer to transfer me from the foreign object station, the post on the group - all show that he's trying to keep his distance, disappointed in me."

Tuyet Mai listened, feeling her heart ache because she saw her best friend sinking deep into a spiral of self-blame with no way out. "Hey Thien Kim," she said, holding your hand tightly, her voice determined. "Are you sure Minh Vu thinks like that, or is it just something you made up in your head? Have you really talked frankly with him, or do you just avoid it and interpret all of his actions in the most negative way?"

That question made Thien Kim pause. She realized that, over the past two weeks, she had never really given Minh Vu a chance to explain, had never fully listened to anything he tried to tell her, but had only interpreted all his actions through the lens of her own shame and fear.

"I... I don't know," she admitted, her voice trailing off. "But I'm afraid, if I talk to him, I'll have to hear him confirm what I'm most afraid of."

"Or you'll hear the exact opposite," Tuyet Mai said more gently. "You will never know, unless you really dare to face it and ask directly."

Thien Kim didn't answer right away, just sat there, letting your words slowly seep into her confused mind. But the fear and shame that had been ingrained over the past two weeks were still too great, too strong for her to immediately change her decision.

"I need more time," she said finally, her voice tired. "I don't think I'm ready to talk to him, or to go back to the club right now."

Tuyet Mai sighed, didn't force her any further, just hugged her friend tightly. "I won't force you to do anything you're not ready for," she said. "But I want you to remember one thing — the exam is only five days away. If you really decide to quit, make sure it's because you really want to, not because you're running away from your own fears. Because I know, deep down, this isn't the real you — the person who always gives up in the face of difficulty."

After Tuyet Mai left, Thien Kim sat alone in the room, looking out the window where darkness had covered the whole neighborhood. She took out her notebook, for the first time in nearly two weeks, but instead of writing, she just sat there, pen hovering over the blank page, her mind confused between the desire to give up to protect herself from further hurt, and a small, faint but still existing part somewhere inside her, not wanting to give up everything she had built, believed in, loved over the past four months.

She looked at the small roll of gauze placed on her desk, next to the personal first aid bag that had accompanied her for three years, and felt an indescribable pain at the thought of having to give up all of that — not just the club, not just the certificate, but also the person she had gradually become, the person who had learned to believe in herself, even if imperfectly.

That night, she turned on her phone, scrolled through the conversation list, and paused for a long time at the chat box with Minh Vu. The last text message was still the one she sent two weeks ago, cold and short, with his gentle, patient response. She re-read the entire conversation from the beginning, from the first messages asking about the practice session, to the words full of concern during the days she was hiding. With each passing line, she became more and more aware of something that fear had previously completely obscured - for two weeks, not a single message from Minh Vu had a tone of blame, disappointment or alienation. All are questions, worries, and patient waiting.

But as soon as that thought arose, another voice in her head quickly objected: perhaps it was just courtesy, the responsibility of a club leader, and not necessarily a sign that he still trusted her as before. That spiral of thoughts kept repeating endlessly, making her even more exhausted, no longer knowing what was the truth and what was just self-deluding fear.

She remembered Ms. Hoa's words during a triage practice many weeks ago — about accepting that sometimes you won't have enough information to be completely certain, but still having to make a decision based on what you know. She wondered whether that principle also applied to decisions of the heart, or was it reserved only for technical emergencies.

Near midnight, when sleepiness began to creep in after an evening full of emotional turmoil, Thien Kim wrote a short, fragmentary line in her notebook, completely different from the long, complete paragraphs she had written before: "I don't know if I still believe in what I wrote here anymore. I don't know if I'm still worthy to continue or not." She closed the notebook, turned off the light, but sleep came late and fitfully, full of fragmented dreams about a pale face, about the disappointed look she imagined on Minh Vu's face, about a club door slamming shut in front of her forever.

Right now, standing on the threshold of the most important decision since joining the club, she feels like she is standing at the lowest, darkest point of her long journey, not sure whether she still has the strength to continue or not.