Chapter 14 — The Language of Hands

One Wednesday afternoon, while the group was meeting to discuss the program script for the No Distance Festival, Gia Bach's phone rang continuously. He glanced at the screen, his face slightly tense, then asked the group for permission to go outside to answer the phone.

When he turned back, his expression was completely different — pale, urgent. "Sorry everyone, I have to go home now," he said, his voice somewhat hurried. "My dad had some problems at the hospital, my mom urgently needs a translator."

The whole group seemed worried and quickly let him go without asking further questions. But Thao Nguyen, unable to contain her anxiety, ran out into the hallway. "Do you need any help?" she asked, even though she knew she couldn't help much in such an urgent situation.

"No need, I can go," Gia Bach replied, but looking at the panicked expression on his face, Thao Nguyen still decided to follow, even if just to be by his side.

On the way to the hospital, Gia Bach briefly explained - his father had severe stomach pain, his mother took him to the emergency room, but at the hospital there was no one who knew sign language to support communication between the family and the doctor. This isn't the first time this has happened, he said, his voice used to having to rush to such situations over the years.

When they arrived, Thao Nguyen waited in the hallway while Gia Bach entered the clinic, translating back and forth between the doctor and his parents. Through the glass window, she could see him standing between two worlds - on one side was the doctor who spoke quickly, using many medical terms, on the other side were his parents with worried eyes, hands constantly signaling questions. Gia Bach had to constantly translate back and forth, his face was tense, and sometimes he had to stop and ask the doctor to explain again to make sure he understood correctly before conveying it to his parents.

Nearly an hour later, when everything had stabilized - his father only had an acute stomachache, not life-threatening - Gia Bach walked out of the room, his shoulders slumped from exhaustion, his face pale.

"Are you okay?" Thao Nguyen asked, giving him the bottle of water she had bought from the vending machine.

"I'm fine," Gia Bach replied, but his voice couldn't hide the extreme fatigue. He sat down on the waiting chair, leaned his head against the wall, and closed his eyes for a long time.

Thao Nguyen sat down next to him, didn't say anything, just quietly stayed by his side, giving him the necessary private space. A moment later, Gia Bach opened his eyes and turned to look at her, his eyes somewhat shy.

"I'm sorry for letting you witness this," he said softly.

"You don't need to apologize," Thao Nguyen replied, her voice gentle. "I just... I never thought this would happen to you so often."

Gia Bach was silent for a moment, then began to speak, his voice slow, as if he was letting out something that had been pent up for a long time. "Since I was in sixth grade, I started going with my parents to places that needed interpretation - hospitals, banks, ward committees, even my own parent-teacher meetings. At that time, I was young, didn't think much, just saw it as a natural thing to do because I was a child, because I knew both languages."

He stopped, looking down at the water bottle in his hand. "But the older I get, the more... tired I feel. Not tired because of the translation, but tired because I feel like I can never truly be a normal child. My friends go out on weekends, and I have to stay home because my parents have work to do. I want to study more for a talent subject I like, but the class schedule coincides with the time my parents often need my support, so I had to give up."

"Have you ever told your parents about that feeling?" Thao Nguyen asked gently.

"Yes, once, when I was in tenth grade," Gia Bach replied, his voice low. "I got angry, saying I was tired of always having to be my parents' 'ears and mouth', that I also wanted to have my own life. My parents... they weren't angry, they just remained silent for a long time, then my mother gestured apologetically, saying they didn't realize I had to shoulder so much."

"Did anything change after that?" she asked again.

"Yes," Gia Bach nodded, a sad smile at the corner of his mouth. "My parents try to learn more to be more independent - use the application to call for remote interpretation when possible, only asking me when absolutely necessary. But in urgent times like today, remote interpretation services are not always available immediately, so I am still the fastest choice. I don't blame my parents, because I know they have no other better choice. But sometimes, I still feel... lonely, even though I'm standing between two languages, two worlds, and don't belong anywhere. nothing perfect."

That confession left Thao Nguyen speechless, realizing that behind the image of a club president who was always calm, dedicated, and patient with everyone, was a guy who had to shoulder a huge responsibility since he was too young, an invisible burden that few people could see.

"Thank you for telling me," she said, her voice sincere. "I think, maybe this is the first time I truly understand the price you have to pay to become a bridge between those two worlds. I always thought CODA was something special and wonderful, but I never thought about the tiring and lonely part behind it."

"Not many people think about that," Gia Bach replied, turning to look at her, his eyes softening. "Most people only see the part 'oh, you know two languages, that's so cool', but don't see the part where they have to mature much earlier than their peers, and have to learn how to shoulder responsibility since they were a child."

"So why do you still choose to be the club's president, still choose to continue being a bridge, even though you're tired of that role at home?" Thao Nguyen asked, genuinely curious.

Gia Bach thought for a moment before answering. "Because at home, I don't have a choice, I have to be a bridge because it's my family. But at the club, I choose to do this because I want to, not because I have to. I want more people to learn how to be a bridge for their families, so that no one has to shoulder the burden alone like my parents had to go through before I had me, and so that future CODA children will be less lonely than I was."

That answer deeply touched Thao Nguyen, realizing that behind the No Distance Festival project was not only a simple desire to connect the community, but also a part of Gia Bach's personal story full of hurt but also full of hope.

"You're the most wonderful person I've ever met," she said, unable to contain herself, then blushed slightly because she realized how obvious her statement was.

Gia Bach laughed lightly, but his eyes shone with obvious emotion. "Thank you," he said softly. "Thank you for being here, listening to me."

The two sat together for a while longer in the deserted hospital hallway. Thao Nguyen thought about what she had just heard, then suddenly realized that this was probably an opportunity for her to reciprocate some of the sincerity he had just given her.

“I used to have a similar kind of burden, though not exactly the same as yours,” she said, her voice soft. "For many years, I always felt like I had to act okay, have to be independent, and not bother my parents because they worked so hard for Binh An. I never dared to tell anyone that feeling, including Hai Yen, because I was afraid it would sound like I was jealous of my younger brother."

"You're not jealous, you're just a child who needs to be seen, just like me," Gia Bach replied, turning to look at her with eyes of deep sympathy. "Maybe that's also the reason why from the first time I met you, I felt a special connection. We both grew up in the shadow of a special family situation, even though in two different positions."

"Maybe so," Thao Nguyen nodded, smiling slightly. "Thank you for understanding, even though I never said it."

Gia Bach's mother came out to announce that his father had been prescribed medicine and could go home, interrupting the quiet moment between the two. On the way to send Thao Nguyen home, even though he was still tired, Gia Bach still held her hand tightly for a short moment before saying goodbye - a gesture that did not need an explanation, but was enough to say everything that both of them had not dared to express in words.

When she got home, Thao Nguyen didn't immediately tell anyone about the past afternoon, she just quietly went up to her room, sat for a long time by the window, remembering every word Gia Bach had said. She realized that her feelings for him were not simply the thrill of adolescence, but also a deep understanding between two people who once carried invisible burdens on their shoulders that the world around them rarely saw. She opened her notebook and scribbled a line before going to bed: "Today I learned that sometimes the strongest people need someone to stay and listen, no need to say anything, just be there."