Chapter 19 — The Language of Hands

Thao Nguyen tried to return to the event, completing the unfinished work with a forced smile on her lips, even though inside her heart was empty and numb. She avoided Mr. Phuc for the rest of the afternoon, only daring to glance from afar when she saw him continuing to support the program, still smiling and talking with other guests as if nothing had happened - a professionalism that made her even more ashamed of herself.

At six o'clock in the afternoon, when the event officially ended with applause and thanks from the school, this should have been the moment Thao Nguyen had been looking forward to the most for many months. But she just stood still in the crowd happily taking souvenir photos, feeling like she was playing a role, while the real person inside had long been exhausted.

When the closing ceremony ended, Gia Bach came to her while everyone was busy cleaning up tables and chairs, his eyes still full of worry. "Are you better?" he asked, his voice gentle, trying not to add pressure.

"I'm fine," Thao Nguyen replied, her voice monotone, avoiding looking straight into his eyes. "I just want to finish cleaning up and go home early."

"Before Mr. Phuc left, he texted me to say he wasn't angry with you, he just needed time," Gia Bach added, trying to comfort him. "Don't blame yourself too much, this is a lesson, not the end."

"Thank you," Thao Nguyen replied, but her voice sounded much more distant than usual, making Gia Bach pause, realizing that there was an invisible wall that had just been erected between the two of them that he didn't know how to overcome right now. He didn't force her to say more, just quietly helped her clean up the remaining work, occasionally glancing at her with eyes full of undisguised concern.

While cleaning, she took the opportunity to post a post summarizing the event on the club's social networking site, attaching a series of photos from the day, including a photo of Binh An standing next to her painting, her eyes beaming in the early afternoon. She quickly wrote a caption, mostly based on her own feelings rather than asking her brother's opinion: "My Deaf brother inspired the whole journey of building this project. Looking at him confidently standing next to my work today, I know all the effort is worth it." The article quickly received hundreds of likes and touching comments, but Thao Nguyen, engrossed in cleaning, did not have time to text Binh An to ask if he agreed with the way she told her story.

Coming home at nearly eight o'clock in the evening, exhausted, Thao Nguyen just wanted to take a shower and then fall asleep. But when she entered the living room, she saw Binh An sitting there, holding the phone, her face tense, different from usual.

"You posted that post without asking me," Binh An signaled as soon as he saw her walk in, not blocking the way like usual.

Thao Nguyen paused, immediately realizing she was talking about the post from that afternoon. "I'm sorry, I meant to ask you later, but I was too busy at the time so..."

"You're always 'too busy'," Binh An interrupted, gesturing faster and stronger than usual, his facial expression clearly showing pent-up hurt. "You wrote me as 'inspiration', told you as if you were a character in your story, without asking me a single question. Do you know that today at the exhibition, when the Art teacher praised my paintings, how much I wanted to tell you? But you ran away, and I stood alone all day."

"I know, I'm sorry for not being there," Thao Nguyen said, her voice starting to tremble, feeling the storm coming.

"Not just today," Binh An continued, his voice becoming more and more intense, as if he was letting out everything he had been holding back for weeks. "For the past few weeks, you've promised to help me prepare for the exam, but every time I'm busy with club work. I have to scan pictures alone, write descriptions by myself, without you by my side like you promised. I feel like... you only care about learning symbols, the club, the story 'the older sister learns symbols to connect with her younger brother' to tell everyone, rather than caring about me, about what I'm really going through."

That sentence was like a knife stabbing straight into Thao Nguyen's heart, more painful than any blame she had ever received in her life, because it touched her deepest fear - that all her efforts over the past few months, even though they came from genuine love, had gradually turned into something else, a project, a beautiful story to tell, rather than a real relationship between two sisters.

"You're right," she whispered, tears rolling down uncontrollably. "I'm sorry. I don't know what else to say other than sorry right now."

"You don't need me to apologize anymore," Binh An signed, her tone slack, more tired than angry. "I need you to really be here, with me, not just when you're free, not just to tell a nice story to others. A few months ago, I thought everything was different. But today I realized, maybe you're just... learning symbols like learning a new subject, a new project, not for me."

Having finished speaking, Binh An stood up, without waiting for her to respond, quietly walked back to the room, closing the door gently but firmly, leaving Thao Nguyen standing still in the middle of the living room, feeling like the entire world she had worked hard to build over the past half a year had just collapsed in just one evening.

Her mother, standing in the kitchen and witnessing part of the conversation, came out and was about to say something comforting, but Thao Nguyen shook her head and asked permission to go to the room first, not wanting anyone to see her in this broken state, not even her closest loved ones.

"Honey," Mom called out, her voice worried, "do you want to tell me what happened?"

"I'm okay, mom, let me rest for a while," Thao Nguyen replied, trying to keep her voice as normal as possible, even though tears still lingered in the corners of her eyes. She knew her mother might have heard part of Binh An's story before, perhaps Phuc's story too if Gia Bach or Ms. Xuan had called to inform her, but she didn't have the strength to explain anything more tonight.

Her mother stood looking at her daughter's shadow disappearing down the stairs, sighed, her eyes full of concern but did not chase her, understanding that there are times when silence is more necessary than any words of comfort.

That night, she lay in bed, unable to cry anymore because her tears seemed to have dried up since the afternoon, just staring at the ceiling, the words of Binh An and Mr. Phuc kept echoing in her head, blending together into an undeniable indictment. She opened her phone, deleted the post about Binh An from her social networking site, her hands shaking, then turned off her phone completely, not wanting to see any more praise for today's "success" - a success that she now felt she did not deserve.

She sent a short message to the club group, asking permission to be absent from the closing meeting on the weekend because of "family matters", even though she clearly knew in her heart that the real reason was that she no longer had the courage to face everyone's eyes, especially Mr. Phuc and Gia Bach, after what had happened. She curled up on the bed, for the first time in months, the feeling of wanting to give up returned, as strong and familiar as an old friend arriving uninvited.

She thought about the journey of the past half a year — about the first club introduction, about the silly sign mistakes that made the whole class laugh, about the emotional moment when she first had a full conversation with Binh An using signs, about the proud eyes of her parents every time she mentioned her change. All those beautiful memories now seem to be covered with a mist of doubt, making her wonder if she is really as progressive as she once believed, or if she is just putting on a new shell for old habits — still always putting her own comfort, achievements, and image above the true needs of the people she loves.

She remembered Binh An's words — "I'm just learning symbols like a new subject" — and felt a new fear creep into her heart: fear that perhaps, without intending to, she had turned her journey of redemption into another project to conquer, another goal to achieve, instead of a living relationship, requiring real presence every day and not just rare moments of emotional explosion. That thought was so painful that she had to bite her lip to keep from crying out loud, afraid that her parents or Binh An would hear through the thin wall separating the two rooms.