Chapter 20 — The Language of Hands

During the week after the event, Thao Nguyen lived in a strange state of limbo - on the outside still going to school, still doing homework, still laughing and talking with Hai Yen as usual, but inside, a part of her seemed to have completely withdrawn from the symbolic world that she had passionately built over the past half year.

She missed two consecutive club meetings, citing different reasons each time. The pocket symbol dictionary lies dormant in the desk drawer, and the vocabulary notebook is no longer opened every night like the habit that has formed over many months. At home, she still greeted Binh An with a few basic signs, but no longer actively started long conversations like before, partly because she was afraid of doing something wrong, and partly because of the feeling of shame that stuck with her every time she looked into his eyes.

Hai Yen, who understood Thao Nguyen better than anyone, also began to notice that unusual change. "You're so strange lately," Yen said during recess, sitting down next to her friend, trying to look straight into her eyes even though Thao Nguyen kept avoiding her. "Since the event ended, it's like you've become a different person. Did something happen and you didn't tell me?"

Thao Nguyen reluctantly told the whole story - the story of Mr. Phuc, the story of Binh An's anger. Her voice was monotonous, as if she were rereading a report rather than telling her own story. Hai Yen listened silently, then sighed.

"You're really wrong, I don't deny it," Yen said frankly, something she rarely does with close friends. "But you're handling that mistake in the worst possible way — hiding from it. I know you're scared, but the more you hide, the messier things get."

"I don't know how to face it," Thao Nguyen replied, her voice helpless. "I'm afraid that talking to Mr. Phuc will only make things worse, I'm afraid that when I come to the club, people will look at me differently."

"It might actually be worse, in the first one or two sessions," Hai Yen admitted. "But if you keep hiding like this, it will definitely be one hundred percent bad, there is no percent luck at all." Those straightforward words made Thao Nguyen silent, unable to refute, but not brave enough to act immediately.

Gia Bach texted her almost every day, short but regular messages: "Are you okay?", "The club misses you very much, come back when you have free time", "I don't blame you, don't torment yourself forever." Thao Nguyen read it all, but most of the time she only replied with a few words, or sometimes left the message unanswered all day, a behavior completely contrary to the passionate, hour-long conversations between the two of them before.

"Are you avoiding me?" Gia Bach asked directly when he happened to meet her in the school hallway one morning, his eyes were both worried and a little hurt that he couldn't hide.

"No, I just... need time," Thao Nguyen replied, avoiding his eyes, trying to walk quickly so as not to prolong the conversation.

"Time for what?" Gia Bach asked again, his voice a little urgent. "You skip club meetings, don't fully respond to messages, avoid me like this — I don't know why other than you want to leave everything we've built together."

That sentence made Thao Nguyen stop, turn back to look at him, clearly seeing the hurt in Gia Bach's eyes - not only the worry of a friend, a teammate, but also the pain of a person who is witnessing the relationship he cherishes gradually falling apart without understanding why.

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice choked. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I just... I feel like I don't deserve to be in the club anymore, after what I did to Mr. Phuc and to Binh An. I'm afraid I'll do something wrong again."

"So your solution is to disappear altogether?" Gia Bach asked, his voice not harsh but full of disappointment. "Thao Nguyen, everyone makes mistakes. The important thing is not whether you are wrong or not, but how you choose to face it. Retreating doesn't fix anything, it only makes Phuc's wounds, Binh An's, and your own, never have a chance to heal properly."

Thao Nguyen couldn't respond, she just stood still, tears threatening to flow but she tried to hold them back in the crowded hallway. Gia Bach looked at her for a moment longer, then sighed, said nothing more, turned and walked away, leaving a new distance between the two that had never existed before.

Unhappy news continued to arrive that weekend, when Ms. Xuan called to inform Gia Bach — and he then reluctantly informed the group — that a few members of the Deaf community, after hearing Mr. Phuc recount what happened at the event, expressed reservations about continuing to cooperate with the Club in upcoming activities. No one blamed them harshly or demanded a complete severance of relations, but a new cautiousness crept into the already well-developed relationship between the club and the local community, a consequence that Thao Nguyen knew well, largely stemming from her own mistakes.

"Miss Xuan said it's okay, everyone just needs time, it doesn't have to close permanently," Minh Thu texted to reassure Thao Nguyen when she heard the news, trying to calm the situation. "Don't worry too much."

But that reassurance was not enough to ease the torment in Thao Nguyen's heart. She lay in bed that night, looking back at the entire journey of the past half year like watching a slow motion movie - from the impulsive club registration, to the first awkward sign lessons, to the emotional moment when she first had a full conversation with Binh An, to the effort of organizing the No Distance Festival - and now, it all seemed to be at risk of collapsing because of just a few minutes she let the stress overwhelm what she had learned.

She thought of Binh An, who kept his distance from her all week, only answered short questions, and no longer actively told school stories or showed off new paintings like before. She thought of Mr. Phuc, the person she had not had the courage to contact again since that fateful afternoon. She thought of Gia Bach, his hurt eyes in the school hallway this morning, and the entire Deaf community watching timidly from afar, waiting to see if this club was truly trustworthy or just a group of temporarily enthusiastic students who would soon be forgotten.

All the achievements she was once proud of — her newfound confidence, her newly built relationships, her budding romance with Gia Bach — are now tinged with the gray of doubt and regret. She wondered if she was wrong from the beginning in thinking that just learning enough symbols and vocabulary would be enough to become a true bridge, while the most important thing — the humility to truly listen, to truly put others above her own needs — she still hadn't fully learned.

Before turning off the lights, her father knocked on the door, walked in and sat down on the edge of the bed, something he rarely did because he usually let his mother take care of the emotional conversations in the house. "Mom told me you've been sad lately," he said, his voice warm but serious. "I don't know much about you guys, but I remember in the past, every time we took Binh An to the doctor and encountered doctors or strangers who treated him like a 'medical case' instead of a normal child, we were heartbroken. Do you know what we did to overcome it?"

Thao Nguyen shook her head and listened attentively.

"We don't avoid those people, nor do we avoid ourselves," her father continued. "Parents go back, learn more, learn more, and then gradually change the way people around them see their children. If parents had given up that day, perhaps Binh An wouldn't have had the good environment it has now. Just because you're wrong once doesn't mean you have to give up the whole journey, Nguyen."

That simple but profound advice made Thao Nguyen's eyes sting, but she still couldn't find the courage to respond with a clear determination, just nodded, thanked her father, then let him leave the room in silence, the sound of his footsteps fading away in the hallway seemed to further emphasize the emptiness that surrounded her.

That night, for the first time in many weeks, she did not open her notebook to write anything down. She just lay there, in the darkness, letting the familiar loneliness and self-blame engulf her once again, wondering if she still had the courage to stand up, face everything she had done wrong, or would she choose the easier path - quietly retreat, letting everything gradually sink into oblivion like she did for three years before the Sign Language Club appeared in her life.