Chapter 9 — The Language of Hands

For two days after the conversation at the tea shop, Thao Nguyen kept procrastinating, not daring to speak to Binh An about the old musical performance. She rehearsed the apology in her head countless times, but every time she was about to say it, a vague fear made her hesitate - fear of reopening an old wound, fear that Binh An would be angry, or worse, fear that he would nonchalantly respond that it was no longer important, making all her efforts meaningless.

On Friday night, when the whole family had finished eating, her parents went out for work, and only her two sisters were left at home, Thao Nguyen decided this was the right time. She knocked lightly on Binh An's door, saw him drawing under the desk lamp, then signaled to come in.

"I want to talk to you, okay?" She signed, her serious tone different from usual, making Binh An a bit surprised. She nodded, put down her pencil, and turned completely towards her.

Thao Nguyen sat down on the edge of the bed and took a deep breath to gain courage. "Do you remember... in fifth grade, you performed a dance at school?" She signed slowly, trying to keep the grammar as correct as possible so as not to cause misunderstandings for such an important story.

Binh An's face briefly froze, then nodded slowly, his eyes becoming more cautious.

"That day, I lied and said I had to go to extra classes," Thao Nguyen continued, her hands shaking a little but she tried to hold on. "The truth is that I didn't want to go, because I was afraid of my friends asking about you, afraid of having to explain. I chose my comfort instead of being there for you that day. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for leaving you alone to look for me in the stands and not find me."

Binh An was silent for a long time, his eyes gradually turned red, he lowered his head to look at his hands clasped together on his lap. Thao Nguyen did not urge her to say anything, just sat still, letting that silence exist, waiting.

Finally, Binh An looked up and began to gesture with his hands, slowly but clearly. "I remember that day," he signs. "I kept looking at the stage throughout the show, looking for you. When I didn't see you, I thought you must be really busy, but inside I was still sad. Then my mother told me that you were going to extra classes. I believed it, without any doubt."

He paused for a moment, then continued, his eyes still lowered. "Now that I know the truth, I... don't know how to feel. I'm both sad that you lied, and... I didn't expect you to remember so clearly and even take the initiative to tell me."

"I'm sorry," Thao Nguyen repeated, this time her hands were shaking more clearly. "I know that apologizing now cannot erase the feeling you had that day. I just want you to know, I remember, I regret, and I will never let that happen again."

Binh An looked at her for a long time, then slowly continued: "You know, what makes me sad isn't just what happened that day. It's that over the years, you gradually... move further away from me. It's as if you carry something in your heart, but never say it, just avoid it."

Those words were like a small needle piercing Thao Nguyen's heart, painful but necessary, a truth she needed to hear to truly understand the depth of the distance she had created. "You're right," she admitted, not shying away. "I avoided it, because I was afraid of facing the feeling that I wasn't good enough. But now I don't want to avoid it anymore. I want to be here, with you, really."

Binh An nodded, slowly, then suddenly reached out and held her hand - a simple gesture but filled with meaning. "I trust you," he gestured with his other hand. "But remember, don't just say it, you have to do it for real, for a long time, not just a few weeks and then quit like before."

"I promise," Thao Nguyen replied, squeezing her hand tightly, feeling a sense of relief creeping throughout her body, mixed with stronger determination than ever.

The two sisters sat next to each other for a moment, not saying anything else, simply enjoying the warm silence between them, a silence completely different from the oppressive silence that often existed between them before.

The next morning, when Thao Nguyen went down to eat breakfast, she saw her mother standing in the kitchen, her eyes looking at her daughter something strange. "What did you talk about with Binh An last night?" Mom asked, her voice gentle but clearly curious. "This morning, my mother saw that he was very happy, and even showed off to her that she promised to take him out on the weekend."

Thao Nguyen felt a bit shy and briefly told her how she had apologized to her about the performance in the past. Her mother was silent for a moment, her eyes filled with tears, then walked over to hug her daughter. "I didn't know it affected you so much," she said, her voice choking up. "I just simply thought you were really busy with extra classes that day."

"I'm sorry for lying to you, Mom," Thao Nguyen confessed, bowing her head.

"It's okay, honey," her mother patted her back. "The important thing is that you were brave enough to correct your mistakes, even though it's better late than never. Mom is proud of you." Those words made Thao Nguyen feel like another burden had been lifted, completely different from the heavy feeling she had every time she mentioned the past.

Later that week, at the club study session, Thao Nguyen told Gia Bach about the apology conversation on Friday night, her voice still a little emotional as she repeated it. Gia Bach listened attentively and nodded in agreement. "I'm proud of you," he said, his eyes warm. "Not everyone is brave enough to proactively apologize like that, especially when faced with a memory that makes them ashamed."

"It's thanks to your suggestion," Thao Nguyen smiled, a bit shy. "If it weren't for that conversation that day, I would probably still procrastinate."

"No, it's because of your courage," Gia Bach shook his head, correcting her words. "I just made a suggestion, and the one who truly overcame his fear to say sorry was you."

The two people's eyes met for a moment longer than usual, neither of them quickly turned away like before. Something in the air had changed, an invisible string was gradually tightening between them, although neither of them dared to name it.

"By the way," Gia Bach said, breaking that awkward moment of silence, "next week our club will have a second meeting at Lang Coffee. Remember to bring Binh An along as promised."

"Sure," Thao Nguyen nodded, her eyes shining. "I'm even more excited than you. For the past few days I've been asking you when that meeting will come."

"Then prepare yourself," Gia Bach smiled, "because this time Mr. Phuc said there will be a few more of his friends coming, including a guy who works in visual arts. Maybe Binh An will like to meet him, because I remember you told me that Binh An likes to draw."

That statement made Thao Nguyen both surprised and touched - Gia Bach not only remembered the small details she once told about her younger brother, but also proactively arranged to create suitable connection opportunities for Binh An. "Do you remember that too?" she asked, sounding a little surprised.

"I remember everything you told me," Gia Bach replied, then as if realizing that his statement was a bit obvious, he was a bit confused, scratched the back of his neck, and laughed. "I mean... I'm interested in how the club can help its members, especially their relatives."

Thao Nguyen laughed at his rare awkwardness, feeling strangely warm in her heart. "Thank you," she said, sincerely. "Really thank you for everything you've done, not only for me, but for Binh An as well."

On the way home that night, Thao Nguyen smiled to herself as she walked, thinking about the apology conversation with Binh An, about Gia Bach's eyes just now, about the upcoming exchange that her younger brother was eagerly looking forward to. She felt, for the first time in many years, that all the pieces of her life — family, friendships, and perhaps something new — were slowly coming together, forming a more complete picture than ever before.

When she got home, she saw Binh An still awake, diligently drawing something in her notebook. When he saw her coming in, he waved back, pointing to the new drawing - an image of a small cafe with many people sitting and chatting with their hands, the drawing was simple but full of vitality. "Drawing before next week's meeting," he signs, eyes sparkling. "I imagine it will be like this."

Thao Nguyen sat down next to her sister, looked at the painting for a long time, her heart filled with a simple happiness that she had never felt so fully in many years.

"I think it will be more beautiful than your painting," she gestured, deliberately teasing, making Binh An laugh and lightly punch her on the shoulder in protest. The two sat for a while longer, discussing what might happen at next week's exchange. Binh An excitedly asked a series of questions using symbols that Thao Nguyen had to try her best to keep up with, but this time, instead of feeling pressured because she didn't understand everything, she just felt happy because she was caught up in her excitement. Before turning off the light in my room so we could both go to sleep, she even signed a short sentence: "Thank you for giving me the opportunity to correct my mistake." Binh An just smiled, nodded, no more words needed, and Thao Nguyen understood, that was a complete, silent but certain forgiveness.