Chapter 23 — The Machine of Dreams

Sunday morning, Hoàng Nam's family's house was unusually quiet. Doctor Dinh Quang Hai, his father, was rarely home on weekends because of his busy hospital schedule, but today he arranged to be fully present, sitting next to his wife in the living room, both looking serious as if they were preparing for an important meeting rather than a normal family conversation.

Hoàng Nam sat opposite his parents, his hands clasped tightly together on his thighs to hide his trembling, his heart still echoing Bảo Châu's words of encouragement the night before on the phone: "You just need to tell the truth. I believe in you."

"What do you want to talk about?" His mother, doctor Tran Thi Ngoc Mai, spoke first, her tone still maintaining the familiar sternness, but Hoàng Nam could detect a bit of worry behind her eyes, perhaps she also sensed that this would not be a simple conversation.

Hoàng Nam took a deep breath, remembering what she had rehearsed with Bảo Châu. "I want to talk about my future," he began, trying to keep his voice steady. "About what major I want to enter after graduation."

His father, who was quieter than his mother, frowned slightly. "My parents thought this had been decided a long time ago. I will enter the medical field, continuing the family tradition."

"That's what my parents want," Hoàng Nam replied, trying to keep his voice calm even though his heart was pounding in his chest. "But that's not what I really want."

The room fell into a heavy silence. His mother placed the cup of tea on the table, her eyes fixed on her son with an unreadable expression — not exactly anger, but not acceptance either.

"So what do you want?" she asked, her voice frighteningly calm.

"I want to study Mechanical Engineering, specializing in Robotics," Hoàng Nam said, this time his voice was more certain, no longer shaking like the first sentence. "I know this may sound sudden, or like an impulsive teenage decision, but I've been thinking about it for the past four years, ever since my first exposure to robotics at a STEM workshop in eighth grade."

"It's just an extracurricular club, Hoàng Nam," his father said, his voice somewhat stern. "Not a foundation to build a whole career on."

"It's not just an extracurricular club for me," Hoàng Nam countered, his voice starting to tremble as his pent-up emotions were finally released. "Do you know the feeling of standing in a factory, watching an idea gradually turn into reality through each screw, each line of programming commands? That is the only feeling that makes me feel truly alive, truly myself. It's not that Hoàng Nam is a good student, Hoàng Nam will inherit the family business, but simply Hoàng Nam, who loves to solve complex technical problems and see them come true."

His mother was silent, her eyes flashing with surprise at the intensity of emotions her son rarely showed. "You've never told me these things," she said, her voice a little quieter.

"Because every time I tried to speak, my parents brushed it off, seeing it as just a temporary hobby," Hoàng Nam replied, trying not to let his voice sound like he was blaming, even though the hurt that had accumulated over the years still remained inside him. "I understand that my parents want the best for me. I understand that my whole family has a proud tradition in the medical field, and I know that my parents have sacrificed a lot to raise me. But I cannot live a life chosen by someone else, no matter how much that person loves me."

"Do you think Engineering will bring you a stable future?" his father asked, his voice still skeptical but less harsh. "The medical field guarantees you a solid job, social respect, and a stable income. Are you sure about what you are giving up?"

"I'm not completely sure about the future, no one can be completely sure," Hoàng Nam admitted, his voice sincere. "But I know one thing for sure — I led the school's Robotics Club to pass the regional qualifiers for the first time in three years, I learned how to solve problems, how to lead a team, how to get up after failure. Those skills, that passion, are real, mom and dad. I beg you, please give me a chance to pursue it, at least let me get into the field I want, instead of being forced into a path that I know I will never truly be able to pursue happily."

A long silence enveloped the living room, with only the sound of the wall clock ticking steadily. Hoàng Nam's parents looked at each other, a wordless exchange of looked that only those who had been together through decades of marriage could fully understand.

"I need time to think about this," his mother finally spoke, her voice softening considerably from its initial firmness. "This is not a decision you can accept or reject overnight."

"I understand," Hoàng Nam replied, although there was still a hint of disappointment in his heart because he had not received the clear answer he expected.

"But," she continued, looking at her son with a rare gentleness that Hoàng Nam almost forgot existed in his childhood memories. "I took note of what you just said. I will think seriously about it, instead of immediately dismissing it like before. I'm sorry for not really listening to you sooner."

That apology, although brief and not accompanied by complete agreement, still made Hoàng Nam feel a sense of relief he had never felt in many months. It wasn't the complete victory he dreamed of, but it was the first step, a door opened after so long being closed, and for him, right now, that was enough to bring hope.

"I need time too," his father added, his voice still reserved but no longer completely closed off like before. "But I will come watch you compete in the national finals next week, if work allows. Maybe I need to see with my own eyes what you are talking about, to understand better."

Hoàng Nam looked up, unable to hide his surprise mixed with hope at that unexpected proposal. "I'd be happy if you guys came to watch," he said, his voice shaking with emotion.

The conversation ended without complete agreement from his parents, but when Hoàng Nam left the living room, he felt that something had changed. A door, even if only slightly open, was still much better than a completely closed wall. She pulled out her phone and immediately texted Bảo Châu, her fingers trembling as she typed each word.

"We're done talking. Mom and Dad haven't completely agreed yet, but they've really listened. And they said they'll come watch us compete in the finals."

The reply message came immediately, filled with joy: "That's a big step! I'm so proud of you, Hoàng Nam. You've done the most difficult thing — telling the truth."

Hoàng Nam smiled at the phone screen, a feeling of relief and gratitude filling his heart—not only because the conversation with his parents had gone better than he expected, but also because he knew that, no matter what the final result, he would not have to face anything alone anymore, with Bảo Châu and the whole team always ready to stand by her side.

That afternoon, she arranged to meet Bảo Châu at a small coffee shop near her house, wanting to recount more details about the conversation with her parents beyond the short text messages. When Bảo Châu arrived, she saw him already sitting in a familiar corner. Although his face still had traces of fatigue, his eyes were much brighter than in previous weeks.

"Tell me the details," she said, sitting down opposite, listening eagerly.

Hoàng Nam recounted every sentence, every word exchanged in the living room this morning, his voice gradually becoming softer and more comfortable as he narrated, as if telling the story again helped him truly believe that it had happened, that it wasn't just a fleeting dream.

"I didn't expect your dad to say she would come to watch the match," Bảo Châu said, smiling emotionally. "That's a good sign."

"I didn't expect it either," Hoàng Nam admitted, gently stirring the cup of coffee in front of him. "But I think, more important than whether my parents agree right away or not, is that for the first time in my life, I feel like I've really been listened to, even if just a little."

"That's because you were brave enough to tell the truth," Bảo Châu replied, reaching out to hold her hand on the table, a natural gesture that had become familiar between the two in recent days. "And I believe, no matter the end result, you have done the most important thing — staying true to yourself."

Hoàng Nam gently squeezed her hand, his eyes filled with a warmth that neither of them needed to name out loud to understand its meaning, as Sunday afternoon gradually passed outside the coffee shop window, bringing with it a new beginning full of hope for both of them.