Chapter 8 — The Photograph Without a Third Person

It rained heavily on Friday afternoon. The first rain of the season suddenly caused the entire alley where Nam's auto repair shop was located to be flooded with white water. Ha quickly ran into the rain, her coat was soaked, her hair stuck to her forehead.

"Come in here," Nam called, pulling a plastic chair closer inside, where the corrugated iron roof offered better protection. He took an old but clean towel and gave it to her. "Let's wipe it off for now, so you don't catch a cold."

Ha took the towel, thanked her, then sat down to watch the torrential rain outside. Nam brewed a pot of hot ginger tea on the mini gas stove placed in the corner of the shop, the pungent smell of ginger spread throughout the small space.

"Do you always have ginger tea ready?" she asked, taking the cup of tea from him.

"Old habit," he replied, sitting down in the chair opposite. "In the past, my mother used to make ginger tea every time it rained. She said ginger tea helps people stay alert on humid, gloomy days."

This is the first time Nam proactively mentioned "mother" during conversations between the two. Ha remained silent, not wanting to break this rare moment with overwhelming questions.

"Your mother must be an affectionate person," she said softly, leaving the space open for him to continue if he wanted to.

Nam looked out at the rain, his eyes distant as if lost in some far away memory. "She is the strongest woman I have ever known. But she is also the one who has suffered the most unfair things." He stopped, clutching the cup of tea in his hand so tightly that his knuckles turned white. "I haven't seen you in four years."

Those words made Ha's heart tighten. She wanted to ask why, wanted to ask what made him leave his mother for so long, but she held back, just quietly placing her hand on the table, close to his hand without touching, a small gesture to let him know she was there, ready to listen.

"Sometimes," Nam continued, his voice growing deeper and slower, "I wonder if it was worth it, risking everything — my job, my identity, even my loved ones — just to keep others safe. There are nights when I lie alone, wondering if I had chosen differently that day, would things have been better, or would have just caused more people to suffer for me."

“What are you talking about?” Ha asked softly, her voice as gentle as possible.

Nam turned to look at her, and in that moment, Ha clearly saw a fierce internal struggle going on behind those tired eyes - between wanting to let go of the burden that had been suppressed for four years, and the fear of the consequences if the truth was told.

"I..." he began, his voice trembling, "I used to be someone else. Someone with a name, a career, a family that I loved dearly. But four years ago, I had to give up all of that, not because I wanted to, but because..."

At that moment, Nam's phone rang, interrupting his unfinished sentence. He looked at the screen, his face immediately froze, all the softness that had just been revealed disappeared without a trace. He stood up, walked out onto the porch despite the rain, and answered the phone in a tense whisper that Ha couldn't hear clearly.

When he turned back, his expression was completely closed, like a door that had just been slammed shut.

"Sorry, I have urgent business to attend to," he said, his voice returning to its familiar distance. "You should go home before the rain gets worse."

Ha wanted to ask who had just called, wanted to ask what the story he was telling was, but she realized that fragile moment had passed. She nodded, stood up, but before leaving, she gently grabbed his hand.

"Whenever you're ready to continue," she said, "I'll be here to listen."

Nam looked at her hand holding his, then looked up at her face, his eyes flashed with something very complex - gratitude, fear, and a fragile ray of hope that he seemed to have tried to forget for a long time. "Thank you," he said softly, almost silently.

***

On the way home, even though she was still wet from the rain, Ha couldn't stop thinking about the phone call that interrupted Nam's story. Someone, at the exact moment he was about to reveal the truth, called and made him immediately close the door of his heart. What does that mean? Is there someone watching both of them, knowing exactly when to intervene to prevent the truth from being told?

That thought made her shiver, not because of the coldness of the rain, but because of the realization of the seriousness of what she was getting herself into. She called Dieu Thao as soon as she got home and told her everything that had just happened.

"He almost told everything," Dieu Thao said, her voice full of regret. "Just a little more left."

"I know. But I think, what was more important was that call. Someone intervened at the right time, as if they knew exactly what was going on in that auto repair shop."

"Do you think Nam is being followed?"

"I think there's a possibility," Ha replied, sitting down on the bed, a feeling of anxiety rising in her heart. "And if that's true, then every time you go to see him, you're also putting him in more danger."

That night, Ha couldn't sleep, her mind spinning between worries for Nam's safety and the strangely warm feeling of remembering the way he looked at her before she left - the eyes of someone who hadn't been allowed to trust anyone for too long, now slowly learning how to open up again.

She knew that even though the road ahead was still dangerous, she could no longer turn back. Not just because of the truth she is looking for, but because of the man who is gradually occupying an important part of her heart, a person who deserves to live without having to look ahead every time the phone rings.

The next morning, when the rain had completely stopped, leaving behind a rare clear blue sky, Ha decided not to go back to the car repair shop right away. She needed time to organize her thoughts, as well as give Nam personal space after the mysterious call that interrupted his story. Instead, she spent the morning reviewing everything she knew, writing it down in a clear timeline on a large whiteboard hanging in the corner of the studio.

Dieu Thao stood next, looking at the board filled with arrows and notes. "It looks like a police investigation board in a movie," she commented, trying to make a joke to dispel the tension.

"You need to see the whole picture," Ha replied, unable to laugh. "Each piece of the puzzle is explainable individually, but when put together, I feel like I'm approaching a very big, very dangerous truth."

She looked at the words "Nam calling — 'urgent matter'" circled in red on the board, wondering who was on the other end of the line, and whether it was Mrs. Kim Oanh — the only person in the family who knew Gia Bao was alive — who called to warn him about some danger related to Ha.

"If it's true that his mother called," Dieu Thao said, as if reading her friend's thoughts, "then perhaps she was trying to protect both of you — both to protect her son from being exposed, and to protect herself from danger if she continued to investigate."

"Maybe," Ha nodded, her eyes softening a bit as she thought about that possibility. "She's not really a bad person. She's just a mother stuck between her two children, trying to protect them both the only way she knows how — with silence."

In the afternoon, Ha received a second text message from Nam, brief but containing a clear determination: "I have found a safe place. Tomorrow night, eight o'clock, small cafe at the end of Le Loi street, behind the old market. Come alone."

Reading that message, Ha felt her heart pounding, mixed with excitement, anxiety and a fragile hope that finally, after so many weeks of groping, she was about to hear the whole truth from the person who lived through it.

She texted him back a simple word: "Okay." Then put the phone on the table, sat quietly looking out the window, where the sunset was dyeing the sky orange behind the close-knit rooftops. Tomorrow, everything could change completely — not just for the investigation she's pursuing, but perhaps, for her heart as well.

Dieu Thao walked in, saw her friend's thoughtful expression, softly asked: "Are you okay?"

"I'm just trying to prepare myself," Ha replied, smiling slightly. "No matter what he says tomorrow, I think I'm ready to face it, no matter how painful the truth is."

"You really like him, right?" Dieu Thao asked, her voice gentle but full of meaning.

Ha didn't answer right away, just looked out the window, a light smile flickering at the corner of her lips. "I think, no matter how things end, I won't regret not turning my back on that man."