Chapter 13 — The Test Has No Name

Invitation Letter

Five days passed strangely slowly. Five days after sending the invitation, Khanh Thu's inbox still has not received a response from Nguyen. She told herself it was normal — a busy person like him certainly had many things to consider before responding to an invitation related to the past — but every time she opened her email to check, her heart still skipped a beat before she could clearly see whether there was a new email or not.

In the meantime, preparations for School Integrity Week must continue. One morning, she had an online call with the scholarship fund representative to discuss sponsorship and the content of the guest of honor's speech. When the screen appeared, she realized that the person appearing was not the communications officer as expected, but Chu Dinh Vy.

"Sorry for the last minute change," Vy said, his voice polite but somewhat stiff. "The staff in charge was unexpectedly busy. I directly worked on this case because our foundation is quite interested in school events."

"It's okay," Khanh Thu replied, trying to keep her tone professional, although a strange feeling arose in her heart when for the first time in many years, she had to face Vy directly in a long conversation, not just a fleeting encounter in the conference hallway. She wondered if he realized the irony of the fact that he, the one who caused the incident that year, was now representing a scholarship fund associated with an event honoring school integrity, or had gotten used to having two versions of himself coexist for many years.

They discussed sponsorship terms, event schedules, promotional banner content — all of which went smoothly according to work standards. Looking at Vy through the screen, Khanh Thu realized that the skinny, stressed student had now become a well-groomed, eloquent man with the confident demeanor of a famous scholarship fund manager. But somewhere in his eyes, every time the conversation reached short silences, she still recognized something that had never changed - the constant vigilance of a person who always had to strictly control every word spoken.

"Our fund this year sponsored many scholarships for poor students overcoming difficulties," Vy said, his natural voice returning when discussing professional work. "We also hope that this event can inspire children, especially those in difficult circumstances but with good academic performance."

"Sounds very meaningful," Khanh Thu replied, unable to help but feel somewhat bitter at the coincidence of that statement, when the person who was saying it was the reason why a poor student with good academic performance lost the fairest opportunity in his life.

"I believe this event will have special meaning," Vy added, his eyes slightly distant. "Sometimes people need a long enough period of time to look back at things more clearly."

Khanh Thu wasn't sure if that statement was simply polite, or contained something deeper that Vy wasn't ready to say outright, until she, unable to hold back, asked another question outside the script.

"Did you know Mr. Nguyen was also invited to be the keynote speaker?"

A short silence appeared on the screen. Vy bowed his head slightly, his fingers lightly tapping the table outside the camera frame - a gesture Khanh Thu remembered clearly from her high school years, a familiar sign of suppressed tension.

"I heard," Vy replied, his voice a beat slower than before. "I haven't seen him in a while."

"Are you planning on meeting him at the event?"

"If there is a chance, probably yes," Vy said, then quickly redirected the conversation back to terms of cooperation, as if wanting to close this topic as soon as possible. "As for the banner, I think we should put our foundation logo in the lower right corner, to avoid competing with the school's main logo."

Khanh Thu noticed the obvious avoidance in Vy's way of changing the subject, but she was in no position to question further, not now, not during a business call. She nodded, continuing to discuss the remaining details, but in her mind, an uneasy premonition began to form more clearly than ever — a premonition that the upcoming event would not simply be a smooth celebration.

At the end of the call, Khanh Thu decided to go down to the school's records room, using the excuse of needing to find old documents for the twenty-year history exhibition of the school's founding within the framework of the event. The storage room is located in the basement of the administrative building, damp and covered with dust, where boxes of old files are stacked according to each school year.

She found the box of records from her school year as a student, flipping through each yellowed file - student list, board meeting minutes, old grade book - until her hand touched a thin file clipped separately, with a handwritten note on the outside: "Disciplinary case - Huynh Dang Nguyen."

Her heart beat faster. She sat down on an old wooden chair in the corner of the room, opening the file under the flashing neon light. Inside were copies of the school bag inspection minutes, the disciplinary council meeting minutes, and on the last page, a small handwritten piece of paper that did not belong to any official document — a familiar handwriting that she immediately recognized as Ms. Bich Loan's.

"I still have doubts about this conclusion. Student Nguyen has never shown any unusual symptoms before, while another student in the same exam period has signs of unusual psychological stress that I think are noteworthy. I recorded this here for reference, in case there is new evidence in the future."

No specific name was mentioned in that piece of paper, but Khanh Thu immediately understood who Ms. Loan was referring to. She sat silently in the damp storage room, her hand trembling as she held the old piece of paper, realizing that she was not the only one who had doubted the truth behind the incident that year — it was just that, unlike her, Ms. Loan had at least done something, however small, to preserve a trace of that doubt for posterity, instead of letting it sink into complete oblivion.

She folded the piece of paper and put it back in the file, but did not immediately close the storage box, but sat for a while, her mind reeling with new thoughts. If this piece of paper still exists, if Ms. Loan still has a clear memory of the questionable details of that year, perhaps the truth still has a chance to be revealed, even though fifteen years have passed.

She flipped through a few more pages in the file and found the roll call list for the final review session before the exam — three familiar names next to each other, Huynh Dang Nguyen, Chu Dinh Vy, Vo Khanh Thu, and signatures confirming the full attendance of all three on that last day. She looked at her own signature, the tender handwriting of an eighteen-year-old student who had never faced such a heavy decision in her life, and felt a strange distance between her present self and the girl in that handwriting — as if they were two different people, just coincidentally sharing the same name.

She took a few pages of important documents with her phone, carefully rearranged the files to their original positions as if no one had ever touched them, then locked the door to the storage room and walked up the stairs to return to her office. Every step on the old stairs seemed heavier than usual, carrying the weight of a decision she knew she couldn't postpone any longer: it was time for her to meet Ms. Bich Loan directly, ask clearly about the old note, and perhaps, finally tell the rest of the story that only she knew.

She left the archives room after dark, carrying with her a newfound determination clearer than at any time in all these years. Returning to the office, she opened her email again out of habit, and this time, a new notification appeared on the screen: a response email, from an email address named Huynh Dang Nguyen.

She sat looking at the email subject line for a few endless seconds before finding the courage to click and open it. Outside the office window, the schoolyard lights were on, casting a pale yellow halo on the rows of stone benches where students often sat and chatted after school. She took a deep breath, placed her hand on the computer mouse, it felt like all fifteen years of nameless waiting were compressed into this single moment.