Chapter 14 — The Test Has No Name

Reasons To Return

Nguyen read the invitation email from Vong Khe High School three times in a row before closing his laptop, standing up and walking to the office window, looking down at the traffic flowing slowly on the street eight floors below. He didn't expect that after six years of deliberately avoiding all contact with his old town, an official invitation could make him lose his composure so much, even for just a few short minutes.

The signature at the end of the letter clearly states: "Sincerely, Vo Khanh Thu — Vice Principal in charge of expertise." He read that name over and over again, feeling like time suddenly folded, taking him back to the library room from years ago, where he once sat next to her, solving a difficult math problem together under the afternoon sunlight through the window.

In the evening, he called Nhat Khoi, now co-founder and technical director of Minh Tinh EDU, the only friend who knew his complete story from beginning to end.

"Are you going to answer?" Nhat Khoi asked, his voice cautious over the phone, knowing the weight of the question he had just asked.

"I don't know," Nguyen replied, sitting down on the sofa, twirling his father's old watch on his wrist - a habit he still keeps when he needs to think about important issues. "You know, for the past six years I've avoided everything related to Vong Khe, not because I'm weak, but because I haven't found a way to look back on it without feeling pain. Now suddenly there's an invitation letter, right on the topic of school integrity, right at that school, I see it more as an irony than an opportunity."

"Do you think they invited you because they know the past, or simply because you are famous in the industry?" Nhat Khoi asked.

"Probably the latter," Nguyen replied. "The person who signed the invitation letter probably didn't expect that I would read her name at the bottom of the letter."

"Khanh Thu?" Nhat Khoi asked directly, without beating around the bush. "Is she really the Vice Principal there now?"

"YES." Nguyen replied briefly, not wanting to talk more about it right now. "Part of me wanted to refuse immediately. I don't owe that school anything, much less..."

He left the sentence unfinished. Nhat Khoi didn't need to finish to understand who he was talking about.

"But what about the rest?" Nhat Khoi continued asking.

"The other part of me thinks about kids like me back in the day," Nguyen said, his voice slower. "Poor, good students, with no one to back them up, easily fall victim to anyone who wants to take their chances by trickery. If I stand up and tell my story, not to get justice for myself — that's in the past, it can't be fixed — but to let other kids know that there is a system, there is a way to better protect them, then maybe it's worth doing."

"So you'll accept for the kids, not for her?" Nhat Khoi asked, unable to hide the curiosity in his voice.

"It's not because of her," Nguyen affirmed, although he also realized that his voice was a little harder than necessary when he said it, as if he was trying to convince himself more than his friend. "I still haven't forgotten her answer in that empty classroom that year. I'm not sure I'm ready to stand in front of her, let alone forgive."

That night, after the call with Nhat Khoi, Nguyen looked in the old bookcase in the corner of the room, where he kept a few items from high school that he had never had the courage to completely throw away. He found the exam book for excellent students from last year - the book Khanh Thu had lent him, the book he brought with him on the bus leaving Vong Khe but had never opened it again for the past six years, just as he promised himself that day.

He held the book in his hand, flipped through the first few pages, recognized his own handwriting notes in the margins of difficult math problems, mixed with a few underlined lines with a blue ink pen that he clearly remembered as Khanh Thu's. On page twelve - the problem she solved incorrectly that afternoon in the library - he stopped for a long time, his fingers lightly gliding over the numbers that had yellowed over time.

He closed the book and put it on his desk instead of putting it back in the closet like usual. Perhaps, he thought, this was the "good enough reason" he had promised himself to wait for — not a reason to forgive, but a reason to finally face the part of the past he had tried to bury for so long.

That weekend, Nguyen returned to visit his mother at the small apartment he had bought for her, bringing with him a bag of fruit and, as rarely happened, a story he had never told her in detail since the day he left Vong Khe.

"My old school invited me to come and talk, on the occasion of the school's 20th anniversary," he said, sitting down next to his mother while she was picking vegetables to prepare dinner. "I don't know if I should accept or not."

Mrs. Dieu stopped and looked at her son for a long moment before responding. "Do whatever you think. I don't force you. But I remember, when you were little, every time you were bullied by friends in the neighborhood, you never chose to run away. You always found a way to face it, even if you had to suffer first."

"This is different, mom," Nguyen said. "This isn't about kids fighting over toys anymore."

"I know," she replied, her voice gentle but firm. "But people, no matter how old they are, still need to learn how to face old wounds, otherwise they will smolder forever and not heal completely. I'm not saying you have to forgive anyone, I just think, you are strong enough to decide the rest of your life the way you want, not the way old fears lead you."

Her mother's words, simple but profound, stayed in Nguyen's mind all night. He lay unable to sleep, looked up at the ceiling, thinking back on the entire journey of the past six years - from a cramped motel room to the current spacious company office, from a student unjustly accused of a crime to a person recognized by society. He realized, no matter how hard he tried, he never really closed that chapter in his life. It's still there, smoldering, like a scar that has never been looked at directly in the light.

The next morning, he called Nhat Khoi again, announcing his final decision.

"I'll accept," he said, his voice calm but firm. "Not to reconcile with anyone, nor to reclaim something lost. I want to stand on that very stage, telling my own story, in my own way, to the children who need to hear it the most."

"Are you sure?" Nhat Khoi asked again one last time.

"Sure," Nguyen replied. "But I need you to come with me. I don't think I'm strong enough to go back there alone."

"Of course," Nhat Khoi replied without hesitation. "I will always go with you, ever since high school until now."

That afternoon, Nguyen sat in front of his laptop, composing an official response letter to Vong Khe High School, confirming his participation as the main speaker in the opening session of School Integrity Week. He wrote and rewrote the content of his planned speech, carefully considering how much of his own story to reveal — whether to directly mention the name of the school, the name of the incident, or just talk in general terms like in previous interviews. In the end, he decided to leave it open, telling himself he would make a more specific decision when he actually stood on that stage, facing the faces of students who had never experienced anything similar.

He also thought about contacting the school in advance to find out who else would be present at the event, but then decided against it, deciding to let things happen naturally, not preparing too carefully for a meeting whose nature inherently cannot be completely controlled by reason. There are encounters, he thinks, that can only be experienced, not planned in advance.

He read the letter one last time before sending it, his eyes stopping at the signature line at the end of the invitation - Vo Khanh Thu - one more time, longer than necessary, before pressing the send button, bringing with it a decision he knew would push him into a confrontation that he had avoided for six long years.

Late that night, before going to bed, he texted his mother a short message informing her that he had decided to accept the invitation. Mrs. Dieu replied with only one sentence, but it was enough to reassure him more than any long words of encouragement: "I believe you will know how to face it at the right time, in the right place. Sleep well, go to work tomorrow."

Nguyen put down the phone and turned off the light, but for the first time in many years, sleep came to him more gently than he thought, as if finally making a decision, even without knowing the outcome, had in itself removed part of the burden he had been carrying for so long without even realizing it.