Chapter 22 — The Test Has No Name

Time Is Not Enough

Three days after the closing ceremony, Nguyen and Nhat Khoi remained in Vong Khe, partly because of arrangements with a few potential partners interested in collaborating with Minh Tinh EDU after the event, partly because Nguyen needed more time to calm down before leaving town again.

"Are you going to see her before you leave?" Nhat Khoi asked on the last morning, when the two were packing their suitcases in the hotel room.

"I think I should meet," Nguyen replied, folding the last shirt. "Not to say anything big, I just feel like I need to close the interrupted conversation that day more completely, before leaving."

"What do you think you'll say?" Nhat Khoi asked, curious but not pressing.

"I haven't prepared a script yet," Nguyen replied, smiling slightly. "Maybe this time, I will let everything happen naturally, not trying to control every word like before."

Nhat Khoi nodded and patted his friend's shoulder. "Go ahead, I'll wait for you here to finish arranging a few things. Just take your time, no need to rush."

Nguyen left the hotel, texted Khanh Thu, asking to meet one last time before he left - not to discuss work, but to somewhat close the unfinished conversation between the two.

She met him at the school library, right where they used to solve math problems together last year. When Nguyen walked in, the afternoon sunlight through the window still poured down just like in his memories, even though the bookshelves had been replaced and the tables and chairs had changed more or less over time.

Khanh Thu was already sitting at the innermost table, in the same position as before, in front of her was the exam book for excellent students from that year - the book Nguyen brought from the city, which had been returned to her the day before via the school's post office, along with a small piece of paper that simply wrote: "Thank you for letting me borrow it, even though it's a bit late to return it."

"You're here," she said, closing the book and pushing it aside.

"I see you still maintain the habit of sitting in the same place," Nguyen said, looking around the library room, trying to find some sense of familiarity amid the small changes over the years. "The bookshelves are different, but this table is still the same."

"The school replaced most of its furniture a few years ago, but the librarian insisted on not allowing it to be replaced," Khanh Thu replied, smiling slightly, the first smile he had seen from her since he set foot back in Vong Khe. "She said the old wooden table was much sturdier than the new one now."

A short silence passed, not entirely comfortable but not as heavy as previous meetings. Nguyen looked down at the table top, where there were still a few small engravings left by students over many generations, wondering if any of them were left over from the afternoon the two of them sat together to solve problems.

"I came to say goodbye, and to say a few things I think I need to say before leaving here," Nguyen replied, sitting in the opposite chair, exactly the same distance from a narrow wooden table as fifteen years ago.

"I heard," Khanh Thu said, her voice calm but her eyes still full of worry.

"I've been thinking a lot these past few days," Nguyen began, his voice slow, weighing each word. "About what you did at the closing ceremony. I don't deny that a large part of me is still angry, still hurt by those fifteen years of silence. That won't go away with just one speech, no matter how brave it is."

"I understand," Khanh Thu replied, not interrupting, just listening.

"But I also realized something," he continued. "Standing up and telling the truth in front of hundreds of people, knowing full well that it could destroy your position, your reputation, even your relationship with your father — that's a different kind of courage, not the same as the courage required at eighteen. Perhaps, in some ways, it's even harder."

Khanh Thu looked at him, said nothing, waiting for him to say everything he needed to say.

"I can't say I've completely forgiven," Nguyen said, his voice more sincere than ever. "But I think, the current you and the eighteen-year-old you are two different people, in an important way. The eighteen-year-old you chose to stay silent out of fear. The you of today chose to speak up even though he knew the cost. I think that's something worth noting, even though it can't erase what happened."

Tears rolled down Khanh Thu's cheeks, but this time they were lighter tears, no longer as heavy with guilt as before. "Thank you for saying that. I don't dare expect you to forgive me right away. I just hope that one day, you can look back on this without feeling so much pain."

"Maybe it will take more time," Nguyen said, his voice sincere. "I need time to process all these feelings — not just for you, but for Vy, and for myself. Fifteen years is a long time to carry around an unanswered question. Now that I have the answer, I need time to learn to live with it in a different way."

"Are you going to keep in touch?" Khanh Thu asked, her voice cautious, as if afraid that this question would disrupt the fragile balance that had just been established between the two of them.

"I think so," Nguyen replied after a short, thoughtful silence. "Not in the same way as in high school, but maybe, over time, we can find a way that's more suitable for now. I don't want to completely close this door, I just don't want to rush to open it all the way right now."

"I understand, and I think that's a fair answer," Khanh Thu said, nodding, her eyes shining with a small but not desperate hope.

"I respect that," Khanh Thu replied. "I'm not going to put any time frame on you to forgive. That's what I've learned, perhaps the most important thing, over the past fifteen years — not everything can be fixed immediately, and sometimes, waiting patiently is a form of respect for others."

They sat in silence for a while, not the awkward silence like their first meeting in the living room, but a somewhat more relieved silence, like two people had just laid down a burden they had carried for too long.

"The school will hold a small ceremony, attaching the official document of honor restoration to your file, expected next month," Khanh Thu said, switching to a more practical topic. "The school board hopes you can attend, if you are willing."

"I'll consider it," Nguyen replied, not making any promises but also not refusing outright. "Maybe I'll come back, when I feel more ready."

He stood up, preparing to leave the library. Before walking out the door, he stopped and turned to look at Khanh Thu again.

"Thank you, for finally saying it," he said, his voice sincere without a hint of sarcasm. "I know it's not easy."

"Thank you, for coming back to give me that chance," Khanh Thu replied, her voice equally sincere.

Nguyen nodded, walked out of the library, leaving Khanh Thu sitting alone in the gradually fading afternoon sunlight, her hand on the old excellent student exam book, feeling like a long chapter in her life, although not completely closed, had finally found a stopping point enough for her to breathe a sigh of relief, even if only for this short moment.

On the way out of school, Nguyen stopped by Ms. Bich Loan's house to say goodbye, bringing with her a small box of cakes that she quickly bought at a nearby store. His old teacher hugged him tightly in front of the house, telling him to stay healthy and occasionally visit the school when possible, without waiting for another big event.

"Thank you, for believing in me all these years, even when there was no evidence at hand," Nguyen said, his voice emotional.

"That's the least a teacher should do," Ms. Loan replied, smiling kindly. "I'm just sorry that it took so many years for that belief to have a chance to be proven by the truth."

In the afternoon, Nhat Khoi's car rolled out of Vong Khe, passing the same road Nguyen used to sit on the bus many years ago, not daring to look back. This time, when the car passed the sign "Welcome to Vong Khe town", Nguyen turned his head to look back, not because he was afraid of facing the past, but because for the first time in fifteen years, he felt like he could look straight at it without the same numb pain as before, only a settled sadness, much gentler than what he used to carry.

"Are you okay?" Nhat Khoi asked, glancing at you through the rearview mirror.

"Fine," Nguyen replied, and this time, the answer sounded a lot more real than the other times he'd said it during this trip.