Chapter 8 — The Test Has No Name

Unanswered Questions

A week after the disciplinary council meeting, Nguyen returned to school late one afternoon, when most of the students had left, only a few scattered figures remained on the football field and the sound of the security guard's broom sweeping leaves echoed steadily. He came to apply for a leave of absence from school - not to transfer schools, but to quit completely, studying at home to retake the free graduation exam next year, avoiding having to face the eyes of friends and teachers every day for the rest of the school year.

Before entering the office, he met Nhat Khoi waiting at the school gate, holding a plastic bag containing a few old comic books that the two of them had often exchanged and read since the tenth grade.

"Did you really decide to quit?" Nhat Khoi asked, his voice unable to hide his regret. "I talked to a few kids in class, no one believes you cheated, really."

"I know," Nguyen replied, taking the bag of comics, trying to force a forced smile. "But knowing others don't believe it doesn't mean I can stand sitting in that classroom every day, seeing the empty spot that should be my scholarship."

"So what are you going to do next?"

"Study at home, take the free graduation exam next year. Maybe after that I will look for another direction, not necessarily going to a traditional university." Nguyen shrugged his shoulders, trying to appear gentler than the real feeling swirling in his heart. "I heard that now there are many people who learn programming by themselves and can get a job, no need for a degree."

"No matter what you do, I'm still your friend," Nhat Khoi said, patting his friend's shoulder firmly. "If you need help, just call me. Don't be selfish and disappear without contact."

Nguyen nodded, more touched than he showed. In the storm that just swept through his life, Nhat Khoi's friendship was one of the few things that remained intact, not shaken in the slightest.

After signing the application at the office, he stopped by class 12A one last time to clean up the few books left in the desk drawer. The classroom door was slightly open, afternoon sunlight filtering through the window, dyeing the rows of empty tables and chairs yellow. He walked in, unexpectedly Khanh Thu was also there, sitting alone in the same place, holding a notebook but not looking at any page.

Both stopped when they saw each other. A long silence passed, only the sound of the ceiling fan squeaking overhead.

"Are you here to pick up your things?" Khanh Thu spoke first, trying to keep her voice normal but unable to hide her trembling.

"YES." Nguyen walked to his old desk, opened the desk drawer, took out a few worn-out notebooks, moving slowly as if trying to buy time before saying what he really wanted to say. "I quit school. Self-study at home, free graduation exam."

"You don't have to do that," Khanh Thu said, standing up and taking a step closer. "You can stay, finish the year, everyone will..."

"How will people look at me, Thu?" Nguyen interrupted, turned around and looked straight at her, his voice not loud but sharp as a knife. "Like a cheater caught in the act? Do you think I can handle that look every day for the remaining seven months?"

Khanh Thu remained silent, no answer was enough to calm the anger rising inside him.

"I have a question to ask you," Nguyen said, placing the pile of notebooks on the table, both hands resting on the wooden table top, his eyes not leaving her. "The afternoon before the exam, in the auditorium, when we put our bags together to get used to our seats — did you see anything unusual?"

The question fell into the air like a stone thrown into a still lake. Khanh Thu felt all the blood rushing to her face, her heart beating so fast that she was afraid Nguyen could hear that beat from this distance.

"Why... why do you ask?" she replied, trying to keep her voice calm but her counter-question sounded clearly like an avoidance.

"Because I've been thinking about it all week," Nguyen said, his voice slow, each word as if carefully considered. "I didn't bring that document in, I'm one hundred percent sure. So it could only be that someone put it in my bag, and the only time my bag was in a place where others could access it was that afternoon, at the auditorium, when the three of us left our bags there for a few minutes."

Khanh Thu didn't say anything, just stood there dumbfounded, her hands clasping the hem of her shirt.

"You were there all afternoon," Nguyen continued, his eyes now no longer angry but turning to something almost pleading. "If you see anything, even the smallest detail, please tell me. I don't need you to testify before the council if you're not sure. I just need to know the truth, for myself."

This is the moment Khanh Thu can change everything. She could recount the image of Vy bending down at table number one, she could express the doubt that had tormented her for the past week, she could at least plant a direction in Nguyen's head for him to learn more on his own. But when she opened her mouth, what came out of her throat was completely different.

"I... I didn't see anything," she said, her voice shaking but still determined to keep the lie. "That day I was just busy studying and didn't pay attention to my surroundings."

Nguyen looked at her for a long time, his eyes as if trying to read if there was anything hidden behind that answer. For a moment, he thought he saw a flash of something in Khanh Thu's eyes - a waver, something unsaid - but it disappeared too quickly, giving way to the fake calm expression she was trying to maintain.

"Okay," he said finally, his voice low, carrying a disappointment deeper than his initial anger. "If you don't see anything, then I have nothing more to ask."

He hugged his stack of notebooks and walked towards the door, but stopped for a second before leaving the classroom, not looking back.

"I thought, out of everyone at this school, you were the one I trusted the most, because you never had to lie to me about anything," he said, his voice barely audible. "Maybe I was wrong."

That sentence was like a knife cutting through Khanh Thu's chest. She stood there, watching Nguyen's back disappear behind the door, her mouth still wanting to call him back, wanting to scream the whole truth, but her throat seemed to be locked tightly by the same fear that had been ingrained in her for the past week - fear of her father's reaction, fear of having to face the consequences of an uncertain accusation, fear as simple as the shame of an eighteen-year-old girl who had never had to exchange anything important for the sake of righteousness.

She sat down on the chair, her hands covering her face, tears flowing uncontrollably. Outside the schoolyard, the afternoon sunlight had turned dark orange, and the sound of Nguyen's bicycle pedaling out of the school gate echoed in the distance, carrying with it a part of his faith in people that would probably never be fully restored as before.

That night, Khanh Thu wrote a single line in her old diary, her handwriting was so shaky it was almost illegible: "Today I had the chance to tell the truth, and I chose to stay silent. I don't know if I can ever forgive myself for that."

She closed the diary and put it in the deepest drawer, as if burying it could hide the guilt that was eating her from the inside. But she didn't know that there are things that, once written down, no matter how carefully they are hidden, will still find a way to come back when people least expect them.

There was a light knock on the door. Mr. Vo Dinh Khuong walked in, holding a cup of hot tea, placing it on his daughter's desk.

"You don't seem to be feeling well lately," he said, his voice rarely so gentle. "Did something happen at school?"

Khanh Thu quickly wiped her tears and turned away. "It's nothing dad, I'm just a little tired from schoolwork."

"I heard there was a case of students cheating on exams at your school," he continued, sitting on the edge of the bed, his eyes searching. "You have nothing to do with that, right? I'm in the important stage of signing a contract with a partner, you know, just a small bad rumor related to my family is enough to make them afraid."

"I'm not involved in anything," Khanh Thu replied, her voice stiff, trying to hide the trembling inside. "I'm just a classmate of the person being disciplined."

"That's good," he nodded, seemingly satisfied with the answer, completely unaware that his daughter was straining to say each word. "Stay away from that, don't be drawn into unnecessary gossip. Our family doesn't need any more trouble right now."

He stood up, patted his daughter's head, then left the room, closing the door gently. Khanh Thu sat alone, looking at the steaming cup of tea on the table, feeling as if her father's words had just tightened a rope around her chest - not because he forced her to stay silent directly, but because his love and worry, misplaced, became part of the reason why she didn't have the courage to do what she knew was right.