Chapter 17 — The Thirteenth Desk Drawer

The apology letter was sent on a sunny afternoon. Ms. Hanh personally brought it to the post office instead of asking the clerk. In the envelope was the new report, a list of verified items, and a letter written jointly by the students in the class. An Khe didn't know if Mai would answer or not. She only knew that it took the school twelve years to say something that should have been said a long time ago.

A week later, Mai returned to school.

She came during recess, went through the side gate where she used to wait for her mother. Mai did not bring any relatives with her, only a brown cloth bag and faded shoes. The teacher recognized Mai first. No one shouted or ran to hug her. Everyone naturally stepped aside, giving Mai enough space to step.

An Khe saw her in the hallway of block C. Mai stopped in front of the old class 12A3, where the nameplate had been replaced by a club room. On the wall are photos of many courses' achievements. The latest photo corner lists the names of students receiving scholarships this year. Mai looked for a long time, then turned and asked: "Is the table still available?"

“Yes,” An Khe replied. “We keep it the same.”

Mai smiled, a thin smile but no longer shy. She asked permission to go to class. Table number thirteen is next to the window, the table top has been wiped clean. Khoi stood next to him, placing his hand on the newly replaced wood. Mai touched the scratch on the edge of the table and said she once hid a pencil there, but couldn't find it.

“Maybe it's still here,” Khoi said.

"If so, don't look. Some things are lost because they want to stay in the same place."

Mai opened the cloth bag and took out a stack of papers tied with a red string. Those were the original copies of the applications and notes she had kept for many years. The sheets of paper had folded corners, some of the words were blurred by water. She placed the stack of papers on the table, not handing it to anyone right away.

“I used to think that if they just admitted it, I would be happy,” Mai said. "But when the letter arrived, the first thing I did was walk around the house all night. I didn't know where to put twelve years of sadness."

An Khe did not look for words of comfort. Khoi pulled out a chair near the window for Mai. The three people sat silently. In the hallway, the sound of students running past and then fading away.

Mai said that after leaving school, she did not drop out immediately. She continued her studies at an evening center, worked at a photocopy shop, and then became an archivist. Work made her understand the value of a date, a stamp, a signature. She tried to file a complaint, but stopped each time because she didn't have enough documents. When her mother died, Mai found a piece of paper in the sewing box, on which was written the scholarship amount and the recipient's name. That piece of paper helped her understand that she was not remembering wrongly.

“I didn't come back to get a title,” Mai said. “I came back to put my name in the right place.”

That afternoon, the school held a small announcement ceremony. There is no press. The principal stood in front of the hall, read Mai's name from the list of students receiving scholarships in the past and announced that her records had been restored. The verified amount will be refunded, and the new fund named "Mai" will support students in difficult circumstances.

When she heard her name, Mai did not stand up immediately. She looked at An Khe. An Khe nodded slightly. Mai walked to the stage, holding the microphone with both hands.

“I don't want to make myself a symbol of an incident,” she said. “I just hope the person after me doesn't have to prove that they ever needed help.”

In the last row, Mr. Phuc bowed his head. He asked for leave to wait for the conclusion, but was still invited to listen. Hoang Lam hasn't arrived yet. Some parents think he should appear, others think no one has the right to force the victim to see the person who caused the problem. Mai said she didn't need him to be present on this day.

After the ceremony, Tuong Vy gave Mai a small cake. “We made it ourselves, a little burnt on one side but edible.”

Mai took a bite and nodded: "Burn just enough to have memories."

Everyone laughed. Smiling doesn't erase the situation, but it makes the room less cold. Khoi led Mai to the new filing cabinet. On the top shelf is her original stack of papers. Next to it is a line: "Document kept by consent of the writer."

Mai read it, then asked for one more thing: the cabinet must have an empty compartment. “So that people don't think the story is over,” she said.

In the evening, An Khe opened desk drawer number thirteen. Inside is a new piece of paper, the handwriting is different from the previous ones: "My name is back. As for the rest, please help the school not forget how to listen."

Khoi finished reading and put the piece of paper in the box. He asked An Khe if he was afraid that the story would become normal from now on. She says normalcy is a good thing, as long as it doesn't mean being forgotten.

Before turning off the classroom lights, Mai turned back to look at the table. She did not sit in. She just placed her palm on the wooden surface and said softly: "Thank you for keeping it for me."

The day Mai returns does not end in the hall. After the ceremony, the school has to deal with dry tasks: compare records, contact families, calculate refunds and find the person responsible for signing. Mai is involved every step of the way, but she doesn't let every meeting take up all her time. She still goes to work, still buys vegetables, and still argues with her sister about who has to do the dishes.

An Khe asked her if she found it strange when others started calling her a "remarkable former student". Mai laughed and said that before, people called her "the one who lost money", both of which were other people's ways of speaking for one person.

The school sent letters to seventeen families who were on the scholarship list. Some people respond, some don't. A family has moved abroad. One mother replied that she did not need the money after all these years, but wanted to know why her child was excluded. Their files are opened separately, not included in Mai's story.

Hoang Lam finally sent a request to meet Mai. She refused at first, then agreed after reading his report. The meeting included Ms. Hanh and a legal representative. Hoang Lam admitted that he took part of the money to cover expenses for the club's project, believing that he would pay it back after receiving sponsorship. When the list was lacking, he pressured to change the recipient's name. He said he didn't want Mai to lose her scholarship, he just wanted everything to be peaceful.

Mai asked: "Do you understand what your peace will be paid for?"

Hoang Lam did not answer. He signed a commitment to repay and support the investigation, but Mai said that commitment was something he had to do, not a gift for her.

After the meeting, An Khe saw Mai sitting alone in the reading room. She asked if it was okay. Mai said it wasn't okay, but this time she knew what was wrong with her. Twelve years ago, she only knew she was being pushed out; Now she knows who opened the door to push her.

Tuong Vy proposed naming the new fund after Mai. Mai thought about it and agreed with one condition: the foundation did not use her photo, did not write her life story in the flyer, and the student council must participate in supervision. Tuong Vy said that condition would be difficult. Mai replied that things that are easy to do often do not protect anyone.

On the day the fund was announced, a sixth-grade girl placed a small piggy bank in the donation box. The child said his mother said he didn't have much money, but wanted to start. Mai bent down to thank her, not saying that the amount was small. An Khe saw her looking at the piggy bank for a long time.

In the evening, Mai sent An Khe a text message: "I used to think that going back to school meant going back to being seventeen. It turns out that bringing seventeen years along with the current adult." An Khe replied that she didn't know which sentence was good enough to answer. It's okay for Mai to say that, because the listener doesn't always need to say a perfect sentence.

That day, Mai's name was placed on the record in the right place. There were no fireworks, just a line of text being edited, a payment starting to roll in and one person finally getting the right to continue telling her life in her own voice.

After the ceremony, a local reporter asked to interview Mai. She declined to answer directly, but agreed to let the school provide verified information. She did not want her face to become an illustration for an article that she had no control over.

An Khe asked Mai if she was sad that people still didn't know the names of the other affected people. Mai said she was sad, but didn't want to use her sadness to take up all the space. The new fund must find other records, even if no one is on stage.

One family sent their thanks but asked to remain anonymous. They say the refund helps their children return to vocational classes. Mai read the letter, then passed it to An Khe with the message: "This is the reason to do it right, not so I can be called by name."

That night, An Khe and her mother cooked dinner. Mom asked how the ceremony was. An Khe tells Mai that she has returned, then says that people do not return as intact as before. Mom nodded, saying no one needs to be whole to be respected.