Chapter 19 — Two Sides of an Argument

Hạ Vy sat crouched on the last step of the stairs behind the office building, a place rarely visited by any students at this hour, holding her knees tightly with both hands, trying to hold back the sobs that were about to burst out of her chest. She ran all the way from the club's living room to here, not sure why her feet brought her to this hidden corner, only knowing that she needed a place where no one could see her, a place where she could let the tears that she had been trying to hold back all practice session finally flow freely.

Mỹ Duyên found her there just a few minutes later, panting from having searched the hallways. Without saying a word, she sat down next to Hạ Vy, wrapped her arms around her friend's shoulders, let her lean her head on her shoulder and cry, not asking any more questions until the sobs gradually subsided.

"I'm sorry," Hạ Vy said, her voice choked, quickly wiping her tears with the back of her hand. "I didn't mean to make such a fuss in the middle of practice. It's just..."

"You don't need to apologize for anything," Mỹ Duyên interrupted, her voice rarely firm. "The person who needs to apologize is not you. What Việt Bách said just now... I can't believe he could say such words, in front of everyone."

Hạ Vy was silent, her eyes looking far away into the quiet backyard, where a few dry almond leaves were rolling in the afternoon wind. "You know what the worst thing is?" she said, her voice so low it was almost a whisper. "It's not that he said I didn't have a strong argument. I heard that sentence before, a year ago, from someone I didn't even know. The worst part was that he said almost the exact same thing, word for word, the sentence that has haunted me for the past year. It was as if... as if everything I had been trying to prove all these months, that my way of arguing had value, that I was not weak, all of it had changed nothing. The person I trusted the most on the team, the person I thought really understood and respected my style, ended up thinking exactly the same as that judge."

"I don't think he really thinks so," Mỹ Duyên said, her voice cautious. "The way he said it today, it wasn't like a normal comment, it was more like... like someone who was cornered and unleashed something uncontrollable. I'm not saying that makes it any less painful, but maybe there's something more serious going on with him."

"Maybe," Hạ Vy said, her voice full of fatigue. "But whatever the reason, he still chose to say it, publicly, in front of the whole club, instead of telling me in private if there really was a problem. I don't know if I can trust him anymore, Duyên. I don't know if I still want to continue to stand on the same stage with someone who can turn his back on me so easily."

Mỹ Duyên didn't answer right away, just squeezed her friend's hand tighter, letting those words hang in the late afternoon air, because she knew this wasn't the time to try to convince Hạ Vy to think differently, it was just the time to stay by her side, quietly.

That night, Hạ Vy came home in an almost lifeless state, ate dinner without touching most of the dishes her mother cooked, and used the excuse of being tired to retreat to her room early. She sat on the bed for a long time, hugging her pillow, looking out the window where the streetlight cast a pale yellow light on the floor, and for the first time in many months, she reopened the video of last year's finals, a video she hadn't watched since the first days of moving to the new school. She watched over and over again the scene of that year's judge making cold remarks in front of the entire audience, then remembered Việt Bách's face this afternoon, his voice rang out clearly, as if he knew the words by heart, and she wondered if, all this time, she had been deceiving herself into believing that she had found someone who truly saw the value in the way she argued, or if it was all just a fragile illusion that she was too quick to cling to.

She didn't respond to any messages that night, not even from Mỹ Duyên asking if she was okay, and especially from Việt Bách, who sent three messages in a row and she only glanced at the first line and then turned off the phone screen, not brave enough to read them all, not ready to face whatever he wanted to say right now.

The next morning, Hạ Vy went to school with her eyes still slightly swollen, trying to hide them with light makeup, but Mỹ Duyên still recognized them at first sight. All morning, she deliberately avoided passing by Việt Bách's classroom area, choosing detours to avoid encountering him, an avoidance that she knew could not last forever but at this moment she did not have enough strength to face it.

At recess, she received a text message from Mr. Sơn, short but warm: "If you have time, stop by my room a little before class ends. It's nothing serious, I just wanted to check on you."

Hạ Vy came to Mr. Sơn's room right after the last class and saw him grading a stack of homework, but as soon as she walked in, he put down his pen and motioned for her to sit in the chair opposite the desk.

"How are you feeling?" the teacher asked, his voice gentle, without any trace of blame or judgment.

"I don't know," Hạ Vy answered honestly, her eyes lowered to look at her hands placed on her lap. "I still... still feel really hurt. I'm sorry for skipping practice like that yesterday."

"You don't need to apologize," Mr. Sơn said, his voice firm. "What Việt Bách said yesterday is unacceptable, for any reason. I had a serious talk with him after you left, and I believe he clearly understands the severity of what he has done." The teacher paused for a moment, his eyes becoming more thoughtful. "I don't know everything that's going on in Việt Bách's family, but I can guess a bit, and I think you've realized that too. I'm not trying to defend him—what he did was still wrong, and he needs to take responsibility for that—but sometimes people, when pushed intoo narrow a corner, do things that hurt others, things they themselves didn't expect, not necessarily because they truly believe them, but because they are trying to protect themselves from some fear."

"I understand what you said," Hạ Vy said, her voice low. "But teacher, no matter what the reason is, I don't know if I still have the strength to continue to stand on the same stage with Việt Bách. Every time I remember those words, I feel like I'm back on the day I stood on stage last year, hearing those criticisms for the first time. I'm not sure if I can continue to practice, continue to believe, when my closest teammate can think of me that way, even for just a moment."

Mr. Sơn nodded slowly, not in a hurry to give advice or try to convince her to think differently. "I understand how you feel, and I won't force you to decide anything right now. But I also need to tell you the truth - time is running out. The deadline for the school to confirm the official list to participate in the national preparation round is approaching, with only about ten days left. I need both you and Việt Bách to make a clear decision before that time, whatever that decision is. I don't want to force you, Hạ Vy, I just want you to know the situation clearly, so you can think clearly in the coming days."

Hạ Vy nodded, feeling the weight of that deadline pressing on the fatigue that was already piling up in her heart. She thanked her teacher and left the room, walking out into the empty hallway in the late afternoon, her mind mixed between fresh pain and questions about the future that she had no answer to.

She did not expect that, as soon as she stepped out of the school gate, she would see Việt Bách waiting near the bus stop, looking restless, clearly having been standing there for a long time. When he saw her, he walked closer, but stopped just a distance away from her, as if he wasn't sure whether he had the right to come any closer or not.

"Hạ Vy," he called, his voice hoarse with tension. "Can I talk to you for a moment?"

She stood still, saying nothing, just looking at him with empty eyes, waiting.

"I'm sorry," Việt Bách said, his voice shaking unusually compared to the calmness he always displayed. "About what I said yesterday. I shouldn't have said that, especially not in front of everyone like that. I... I was under a lot of pressure from many directions, and I let it affect the way I treated you. I'm really sorry."

Hạ Vy heard those words, felt some of the sincerity in his trembling voice, but at the same time realized something was missing in this apology—it talked about the pressure he was under, about how he had "let it affect her," but did not mention what was truly most important: whether he understood, even partially, where those words had touched her heart. It was an apology for the action, but not an apology for the injury.

"Do you know why that statement hurt me so much?" she asked, her voice so calm that she even surprised herself.

Việt Bách paused, his eyes slightly confused. "Because... because it sounds like I'm completely denying your contribution, when in fact I'm not?"

Hạ Vy shook his head slightly, a sad smile flashed across the corner of his lips, not because he was completely wrong, but because he still hadn't really reached the core of the problem. "It's not just that, Việt Bách," she said, her voice fading. "But maybe, now is not the time for me to explain. I need time. I need to think about many things, not just what I said yesterday."

"I understand," Việt Bách said, although it was clear he didn't fully understand, his eyes shone with both disappointment and helplessness. "I just... I just want you to know that I'm truly sorry. And I hope we can still continue, for the national preparations."

"I can't promise anything right now," Hạ Vy replied, her voice decisive but not harsh. "I need time, Việt Bách. I hope you understand that."

She turned and walked away before he could say anything more, leaving Việt Bách standing alone at the bus stop, watching her figure disappear behind the corner of the street, feeling like his clumsy apology had just fallen into a bottomless void, not enough to reach where she really needed to be touched, and he didn't know, between the fear of his father's deadline and the regret tormenting him every minute, how much time, and how many opportunities, he had left to I could fix what I've done.

On the way home that night, Hạ Vy walked slowly through the familiar small park, sat down on the stone bench where she had sat on the first day of moving to a new school, looking at the sky gradually turning dark purple in the late sunset. She thought about what Mr. Sơn had said, about the remaining ten days before the deadline, about Việt Bách's incomplete apology, and about a question that kept coming back to her mind all afternoon: should she continue to put her trust, and her heart, in a team that had hurt her so deeply, or was it time for her to let go, return to the safety of only believing in herself, as she had done for a whole year after the meeting? painful ending last year.