Chapter 12 — Unfinished Music

At practice that Wednesday, Ms. Hạnh announced to the group that it was time to start assembling the chant into the folk song, so that the whole club could get used to the song's structure before entering the intensive practice period of the final weeks. Gia Bảo heard the news since morning. During the five morning classes, he could barely concentrate on anything the teacher taught, his mind kept thinking about the moment this afternoon when he had to stand in front of all eleven friends in the club and sing alone.

At recess, Quốc Huy immediately realized his friend's abnormality when he saw Gia Bảo sitting absentmindedly looking out the classroom window, his pen twirling unconsciously between his fingers.

"Are you worried about this afternoon?" Quốc Huy asked, pulling out a chair to sit next to you.

"Yes," Gia Bảo admitted, not bothering to hide it. "I sang for Tường Vy, but there was only one person. This afternoon there were eleven people at the same time."

"You'll be fine," Quốc Huy patted his friend's shoulder, his voice firm and full of confidence. "I know you'll be fine, because I've seen how you've come a long way. From the one who refused to step foot in the music room, to the one who asked to join the club. If you can do that, you can do everything this afternoon."

Gia Bảo nodded, but his best friend's words of reassurance only partially eased the anxiety rolling in his heart. When school ended, instead of going straight home as usual, he lingered in the schoolyard for a long time, sitting on the stone steps looking at the leafless phoenix trees, trying to breathe deeply to calm himself before entering the music room.

When he arrived, the whole group had almost gathered, sitting in a familiar circle, the chatter and laughter echoing out into the hallway. Tường Vy was standing next to the piano, chatting with Anh Kiệt about the accompaniment, but when she saw Gia Bảo enter, she immediately stopped, her eyes gently questioning, as if reading the tension rising in his heart just through his gait.

"Are you okay?" she asked softly, when Gia Bảo came closer.

"Not really," he answered honestly, forcing a forced smile. "My heart is beating twice as fast as normal."

"It's normal," Tường Vy said, her voice gentle and reassuring. "I told Ms. Hạnh earlier that I will stand right next to you when singing that part. You don't need to look at anyone else, just look at me, okay?"

Gia Bảo nodded, feeling a certain part of the fear in his heart calm down at that promise, even though he knew that when the real moment came, no promise could completely erase the obsession that had been ingrained for three years.

Ms. Hạnh clapped her hands to signal the group to settle down, then briefly explained the structure of the folk song: the opening part was sung softly in unison, then moved to a short chant of about eight bars by a male voice, before the whole group joined back in the final chorus, pushing the song's climax to its climax.

"Gia Bảo will take over this choir," Ms. Hạnh said, looking around at the group, not as if she were announcing a controversial decision, but simply as a reasonable arrangement. "I believe the children will support you."

A few glances were quietly exchanged between the members, not protest, just unsatisfied curiosity - over the past few weeks they had only heard Tường Vy mention Gia Bảo's special voice, but none of them, except her, had ever personally heard him sing.

Anh Kiệt played the opening notes on the piano, the whole group began to sing in unison as they had practiced for many weeks, the familiar folk melody sounded softly in the room in the late afternoon. Gia Bảo stood in that circle, blending his voice with everyone else. The familiar feeling of safety of being hidden in a group was still there, but he knew clearly that in just a few more beats, that feeling would disappear.

At the right tempo, Anh Kiệt lowered the sound of the guitar, the group gradually quieted down according to the arrangement, and in that short moment of silence, Gia Bảo felt his whole body freeze. His heart was pounding so hard that he could hear the blood rushing in his ears, his hands were clenched at his sides, and for a moment of panic, he thought he was going to repeat exactly what had happened on stage in ninth grade—standing still, unable to utter a single sound.

But at that moment, his eyes caught sight of Tường Vy, standing right next to him, not looking at the music like the others but looking straight at him, his eyes steady and warm, as if silently sending a wordless message: I'm here, just keep singing, it's okay.

Gia Bảo took a deep breath, and his singing voice rang out.

His voice trembled at the first words, his breathing uneven as he feared, but he didn't stop. He clung tightly to Tường Vy's eyes as if clinging to the only fulcrum in the midst of the storm of panic rolling in his heart, letting each sentence, each word of the chant escape his throat one by one. By the last word, his voice was much steadier than when it started, and its characteristic warm, deep sound rang out clearly in the silent room.

When the chant ended, the whole group harmonized their voices again exactly like the mix, pushing the song to the final chorus, but Gia Bảo could barely hear his own singing mixed in with the crowd anymore, his ears were ringing because his heart was still beating rapidly, the feeling he just experienced was like a small earthquake that had just swept through his entire body.

The song ended, and in the moment of silence after the last piano sound stopped, no one said anything, causing Gia Bảo to panic and immediately think the worst - perhaps he had sung so badly that no one wanted to speak up.

But then Minh Thư, the most timid soprano in the group, was the first to break the silence, clapping her hands enthusiastically, her face shining with excitement. "So good! Your voice is so deep and warm, I get goosebumps!"

What followed was a round of enthusiastic applause from the whole group, mixed with sincere, not at all polite, compliments. Anh Kiệt stood up from the piano bench, patted Gia Bảo's shoulder, and grinned. "I told everyone that Vy wasn't exaggerating, do you see now?"

Gia Bảo stood there, still stunned by emotions, not knowing how to react to that unexpectedly warm reception. He had prepared himself for many different scenarios—awkward silence, flippant compliments, even his worst fear of some derisive laughter—but he never thought he would be received so sincerely.

In the midst of those commotions, Ngọc Diễm stood up from her seat and walked straight in front of Gia Bảo, making him feel a little guilty, remembering the conversation he accidentally heard last week. But Ngọc Diễm's face now no longer had any of the previous skepticism, instead it was an expression of surprise mixed with sincere admiration.

"Hey," she said, her voice as straightforward as her usual personality, "I'm sorry for being a little skeptical of you before. But after listening to you sing, I'm sure we have a real chance in this preliminary round."

"Can you hear that?" Gia Bảo asked, a bit confused, not sure what Ngọc Diễm was talking about.

"What Vy and I talked about last week," Ngọc Diễm replied directly, without evading. "I guess you heard it, I knew it right away when I saw your face. But I don't take back anything, because at that time I said I was genuinely worried, not on purpose to make you uncomfortable. It's just that now I'm telling the truth - you sing much better than I thought."

Gia Bảo felt a sense of relief spreading in his heart at that frankness, even more sincere than flowery compliments. "Thank you," he said, his voice small but sincere. "I'm also worried I'll let the team down."

"Don't worry about that anymore," Ngọc Diễm waved her hand, her smile bright. "From now on I will be your number one fan, don't disappoint me."

The whole group burst out laughing at that joke, the atmosphere in the music room became lighter and warmer than the tension that had been building up all afternoon. Ms. Hạnh stood in the corner of the room, observing the whole scene with a satisfied smile, saying nothing more, just quietly taking a few notes in her notebook.

The practice session ended later than expected because everyone stayed to chat and ask about Gia Bảo all sorts of things - when did he learn guitar, why did he keep his singing voice a secret for so long, and did he plan to learn formal singing in the future. Gia Bảo answered each question awkwardly but did not avoid it like before, clearly feeling that something had changed in him, a feeling of belonging that he had never allowed himself to have since the incident in ninth grade.

When Gia Bảo walked out of the music room, the sky had turned dark purple in the early winter evening. Quốc Huy was waiting at the school gate as usual, looking impatient.

"What's wrong? Are you singing okay?" Quốc Huy asked as soon as he saw you.

Gia Bảo didn't answer right away, just stood still for a moment, letting the cold wind of the first season pass over his face, carrying the echoes of the previous training session still lingering in his heart. Then he turned to look at you, a genuine smile, brighter than any smile Quốc Huy had seen on his face in the past three years.

"I did it, Huy," he said, his voice still shaking with emotion. "I really did it."

Quốc Huy patted his friend's shoulder hard, laughed loudly and proudly, and the two of them walked home in the twilight of the winter evening, without saying another word, because there were moments when silence in harmony said more than any words. In Gia Bảo's heart, that feeling of relief was still intact, mixed with a small but certain pride, as if he had just overcome a mountain that he thought he would never had the courage to climb.

But he also knew, the biggest mountain, the news he still hadn't dared to tell his mother, was still waiting for him ahead, and he didn't know if he had the courage to face it or not.