Chapter 23 — Unfinished Music

Thursday morning, when Gia Bảo walked into the music room after school, his heart beat so fast that he could hear it echoing in his ears. This was the first time he'd been back since that fateful rehearsal, and even though he'd been preparing himself all morning, he still wasn't sure how he'd be received.

The door to the music room opened, and before he could say a word, Minh Thư was the first person to see him, standing up from his chair to the point of dropping the sheet of music he was holding in his hand. "Mr. Gia Bảo!" the little girl exclaimed, her voice cracking with joy, causing the whole room to turn their heads simultaneously.

For a split second, Gia Bảo stood still at the door, not knowing how to react to the eyes of eleven friends focused on him at the same time. But then Ngọc Diễm was the first to step forward, not saying much, simply placing a hand on his shoulder, a light but firm touch.

"Welcome back," she said, her voice warm without any reproach. "We miss you."

"I… I'm sorry for making everyone worry," Gia Bảo stammered, feeling a lump in his throat. "I'm sorry for running away like that, leaving the team wondering what to do."

"You don't need to apologize anymore," Ngọc Diễm said, shaking her head slightly. "You already apologized to Tường Vy, I heard about it. Now, our job is to think about how to help you get ready for the semi-finals, which is only three days away."

Minh Thư ran over, stuffed a small folded piece of paper into Gia Bảo's hand, her face turned red with embarrassment. "I... I drew this for you, I hope it's not too weird." Gia Bảo opened the piece of paper and saw that it was a doodle but full of enthusiasm, drawing a group of twelve people standing in an arc around the piano, with the neat words above: "No matter what, we are still here." He felt his eyes sting and had to blink continuously to keep from crying in front of everyone.

From the corner of the room, Anh Kiệt stood up from the piano bench, but instead of approaching immediately like everyone else, he stood and lingered for a moment, his hands in his pockets, his eyes somewhat hesitant, rarely seen in a person who was always humorous and enthusiastic. Gia Bảo immediately recognized that hesitation - they both clearly remembered the chaotic practice session a few days ago, when Anh Kiệt, due to the pressure of a busy schedule, let out a few harsh words to the whole group, including Gia Bảo, right before everything completely broke down.

"Hey," Anh Kiệt finally spoke, stepping closer, his voice much quieter than his usual loud voice. "I... I owe you an apology. I said too much that day, I know. I was so stressed, afraid of losing the exam spot, afraid of the group's efforts going to waste, so I took it all out on others without thinking about their feelings. I'm sorry for not asking if you were okay before I started nagging about progress."

Gia Bảo shook his head, feeling a sudden sympathy rising in his heart. "I understand," he said honestly. "I also contributed to that, I ran away right when people needed me the most. We were both scared in our own ways."

"Yeah, but at least you were scared and still came back," Anh Kiệt said, grinning, the familiar humor gradually returning to his voice. "I can only be grumpy and regret it. Well, to make up for it, from now until the exam day, I will accompany you to practice whenever you need, even in the middle of the night. Even if I have to hide from my mother, I'll be fine with it."

The whole room burst into laughter at that statement, the initial tense atmosphere gradually dissipated, giving way to a familiar warmth that Gia Bảo had missed over the past few days. Anh Kiệt held out his hand, and Gia Bảo shook it, a firm handshake accompanied by a friendly shoulder tap, like a tacit agreement that all misunderstandings between the two had been put aside.

At that moment, Ms. Hạnh walked into the room, holding a stack of sheet music. Seeing the warm scene before her eyes, she smiled with relief. “I see everyone made up with themselves before I could say anything,” she said, setting the stack of sheet music down on the table. "That's great. Everyone, sit down here for a moment. Before we start practicing, I want to tell you a story."

The group sat down in a familiar circle around the piano, Gia Bảo sat between Quốc Huy - who had quietly followed him into the music room from the beginning of the session to support backstage as usual - and Tường Vy, who smiled slightly at him when he sat down, a gentle smile but warm enough to dispel some of the remaining nervousness in his heart.

"When I was in college," Ms. Hạnh began, her voice low and nostalgic, "I once participated in a school-level solo singing competition. I practiced very carefully, was very confident, thought I would definitely make it to the finals. But on the day of the competition, when I stepped onto the stage, the lights shone directly on my face, I looked down at the crowded stage, my mind was completely blank. I stood there, unable to sing a single sentence, frozen for nearly a minute, and then finally apologized to the judges and left the stage amid forced applause from the audience."

The whole group listened silently, no one expected that the calm and steady teacher in front of them had ever experienced such a weak moment.

"At that time, I thought, I will probably never dare to sing in front of a crowd again," Ms. Hạnh continued, her eyes distant as if remembering. "But there was a classmate who came to see me after the competition, not comforting me with empty words, but simply sitting beside me all evening, playing song after song for me, not saying much, simply being there. At the end of that evening, he told me something I remember to this day: the scariest thing is not singing wrong, but letting the fear of singing wrong stop you from ever singing again. After that, I continued to sing. I still stumble and tremble occasionally, but I no longer let that fear control me. And now I am standing in front of my students, teaching them to sing and leading them to competitions. If I had given up completely that day, I probably would not have achieved this.

Gia Bảo felt a warm emotion spread throughout his body when he heard that story, as if Ms. Hạnh was speaking directly to the very fear he had been carrying in his heart for so many years. He glanced around, saw Ngọc Diễm nodding thoughtfully, Anh Kiệt was rarely so serious, and Minh Thư was listening attentively with sparkling eyes.

"I tell this story not to say that the upcoming semi-finals will be easy, or that Gia Bảo will no longer tremble," Ms. Hạnh continued, her voice becoming more certain and realistic. "You may still tremble, your voice may still waver a little, that's completely normal. But I want the whole team to understand that our goal is not an absolutely perfect performance, but a sincere performance, where everyone stands together, supporting each other through every difficult moment. That's what makes a real choir, isn't it?"

The whole group nodded in unison, and Tường Vy, sitting next to Gia Bảo, gently touched his hand, her eyes said more than any words could describe.

After that, the whole afternoon passed in an exciting but warm training atmosphere, completely different from the oppressive tension of previous training sessions. Ms. Hạnh and the whole group sat down to discuss how to adjust the performance so that Gia Bảo would feel more secure when standing and singing his lead part. Ngọc Diễm proposed that instead of letting Gia Bảo stand alone in the middle of the stage under direct light, the whole group would stand in a closed arc behind him, a little closer than usual, so that he could always feel everyone's presence right behind him even without turning around to look.

"You don't need to look down at the stands," Tường Vy said, standing up to demonstrate by moving to the exact position she intended to stand in the lineup. "When it's your part to sing, just look towards me. I'll stand right in the left corner of the stage, close enough for you to see clearly. You sing for me, just like in our private rehearsals, okay?"

Gia Bảo nodded, feeling a sense of relief spreading in his heart at that suggestion. Anh Kiệt, sitting at the piano, also commented on the rhythm, suggesting a few pauses before the climax so that Gia Bảo would have more time to catch his breath and stabilize his voice before singing the main song.

"Also," Ms. Hạnh said, opening a note, "I contacted the organizers and asked them to slightly adjust the intensity of the stage lights during the optional performances, avoiding the use of flash or sudden flashes of light like on the rehearsal day. The organizers agreed, they said it had absolutely no effect on the quality of the performance at all."

Hearing that, Gia Bảo felt a surge of emotion rising in his chest, not only because of Ms. Hạnh's thoughtfulness, but because of the realization that, behind the fear that seemed to be just his own, an entire group had been silently finding ways to help him, not by forcing him to be stronger immediately, but by adjusting his environment so that he had the best chance to succeed in his own way.

The training session that day lasted until it was completely dark, but no one seemed tired or impatient. Each piece of music was reviewed over and over again, each verse was meticulously edited, and in between serious rehearsals were bursts of laughter when Anh Kiệt deliberately played a wrong chord to startle Minh Thư, or when the whole group simultaneously teased Tường Vy for constantly glancing at Gia Bảo every time he raised his voice.

At the end of the session, when everyone started packing up to leave, Ngọc Diễm stopped next to Gia Bảo and patted him on the back. "You know, I used to doubt you in the past, afraid you wouldn't last until exam day," she said, her voice sincere. "But looking at you standing here today, I think I was wrong. You are much stronger than I thought, Gia Bảo. Not because you are no longer afraid, but because you still keep going even though you are afraid."

Gia Bảo smiled, feeling strangely warm. "Thank you," he said, "thank you for believing in me, even if I'm just starting to believe."

When stepping out of the school gate, the lights were on all over the streets. Gia Bảo walked next to Quốc Huy. The two were silent for a moment before Quốc Huy spoke, his voice filled with undisguised pride. "See, I told you everyone would always be on your side. There's only three days left, do you think you're ready?"

Gia Bảo looked up at the night sky sparkling with a few rare stars amidst the city lights, clearly feeling a certain change taking place in his heart, slowly but surely, like the way a song is gradually put together note by note after a long silence. "I think," he said, his voice filled with a new conviction he hadn't felt so clearly in the past three years, "I think this time I'm really willing to try."