Chapter 8 — Unfinished Music

The fifth private practice session fell on a Wednesday afternoon at the beginning of the month. The weather was windy, causing showers to suddenly come and then quickly dissipate, leaving behind a faint smell of damp earth wafting through the half-closed window of the music room. Gia Bảo arrived earlier than usual, because the last class was canceled because the teacher was in a meeting. He wandered along the hallway for a while and then decided to go straight to the music room, thinking that maybe Tường Vy was also there preparing.

Sure enough, the door to the room was opened, the sound of a piano rang out from inside, not the familiar melody of the folk song the club was practicing, but a series of slow, gentle, somewhat fragmented chords as if they were being probed but not yet completed. Gia Bảo stopped outside the door, not wanting to interrupt, just quietly listening.

Then Tường Vy's voice rose, softly singing along with the melody. It was not the powerful and resonant voice that he had always heard her perform in crowded club practice sessions, but a very quiet, very private voice, as if she was whispering to herself rather than performing for anyone.

"If one day, I lose my own voice..."

The song left there, Tường Vy's hand stopped on the keyboard, there was a long silence. Gia Bảo immediately recognized that this was the song she had shown him in the brown leather notebook, the "unfinished song" that she had kept secret for so long.

He knocked lightly on the door frame, not wanting to startle her. "Sorry, I didn't mean to eavesdrop."

Tường Vy turned around, a bit of confusion flashed across her face, but quickly regained her natural look. "It's okay, I came early so I took the opportunity to tinker a little more. Come in, it's raining today so I'll probably have to sit in here longer than usual."

Gia Bảo walked in, closing the door behind him. Outside, another shower of rain began to fall, the sound of rain falling on the corrugated iron roof of the hallway echoed into the room, blending with the pale gray light shining through the curtains, creating a quiet, close atmosphere different from usual.

"Can you sit here?" Tường Vy asked, pointing to the space next to him on the piano bench, a little closer than where he usually sat. "Today I want to try to let you hear the piano part more clearly, so that you can get used to the melody before I teach you to sing along."

Gia Bảo sat down, the distance between the two of them was so close that he could feel the warmth radiating from Tường Vy's arm, smell the gentle scent of shampoo wafting every time she leaned towards the piano. He tried to focus on the keys in front of him, feeling his heart beat a little faster than normal, though this time it wasn't from fear.

"Here, look at your hands," Tường Vy said, placing her fingers on the ivory white keys, slowly playing each note in the unfinished music. "This part is the intro, and this is where the female voice comes in."

She played the music again, her voice rising softly with each note, and this time Gia Bảo listened more closely, trying to memorize the melody. There was something about that song that made him feel strangely familiar, even though this was the first time he had actually heard the entire opening part - a slow, slightly sad melody, but containing a small ray of hope that crept between the low notes.

"Now this part," Tường Vy continued, her finger sliding to another set of chords, "this is where I plan to put the male voice in, responding to the female voice. But I still haven't perfected this part, because no one has ever tried to sing it the way I imagined."

"Can you try playing that part again for me?" Gia Bảo asked, a genuine curiosity rising in his heart, overwhelming his usual shyness.

Tường Vy nodded and played the song again, her hands moving on the keys. At a chord change, her hand moved slightly to the side to reach a deeper note, just as Gia Bảo also raised his hand, intending to point to the keyboard to ask about a note he didn't hear clearly.

The two hands touched each other on the keyboard, just for a brief moment, but enough for both of them to pause. Tường Vy's fingers were warm, but a little cold at the fingertips because she had just played the piano for a long time in a room with a light draft from the window. Gia Bảo felt as if a small electric current ran down his spine. He quickly pulled his hand back, his face hot.

"Sorry... sorry," he stammered, not daring to look straight at her.

"It's okay," Tường Vy replied, her voice a bit different, not as natural as usual. She lowered her eyes to look at the keys, her cheeks blushing slightly under the light-yellow table lamp, even though they both knew it wasn't hot in the room.

A long silence followed, not as awkward and uncomfortable as Gia Bảo thought, but strangely carrying a comfortable, warm feeling, as if they both implicitly understood that the moment just now did not need to be explained or apologized any further. The sound of rain on the porch was still falling steadily, pattering on the corrugated iron roof, mixing with the soft breathing of both of them in the small room.

Gia Bảo glanced at Tường Vy and saw that she was also glancing back at him at that moment. The two people's eyes met, no one quickly looked away like before, but remained like that for a few seconds, long enough for Gia Bảo to feel something changing in his chest, a feeling completely different from the familiar fear - warmer, more nervous, and somewhat confused.

In the end, it was Tường Vy who broke that moment first, coughed softly, turned back to look at the keys, and smoothed back a few strands of hair that had fallen onto her forehead even though they were not tangled at all. "Let's... get back to our homework," she said, her voice a little more hurried than usual.

"Yes," Gia Bảo replied, also trying to regain his normal expression, even though his heart was still beating fast for a completely different reason than in every previous practice session.

Tường Vy cleared her throat, then continued, "I think today we should try to let you listen to the entire chorus of this song, just to get your ears used to it, no need to sing along yet."

She placed her hands on the keys, took a breath, then began to play the entire chorus, her voice speaking clearer than before, although still maintaining a gentle, private tone. Gia Bảo listened and felt each word in the lyrics gradually appear clearly.

"If one day, I lose my own voice, please don't give up too quickly, because somewhere there is still someone, quietly waiting for me to speak..."

Tường Vy's voice when singing this part was completely different from the powerful, technically skilled voice that he often heard her demonstrate in front of the whole club. It was softer, a little trembling and fragile, as if she was revealing a very real, very private part of herself that she rarely showed anyone.

When the music stopped, the room fell silent for a long time, with only the sound of the rain outside. Gia Bảo looked at Tường Vy and saw her bowing her head looking down at the keyboard, her hands still resting on it, as if waiting for some reaction from him.

"This song is beautiful," he said, his voice undisguised. "I don't understand why you say it's 'unfinished'. To me, even if it's not complete, it's still very beautiful."

Tường Vy looked up at him, her eyes had a strange sparkle under the soft yellow light. "Thank you," she said softly. "No one has ever told me that."

"Maybe because no one has ever really listened to it this way," Gia Bảo said, then suddenly smiled, a gentle smile that he didn't even realize he was smiling until he saw Tường Vy also smiling back.

That day's practice session ended later than usual because we had to wait for the rain to completely stop before we could leave. While waiting, the two didn't say much anymore, just sat next to each other on the piano bench, occasionally Tường Vy played a few random pieces of music, and Gia Bảo quietly listened, occasionally humming along softly, no longer feeling as awkward as in the first days.

When the rain stopped, they both walked out of the music room, the air outside was fresh and cool after the rain, the smell of wet earth mixed with the smell of wet leaves wafted throughout the school yard. They walked side by side to the school gate, not saying much, but that silence was not awkward, but brought a feeling of familiarity and closeness that Gia Bảo had never felt with anyone other than Quốc Huy.

On the way home alone, Gia Bảo kept thinking about the moment their hands touched each other on the keyboard, about their eyes that met for longer than usual in that dim room. He took his math notebook out of his backpack, intending to review the lesson for tomorrow, but instead, his hand unconsciously scribbled a few small musical notes in the margins of the page, an old habit whenever he was deep in thought without even realizing he was doing it, until he looked back and laughed to himself at his own stupidity.

He closed the notebook, lay down on the bed, looked up at the ceiling, the soft, fragile song that Tường Vy had sung this afternoon still echoed in his head. "Somewhere there is still someone, quietly waiting for me to speak." He wondered if that was what was happening to him right now — there was someone, still patiently, quietly waiting for him to find his own voice, not only in music, but perhaps, in something even bigger than that.