Chapter 17 — Unprocessed Photos

On Monday morning, as usual, the results of the exhibition's shortlist were posted on the school's main notice board, right at the familiar location where Bao Nghi once stood and watched the results of his photo contest being announced under the pseudonym "The Observer" not long ago.

Bao Nghi arrived at school earlier than usual, filled with both nervousness and excitement, looking forward to seeing how many of the club's photos were on the official list. She pushed her way into the crowd of students huddled in front of the bulletin board, her heart beating rapidly as her eyes scanned the long list of selected works.

Then she saw it.

In the most prominent position, framed separately with the words "SPECIAL CATEGORY — MOST IMPRESSIVE WORK", was a large printed photo stuck right next to the notice board - a portrait of her, her face, under the familiar red light of the dark room, her eyes shining with passion in a moment when she was completely unaware that she was being photographed. The caption below reads: "Untitled portrait — Red Light. Author: Le Minh Khang."

The world around Bao Nghi seemed to suddenly slow down, sounds became distant and blurred. She stood dumbfounded, unable to take her eyes off her own face, which was enlarged and displayed publicly in front of hundreds of pairs of students busy passing by.

"Hey, this is really beautiful," a female voice rang out nearby. "Who is that? Looks familiar."

"It seems like they're in class 12A6," another voice replied. "Bao Nghi, right? Sitting at the back of the class."

"Yes, that's right, I remember now. I didn't expect her to be so beautiful in pictures."

Those comments, although not malicious at all, hit Bao Nghi's ears like hammer blows. She felt her entire body freeze, her breath caught in her chest, and in that moment, the memories of ninth grade rushed back so strongly that she could almost hear the mocking laughter again, feel the curious eyes of hundreds of strangers fixed on her face in a moment she had not chosen to reveal.

She stepped back, bumped into a student behind her, mumbled an apology, then quickly crept out of the crowd, her hands shaking, her heart beating so fast that she felt dizzy. She ran into the nearest bathroom, locked the bathroom door, sat down on the floor, hugged her knees with both hands, trying to control her rapid breathing.

Her phone vibrated constantly — text messages from several classmates, some of whom she couldn't even remember their names, all asking about the photo, some praising her, some curiously asking if she was the person in the photo. Each message that appears on the screen is like a needle piercing an old wound that has never fully healed.

She opened the message from Minh Khang, sent fifteen minutes ago, perhaps right when he saw the crowd's reaction to the bulletin board: "Bao Nghi, I need to explain to you. Where are you? Can I meet you?"

Bao Nghi looked at that message for a long time, her fingers shaking so much that she had to try very hard to type the answer: "Why? Why did you do that?"

A few seconds later, her phone rang — a call from Minh Khang. She watched the screen light up, his name appear, and for a long moment, she didn't know whether she should answer or not. In the end, she refused the call, not because of an outburst of anger, but because she felt she was completely unable to hear his voice right now, when everything in her heart was collapsing.

She texted Thanh Truc, just a few words, her fingers shaking so much that she kept typing incorrectly: "Can you come to school? I need you. Right now."

Thanh Truc, on the way to his school, immediately changed direction, called a taxi and went straight to Tran Phu school, skipping the entire first class without hesitation. While waiting, Bao Nghi still sat crouched in the bathroom, tears began to flow that she could not control, tears carrying both old pain and new betrayal, blending into a storm of emotions that she did not know how to overcome.

Outside, news of the photo spread quickly throughout the school in a way that only small schools can witness. By the time of the first recess, almost the entire Twelfth grade knew the photo, knew the face in it, even though no one knew the story behind it, no one knew about the three years of anonymity, about the fear Bao Nghi had worked so hard to build to protect himself.

Minh Khang, standing in front of the bulletin board, looked at the chatting crowd, feeling a cold fear spread throughout his body as he realized, too late, that he had completely miscalculated. This was not the warm, healing recognition he had imagined. This was exactly the nightmare that Bao Nghi had warned him about from day one — being seen in an uncontrollable moment, being talked about, being made the subject of conversations she never agreed to participate in.

He hurriedly ran to find her, asking around in all classes, but no one knew where she was. Finally, as he stood in front of the empty door of classroom 12A6, he realized, with a feeling of panic rising in his chest, that she could be anywhere in this large school, alone, hurt, and he was the cause of it all.

Thanh Truc arrived at school within twenty minutes, running straight to the restroom near the bulletin board following the hunch of a close friend who was very familiar with the places Bao Nghi often hid when he needed to be alone. She lightly knocked on the locked bathroom door. "Nghi, it's me," she called softly, her voice filled with worry.

The door opened after a few seconds, and Thanh Truc saw Bao Nghi with a tear-stained face, red and swollen eyes, and his whole body shaking as if he had a fever. Thanh Truc didn't say another word, just walked in, hugged her friend tightly, letting her sob on his shoulder.

"I've seen the photo," Thanh Truc said softly, after Bao Nghi had calmed down somewhat, his voice both sad and a little angry on his behalf. "He... how could he do that?"

"I don't know," Bao Nghi whispered, his voice hoarse from crying. "I trust him, Truc. I made it clear from the beginning, and he promised to never do it without my consent."

"I know," Thanh Truc said, gently rubbing his friend's back, trying to convey some peace. "Do you want to get out of here? I'll take you home."

Bao Nghi nodded weakly, and Thanh Truc helped her up, carefully taking her out of the bathroom through the back door, avoiding the crowd still gathering near the main bulletin board. On the way out the side gate, they almost ran into Minh Khang who was rushing to find him, but Thanh Truc was able to pull Bao Nghi to another direction, her eyes glanced at him with a cold reproach that she did not bother to hide.

Minh Khang, even though he only caught a glimpse of their silhouettes from afar, was enough to realize that Bao Nghi was being helped by Thanh Truc, looking completely devastated. He was about to run after them, but Thanh Truc turned back, her eyes were like a silent warning, causing him to stop in the middle of the hallway, helplessly standing and watching until they were out of sight.

He stood there for a long moment, his hands clenched into fists, a feeling of guilt and helplessness taking over his entire body. He pulled out his phone, intending to call Bao Nghi again, but then stopped, realizing that right now, anything he said would only make things worse. He needed to give her space, even though it hurt him more than anything he had ever experienced.

On the taxi ride back to Bao Nghi's house, she sat with her head resting on Thanh Truc's shoulder, her eyes staring aimlessly out the window, the familiar streets passing by blurred behind a curtain of tears that had not yet dried completely. "I thought I was safe," she whispered, her voice cracking. "I thought this time would be different."

"I know," Thanh Truc said, squeezing his friend's hand. "This is not your fault, Nghi. You didn't do anything wrong."

But those words of comfort, although sincere, were not enough to calm the storm rolling in Bao Nghi's heart - a storm mixed between an old fear that had never subsided and a new, sharper pain, coming from the very person she had begun to trust, had begun to allow herself to love.

Upon arriving home, Bao Nghi immediately turned off all notifications on his phone, pulled the window curtains, and crawled under the blanket even though it was still light outside. Thanh Truc stayed all afternoon, cooking her a simple bowl of egg porridge that she barely touched, just sitting next to her, silently, occasionally gently rubbing her friend's back when the sobs arose again.

"I don't want to go back to school anymore," Bao Nghi whispered in the middle of the afternoon, his voice frighteningly empty. "I don't want to see that photo again. I don't want anyone to look at me that way again."

Thanh Truc didn't try to convince her otherwise, just held her friend's hand tightly, letting her silence speak for a promise that she would always be here, no matter how long it took Bao Nghi to get through this storm.