Chapter 18 — Unprocessed Photos

Bao Nghi missed school for two days in a row, citing illness to her homeroom teacher, although her mother, seeing her daughter lying flat on the bed with puffy eyes, understood that it was not a common cold. She didn't ask much, just quietly brought the porridge to her room, left her daughter alone when she needed it, and sat back when she needed someone by her side.

Minh Khang texted her every day, the messages became longer and more urgent: "I'm sorry. I know I was wrong. Can you give me a chance to explain?" and "I asked the council to take down the photo, but they said it would take time to process because too many copies were printed." Bao Nghi read each message but did not respond, not strong enough to face the chaotic emotions, but just seeing his name appear on the screen was enough to make her heart ache.

On the third day, when Bao Nghi was forced to return to school because she could not hide forever, she entered the school gate with a feeling of extreme fear, her head bowed low, her eyes avoiding looking directly at anyone. The photo, fortunately, was removed from the main bulletin board at Minh Khang's request, but its echoes still lingered around the school — a few curious eyes followed her as she passed by, a few whispers she deliberately couldn't hear clearly.

During recess, Minh Khang came to her as soon as he had the chance, standing in front of the door of class 12A6, his face haggard from not sleeping for many nights in a row. "Bao Nghi, please, just give me five minutes," he said, his voice urgent.

Bao Nghi stopped and looked at him, feeling anger and hurt rising at the same time in his heart. She nodded curtly, leading him to a quiet corner of the hallway, where they could talk without being overheard.

"Why?" she asked immediately, her voice shaking as she tried to suppress her anger. "Why would you do that, after everything I told you?"

"I'm sorry," Minh Khang said, his voice choked. "I don't mean to hurt you. I just... I think that photo is beautiful, honest, and I want the whole school to see your true beauty, to see your talent without having to hide behind any pseudonym. I think it would be a nice thing for you."

"You think it will be good for you?" Bao Nghi repeated, his voice bitter. "Did you ask me once, before deciding what was 'good' for me? You know my story, you know exactly what happened in ninth grade, and yet you still did the exact same thing — decided for me how and when I would be seen, without even asking me first!"

Minh Khang remained silent, his face pale as he realized, for the first time with complete clarity, the terrifying similarity between his actions and the painful memories she had shared. "I... I didn't think about that," he stammered. "I just think my intentions are different, I'm not as malicious as..."

"Intentions are not as important as what happened!" Bao Nghi interrupted, tears began to flow even though she tried to hold it back. "The classmate who posted a photo of me in ninth grade didn't think I would be so hurt, maybe he thought it was just a harmless joke. But consequences still happen, no matter what the intention is! You took away my right to choose, Khang. You took away the only thing I could control after everything I've been through."

"I'm sorry," Minh Khang said again, his voice cracking, tears starting to well up in his eyes. "I'm really sorry, Bao Nghi. I was completely wrong. Please, give me a chance to fix it."

"I don't know if you can fix it," Bao Nghi said, his voice quieter but fierce. "I need time. I need space. And I..." she paused, taking a shaky breath before continuing, "I think I'm leaving the club."

"No, please don't," Minh Khang said, his voice clearly panicked. "Bao Nghi, the club needs you, the exhibition needs your photos, we have..."

"You should have thought of that before sending your photo without asking," Bao Nghi interrupted, his voice stiffening. "I'm sorry that the club may have difficulty because of my decision. But I can't continue in a place where I no longer feel safe."

She turned and walked away, leaving Minh Khang standing dumbfounded in the middle of the hallway, his face was the image of a person who had just realized the devastating consequences of his own actions stemming from sincere but thoughtless love. He didn't chase her, didn't call back, just stood there, letting her go, because he understood, at least in this moment, that was the only thing he could do to respect what she had just said — she needed space, and this time, he had to truly respect that, not just with an empty promise.

Bao Nghi went straight to the medical room, asked for permission to leave early with the excuse of a headache, and the nurse, seeing her pale face and red eyes, did not ask anything else and immediately wrote the permission. On the way home, she briefly texted Thanh Truc, recounting the confrontation that had just occurred, and decided to leave the club.

"Are you sure about that?" Thanh Truc asked over the phone that night, his voice cautious, not disapproving but not completely agreeing either. "I understand you're hurt, and you have every right to be angry. But I also see how much you've changed since joining that club."

"I can't stay in a place where I no longer feel safe," Bao Nghi replied, his voice still shaking. "I trusted, Truc. I lowered every layer of defense I'd built up over three years, and look what happened."

"I'm not saying you're wrong," Thanh Truc said softly. "I just want to make sure you're making decisions because of what you really need, not just because your fear is speaking for you."

Bao Nghi didn't answer right away, those words made her pause a bit, but the pain was still too fresh, too painful for her to be able to clearly distinguish between her true need and her fear reflex right now.

Meanwhile, at school, news about Bao Nghi leaving the club spread quickly among the small group of close members. Dinh Phong, when listening to Minh Khang recount the whole incident with a voice full of regret in the dark, quiet room that evening, could not hide his disappointment.

"What are you doing, Khang?" Phong asked, his harsh voice was rare, completely different from his usual humor. "You know his conditions well. You promised!"

"I know," Minh Khang replied, his voice hollow, slumping into the chair next to the photo booth. "I thought I was doing the right thing. I was completely wrong."

"The problem isn't just that you're wrong," Phong said, his voice softening a bit but still remaining stern. "The problem is that you decided for him, about his own body, his very face. That's not a small thing, Khang."

Minh Khang nodded, without further justification, just sitting there with a face heavy with guilt. "I don't know how to fix it," he said quietly. "He said he needed space, and I respect that, but I don't know if there's any chance of redemption."

Phong looked at his friend for a long time, the anger in his heart gradually subsided at Minh Khang's clear and sincere regret. "I think," he said finally, his voice less harsh, "you need to give him time, real time, not just talk. And maybe, you need to think more carefully about why you think that decision was the right one in the first place, instead of just focusing on apologizing."

Phong's words, simple but sharp, stayed in Minh Khang's mind all that night, as he lay awake, trying to trace the train of thought that led him to that wrong decision, trying to understand, truly understand, why his sincere love and admiration could cause such a deep hurt to the person he cared about the most.

He remembered every moment that led to that decision — the urge to have the whole school see Bao Nghi's beauty, the belief that he was giving a gift, the haste to ignore the little voice in his heart that warned him that this was something she had never agreed to. The more he thought about it, the more he realized, painfully but clearly, that he had let his own beliefs about what was "good" completely override the right of others to choose — a fundamental mistake that no amount of good intentions could erase.

Late in the morning, when sleep still hadn't come, he sat up, reopened the email he sent to the exhibition approval committee, reread every line he had written, and for the first time clearly saw the self-deception in his own words. He turned off the screen, buried his face in his hands, and let the tears of regret fall in the darkness, wondering if he had any chance to fix what he'd done.