Chapter 7 — Unprocessed Photos

Two weeks after joining the club, Bao Nghi got used to the rhythm of Tuesday and Thursday activities, got used to the chemical smell that stuck to her hair every time she came home, got used to Dinh Phong's laughter and Minh Khang's focused eyes every time he looked at a frame. But there's one thing she's not used to, and will probably never be completely comfortable with: Minh Khang's photography philosophy.

That Thursday afternoon, the whole club was given a practice assignment: each person took a set of photos about "daily life in the schoolyard", the topic was simple but, as Minh Khang explained, contained his one immutable rule - don't stage it, don't ask anyone to pose, only take pictures of what's really going on.

"It sounds easy, but this is the most difficult part of photography," Minh Khang told the group, standing in front of the board, holding chalk and tapping lightly on the blackboard. "Anyone can ask their friends to stand in the right place, smile at the right time, and take a beautiful photo. But to capture a real moment, you must learn to wait, learn to become invisible, let the world go on as if no camera was there."

Bao Nghi sat in the corner of the room, gently squeezing her camera, feeling a vague discomfort rising in her heart that she couldn't name right away.

Going to the schoolyard, the whole group spread out to different corners. Bao Nghi chose a stone bench under an almond tree, where she could observe without being noticed — her old habit was still intact even though she took a step further than before. She captured a few satisfactory frames: two boys were arguing fiercely about a soccer match last night, a girl was studying under the shade of a tree, sunlight filtered through a few leaves falling onto the notebook pages.

But when she raised the camera to take a photo of a group of tenth graders playing badminton nearby, one of them suddenly turned his head and his eyes accidentally met her lens. Bao Nghi immediately put down the phone, his heart beat fast, the familiar feeling of being discovered watching rose in his chest, even though the other student only glanced briefly and then returned to chatting with his friend, not paying any attention.

"Why don't you continue taking pictures?" Minh Khang asked, appearing next to her without realizing it, the camera still hovering around his neck.

"They saw me," Bao Nghi replied, his voice a bit stiff. "I don't like taking pictures when people know I'm taking pictures of them."

"But that's exactly what makes an unstaged photo beautiful," Minh Khang said, his voice still gentle but somewhat convincing. "You don't need to hide completely. You just need to be patient enough to let them forget you're there, and then continue being themselves."

"Not everyone wants to 'continue to be themselves' in front of other people's cameras," Bao Nghi replied, her voice a bit harsher than she intended, making both of them a bit surprised by their own reactions.

Minh Khang was silent for a moment, looking at her with searching but non-judgmental eyes. "You're right," he said finally, his voice softening. "I'm sorry if it sounds too imposing. I just believe that the most honest moments often happen when people aren't trying to express themselves in a certain way. But I also understand that not everyone is comfortable being seen that way, even if the intentions are good."

Bao Nghi looked at him, surprised at that quick concession. She was used to being persuaded, manipulated, forced to explain the reasons for her limitations — but Minh Khang, once again, simply accepted and adjusted.

"I don't object to your shooting style," she said, her voice softening. "I just... I always prefer to be in control of my frame. Choose the angle, choose the light, wait for the right moment without anyone knowing I'm there. For me, that's the way to keep it real, not by letting people know and then hoping they 'forget' about the lens."

"Then maybe we're just going to the same destination by two different paths," Minh Khang said, a small smile on his lips. "I believe in unexpected surprises. You believe in patiently observing before acting. Both are necessary, I think."

They continued to take separate photos in silence for a while, but this time, Bao Nghi felt more relieved, as if the differences between them had just been acknowledged instead of erased. She followed the schoolyard fence, found a hidden corner near the cafeteria area, where she could observe without being noticed, and waited.

A few minutes later, she captured the moment she liked most that afternoon: an elderly janitor was resting on the steps, holding a conical hat and fanning lightly, his eyes looking far into the sunny school yard, his face carrying an indescribable contemplation. Bao Nghi took the photo only once, not wanting to ruin the naturalness of the moment by taking repeated photos.

When the group gathered to look over the photos they had just taken on the small screens of their digital cameras — before moving on to the developing stage for those using film cameras — Bao Nghi's photo made the room silent for a moment.

"Who... who is this?" Vy asked, her voice full of admiration. "The way you captured those eyes, I don't know how else to describe it. It was like telling a person's whole life story in just one frame."

"The school janitor," Bao Nghi replied softly, a little embarrassed by the sudden attention.

Minh Khang looked at the photo for a long time, didn't say anything, just nodded slowly, his eyes shining with a deeper recognition than a normal compliment. "This is what I wanted to talk about," he said finally, his voice low. "Not staging does not mean having to take risks or be aggressive. Sometimes, not staging simply means being patient enough to wait for the truth to reveal itself."

Dinh Phong, standing nearby sipping an ice cream cone bought quickly from the cafeteria, gently nudged Minh Khang's shoulder, whispering loud enough for Bao Nghi to hear even though she pretended not to notice: "You looked at that photo longer than necessary, Khang."

"Shut up, Phong," Minh Khang replied, his ears slightly red, turning to adjust a few other photos on the table to hide his embarrassment.

Bao Nghi pretended not to hear that exchange, but inside, she couldn't deny a small warm feeling spreading, different from the familiar fear whenever someone pays attention to her. Maybe, she thought, not all attention was a threat. Some attention, if it comes from the right person at the right time, is like a warm ray of sunlight shining through a window into a room that has been accustomed to darkness for too long.

At the end of the session, when everyone started packing up the equipment to move into the dark room to develop the film rolls they had taken, Minh Khang approached Bao Nghi, holding the club's idea notebook.

"I want to ask you something," he said, his voice a bit more cautious than usual. "Do you mind if the janitor's photo is included in the shortlist for the exhibition? Of course, there's no need to mention your name, just writing 'club member' is enough, according to the conditions you set."

Bao Nghi thought for a moment. This is the first time since joining the club that a photo she took as part of a common activity can be displayed publicly, even though it does not bear her name. A strange feeling mixed with excitement welled up, but this time, it wasn't pure fear like before.

"Okay," she replied after a short silence. "But I want to see how it's displayed before I completely agree. I want to make sure he's portrayed with respect, not as a decoration for a school scene."

"Of course," Minh Khang nodded immediately, writing that down in the notebook. "Actually, that's what I always try to remind everyone at the club - every person who appears in our frames deserves to be treated as a whole person, not a prop."

Bao Nghi nodded, feeling a small but certain trust forming between her and him, not only because he respected the conditions she set, but because he seemed to really think about the ethical meaning behind each photo, not simply the technical or aesthetic aspects.

On the way home that afternoon, she passed by the same stone bench under the almond tree where she sat in the afternoon, and suddenly stopped, sat down for a moment, watching the sunset dye the entire western sky orange. She took out her camera, not to take pictures of anyone else, but just to look at the screen to review the photos she had taken during the day, stopping the longest at the photo of the janitor.

She thought about the small debate between her and Minh Khang, about how they both maintained their views but still found common ground, neither tried to force the other to completely abandon their own views. It was a new feeling for her — the feeling of being able to argue without fear, to disagree without losing security.

Her phone vibrated with a text message from Thanh Truc, asking how today's club activity was. Bao Nghi smiled and typed a longer answer than usual, recounting the debate about photography philosophy, the shortlisted photo of the janitor, and Minh Khang's statement about how each person in the frame deserves to be treated as a complete person.

"Sounds like he understands more than I thought," Thanh Truc texted back. "Be careful, Nghi, I see you're starting to like him more than just the club."

Bao Nghi was about to type a denial, but her finger stopped on the screen, and she realized she couldn't deny it as firmly as she wanted. She put her phone in her pocket, stood up, and continued walking home under the fading sunset, carrying a feeling of both confusion and warmth that she had never experienced during the three years of hiding behind the camera.