Chapter 02. Things That Couldn’t Be Held On To
763 Words
"You are my light, Dương."
I still remember that afternoon — golden with fleeting peace, as brief as a dream.
The wind blew from the river, ruffling Linh Nhi’s hair, sending a few strands lazily drifting across her forehead.
We sat on the curb, each holding a cheap ice cream stick, the sunset stretching out behind us like a gentle blessing.
She tilted her head and smiled — that crystal-clear smile that seemed to still the whole city for one breathless moment:
"I want to take the entrance exam to Bách Khoa with you."
I tugged at my crooked collar, trying to act serious, awkwardly:
"Yeah... I’ll be an engineer. Make you proud."
The words sounded strong. But inside, there was a quiet scratch — small, but sharp.
I’d never even bought her a proper gift.
I remember the time she stopped in front of a roadside jewelry stall.
She just glanced at a delicate silver necklace, then turned away, silently.
As if it wasn’t worth remembering.
But I remembered.
I remembered that look — the look of someone who asked for nothing, but quietly believed.
And in the depths of my own shame, I once wished to give her that tiny gift.
Even if it was a cheap necklace.
Even if I had to gamble to get it…
I snapped back to the present.
The rented room was pitch black.
My head hung low, heavy as stone.
My eyes fell on the crumpled beer can on the floor — dented, twisted, just like me.
"I had Linh Nhi… and I chose the dice?"
I slammed my hand against the wall.
The dry thud echoed back — cold and empty.
Just one hit — but it felt like I’d struck my own skull, the place that once held a fool who thought he was clever.
Linh Nhi — you were once a dream.
And I — I was the one who crushed it.
"I like you."
I once scribbled that during math class, folded the note, and slipped it to her beneath the old flamboyant tree.
She looked at me, cheeks blushing, then smiled:
"Really?"
That smile… lit up the whole summer.
I used to be the “math genius” of the school.
People called me “that brilliant kid Dương.”
My mother proudly told the whole neighborhood:
"Dương and Linh Nhi are meant to be!"
"My son’s brilliant, he’s heading to Hanoi for Bách Khoa University."
She said it cheerfully, but her eyes were red.
Maybe the last time she truly smiled…
was when she sold our last piece of land to support me.
Then one day, Khoa — a classmate — invited me:
"Try tài xỉu (high-low dice). Easy money!"
I laughed and shook my head:
"I don’t gamble."
He smirked, cocky:
"Just one round. Genius, right?"
I tried.
I won.
I bought the necklace.
I sent money back to my mother.
I started believing I was born to be king.
The smoke in the gambling den stung my eyes.
The clatter of dice — like the devil’s whisper.
I sat there — thinking I was controlling the game.
Not knowing… I’d stepped into hell.
"Are you hiding something from me?"
Linh Nhi asked, when I gave her that necklace — too expensive for someone like me.
I avoided her gaze, forcing a smile:
"No… I’m fine."
She didn’t press.
She just held my hand — held it tightly.
"I believe you. But… don’t go too far."
The first time I lost 5 million.
I pawned my laptop.
Mom took the bus to Hanoi, bought it back.
She hugged me and cried:
"Dương… please stop…"
Linh Nhi held my hand too, her eyes glistening:
"I’m still here. But you have to stop."
I didn’t stop.
I kept betting.
I kept losing.
And soon — I was 150 million in debt.
Mom called, her voice choked:
"Dương… how could you do this…"
Minh — my best friend — texted:
"Pay up, man!"
Linh Nhi sent her last message:
"I can’t save you anymore…"
I lied to my mother.
Betrayed my friends.
Borrowed from loan sharks.
I lived like a corpse.
Sunken eyes. Shaky hands.
A face no longer mine.
The rented room reeked of mildew and failure.
Rain leaked through the tin roof, each drop falling slow and cold — like guilt knocking at the door of my heart.
I didn’t know if I was still human.
I just knew — every morning I woke up, I was still in debt.
And every bet…
was just another way to die.
- Writer
