CHAPTER VI : THINGS LEFT UNTOLD
920 Words
After that morning, something between Te Mac and Nhuoc Nhuoc broke in a way neither of them knew how to fix.
They still saw each other every day. In the classroom, in the corridors, under the old trees where sunlight filtered through uneven leaves. Yet the distance between them felt wider than ever. It was not the loud kind of separation filled with arguments or resentment. It was quiet. Too quiet. And that silence hurt more than words ever could.
Nhuoc Nhuoc stopped waiting for him outside the classroom. She no longer slowed her steps when she heard his voice nearby. She buried herself in work, in classes, in long nights at her part-time job. Exhaustion became her shield, something she could hide behind so she would not have to think about the look on Te Mac’s face when he admitted the truth about that kiss.
It had not been real.
That single thought replayed in her mind over and over again, refusing to fade.
For Te Mac, every day felt like punishment. He wanted to explain, to tell her that even if the kiss had started as a way to end Tham Mong’s persistence, his feelings for Nhuoc Nhuoc had been real long before that moment. But every time he tried to approach her, she turned away—polite, distant, and painfully calm.
That calmness scared him more than anger ever could.
One afternoon, Tu Than found Te Mac sitting alone behind the art building, staring at the ground as if answers might appear between the cracks in the pavement.
“You’re going to lose her if you keep staying silent,” Tu Than said bluntly.
Te Mac smiled bitterly. “I already did.”
Tu Than sighed. “No. You made a mistake, but that doesn’t mean it’s over. Nhuoc Nhuoc isn’t someone who gives up easily. She’s someone who gets hurt deeply.”
Those words stayed with Te Mac long after Tu Than left.
Meanwhile, Nhuoc Nhuoc received an unexpected opportunity. The film club announced a new short film project and encouraged students to audition. There would be a small stipend—nothing significant, but enough to help with her expenses. Without hesitation, she signed up.
She needed something new. Something that belonged only to her.
On the day of auditions, she didn’t expect to see Te Mac there.
He had also signed up.
When their eyes met across the room, neither of them spoke. The air between them felt heavy, as if everyone else had disappeared. Yet when their names were called, they stood in the same space again, forced to perform opposite each other.
The scene was simple: two people standing at a crossroads, unable to move forward or turn back.
As Nhuoc Nhuoc spoke her lines, her voice trembled—not from nerves, but from memories. Te Mac looked at her, and for the first time in days, she did not look away.
In that moment, the director saw something genuine.
They were both cast.
Filming began a week later. Long hours. Repeated takes. Conversations that stayed strictly professional. But sometimes, when the cameras stopped rolling, Te Mac would catch Nhuoc Nhuoc staring at nothing, lost in thought. And sometimes, she would notice him watching her, as if there were a thousand things he wanted to say but didn’t know how.
One night, after filming wrapped up late, rain began to fall again—soft, steady, familiar.
Nhuoc Nhuoc walked alone toward the bus stop, clutching her bag tightly. Halfway there, footsteps approached from behind.
“Let me walk you home.”
She didn’t turn around. She knew who it was.
“You don’t have to,” she replied quietly.
“I want to,” Te Mac said.
They walked side by side, leaving space between them. The streetlights reflected off the wet pavement, stretching their shadows into long, distorted shapes.
“I know I hurt you,” Te Mac said after a long silence. “And I won’t ask you to forgive me. But I need you to know… my feelings weren’t a lie.”
Nhuoc Nhuoc stopped walking.
“Intentions don’t erase consequences,” she said calmly. “You kissed me to push someone else away. That moment belonged to another person’s ending, not to us.”
Her words were gentle, but they cut deep.
Te Mac swallowed hard. “If I had the chance to do it again, I would choose differently.”
“But you didn’t,” she replied. “And that’s why it hurts.”
They stood there in the rain, neither moving. Eventually, Nhuoc Nhuoc continued walking, leaving Te Mac behind.
That night, she cried—not loudly, not desperately, but quietly, into her pillow. She cried for herself, for the girl who had believed too easily, and for the feelings she was not ready to let go of.
Days turned into weeks.
The film project gained attention. Teachers praised their chemistry on screen. Classmates whispered about them again, unaware of how fragile things truly were.
One evening, as filming ended, Nhuoc Nhuoc received a message from an unknown number.
“Sometimes, the things we lose are the things that teach us how to love better.”
She stared at the screen for a long time before realizing it was from Te Mac.
She didn’t reply.
But for the first time in a long while, her heart no longer felt as heavy as before.
Because somewhere deep inside, she knew—this story between them wasn’t finished yet.
- Writer
