Chapter 28: Heartbroken
Whenever I saw Mr Aunt, if there was a third person around, I was completely normal—cheerful and polite. But if it was just the two of us, I couldn't even face Mr Aunt. I was afraid of loving Mr Aunt, afraid of the pain, and afraid of hurting Duyên. There would surely be another guy who would make my heart race. It would happen soon. Mr Aunt would pass through my life, just like Hải Anh did.
I avoided Mr Aunt...
Mr Aunt saw "Beautiful Butt" picking me up, yet remained indifferent. I didn't understand why that made me feel so disappointed. Could Mr Aunt not feel even a little jealous? If this were a movie, the male lead would be provoked to confess his feelings to the female lead. But Mr Aunt treated me like a stranger, like someone who had lost all memory of the time we spent working together.
My logic told me to stay away from Mr Aunt... But deep inside, I still hoped Mr Aunt would grab my hand and hold me back. Just that. Just a tiny sign, and I would throw away my pride, overcome my insecurities, and chase after my love.
But...
It felt like we were gradually walking in opposite directions, growing further apart.
That Friday afternoon, after class, Duyên went home to her parents. I wandered through the schoolyard, embracing an unnamed sadness. Duyên no longer avoided me, but I still couldn't find a moment of peace. Suddenly, I saw Mr Aunt walking towards me from the opposite direction. I stood frozen, my heart pounding. I lowered my head, refusing to look, and Mr Aunt walked past me as if I didn't exist.
At that moment, as Mr Aunt brushed by, my heart clenched. I stood there in the middle of the schoolyard, and tears streamed down my face.
Vũ Trang Vân, you thought you were an angel. You thought you were smart. You thought you were talented. But in reality, you are nothing. That cold, emotionless face never saw you as anything special. Let it go. Forget it all. Forget that heartless face.
That evening, back at the dorm, I texted "Golden Prize" and asked him to go karaoke with me.
When I'm sad or disappointed—when food doesn't help and exercise doesn't lighten my mood—karaoke is my last resort. Just screaming into the mic, and all my sorrows would dissolve into nothingness.
I picked all heartbreak songs and whined my way through them. I sang fifteen songs in a row. "Golden Prize" just sat there, quietly listening, not saying a word. When my voice nearly gave out, I finally handed him the mic. He chose only one song: The Sweetest Thing.
His voice rose, making me pause and listen:
"Happiness will come one day, I firmly believe in that..."
I wished these lyrics were Mr Aunt's words to me. But it would forever be just a fantasy.
As we left, I grinned at him.
"I feel so much better."
"Golden Prize" didn't smile like he usually did. His face carried a trace of thoughtfulness. He said to me,
"If you ever want to sing again, just call me."
I nodded slightly. At that moment, he seemed strangely mature. No wonder all the pretty girls swarmed around him. Talented, understanding of women, good at conversation, and willing to share.
But he didn't give people a sense of security.
Security? Trust?
I found myself lost in thoughts of Mr Aunt again, picturing that quiet, lonely figure. The clearest image I had of Mr Aunt was always from behind. Mr Aunt never looked at me, so I had the chance to study that silhouette carefully.
Somehow, I had memorized that lonely yet proud posture.
To Mr Aunt, nothing seemed to matter. Nothing could hold Mr Aunt back.
Walking alone, going alone—so hurried, so indifferent.
Time flew by, and the school year came to an end. I returned to my hometown in Tuyên Quang, escaping the bustling yet cold-hearted city. "Beautiful Butt" remained busy with his job, and Mr Aunt had completed his master's degree. On the day of Mr Aunt's thesis defense, I traveled from my hometown to Hanoi, standing quietly from afar to cheer for him. I was secretly overjoyed when he defended it excellently, though I had expected nothing less.
Meanwhile, "Golden Prize" seemed caught up in bidding farewell to his old class and preparing for graduation exams. Watching him panic over those tests made me laugh—he was struggling with them more than the national exams. His skewed way of studying was really concerning.
During my freshman year, I had been so weak and lonely in the unfamiliar city. My hometown was too far, so I rarely had the chance to visit. There were times when my mother called to check on me, and I would cry uncontrollably, overwhelmed with homesickness. Luckily, that was when I met and became close to Duyên.