1 She was the one who ran away

"Has anyone ever thought that there may exist something in the world called "best friends of the opposite sex"? Someone once said that there is no such thing as friendship between men and women! Maybe that's true. I like him. He's my best friend of the opposite sex. I don't know if I'm that special in his heart, but for me, he's really special. I didn't have the courage to speak out, and I didn't dare to show it in front of him. And now, between him and I, there's a gap that can't be filled again."

When Bich Quyen closed the notebook, the pen she was holding in her hand was also lowered. Outside, there is only one grey color. It is not clear if it is raining or not. Early in the morning in England, it's like that every day. Murky, hazy! The fog is all over the road, so no one knows outside the space that other people could only squint to see. It's a drizzle or a fog that makes people wet. It's the third year she's lived in England, and she still hasn't gotten used to the weather here. A Vietnamese living in a strange European land said it took three years and still could not get used to the rhythm of life in this ancient country. So, it's been three years. Bich Quyen's attempts to avoid the past haunted her every sleep, and whenever she remembered, she felt cold on her back. Three years ago, time passed, and it was not enough for people to want to hold on.

A wind blows in, bringing with it the cold of Nottingham's winter weather, startling Bich Quyen, rushing to close the window. It's cold! She quickly gets a jacket on, rubbing her frozen hands together for some warmth. She is not used to the cold weather in Nottingham yet! She laughed at herself. Why was she so weak? For three years, she still couldn't stand the cold in the country! Bich Quyen looked outside, except for the yellow electric light that flashed in front of the window. She could not see anything in sight. She doesn't know when the fog will go away, Bich Quyen wonders. She stands up, packs up some clothes and books for the day of admission. This year, she will turn eighteen, already preparing to step over the threshold of college. She came to England at the age of fifteen, the middle age in the British learning system. At first, her mother wanted her to study the right process on this side, but Bich Quyen did not agree. She wants to study again for a year to strengthen her learning knowledge. Bich Quyen's academics are not bad. Although she said she would re-study but not until half a year, she has caught up with her peers. Even her teachers have commented that Bich Quyen is an extremely bright child. Perhaps no one needed to tell her mother that, after hearing those compliments, she felt proud of her daughter.

- Come on for breakfast, baby!

Her mother's voice is coming from under the kitchen, making her look back at her watch. Is it almost nine o'clock in the morning? Bich Quyen had been sitting in a state of silence for almost two hours. It's hard to pat her on the head, her mind is like a cloud-like this! Responding with a "yes" sound, Bich Quyen checks again and goes down for breakfast. Vietnamese families living in the UK still have habits that are maintained to this day, such as when their mother is cooking a large pot of pho. Bich Quyen looks at her mother's pho pot, wondering if her mother was surreptitiously raising a few more children. Looking at the pot like that, neither she nor her father finished it. The bowl of hot pho, although not as full as in Vietnam, is also considered to be something that helps her when Bich Quyen feels homesick.

- I got a phone call earlier.

- Whose was that?

- Mrs. Linh, Tuan's mother.

Bich Quyen was taking pho to her mouth and falling when she heard the name "Tuan" and was no longer interested in eating. The heart is like drumming in the chest as someone squeezes it so that Bich Quyen can't breathe. She lowers her head very low, using chopsticks to stir around the bowl of pho, not knowing what to say. It wasn't until a while later that she was able to regulate her breathing and ask her mother.

- Are you still in touch with Mrs. Linh? What did you say to his mother?

- It's nothing! It's just that Tuan asks about your health.

- Help me send my thanks to Mrs. Linh.

It seemed like Mrs. Huong still wanted to say something else, but she saw her daughter's face and just kept quiet. Bich Quyen hastily finished eating the bowl of pho, then packed up and asked permission to go to the room. She walks so fast it looks like she is running away from something. Burying herself in the blanket, Bich Quyen cowered his hands around her legs. "Tuan", "Tuan", the name "Tuan" along with the thought of "Tuan" asked to make her unable to keep calm. She said that Tuan was her friend when she was in Vietnam, her best friend of the opposite sex, and also the person that Bich Quyen used to love. She left Vietnam for the third year, three years without contact, without once talking to each other. And now he is asking her? What did he mean by that? Bich Quyen looks at her hands. They are trembling. Even her body trembled. Her best friend asked about her, bringing with her memories that seemed to be forgotten and then rose up. Her eyes are hot, and Bich Quyen is confident when she tells her mother that she couldn't remember it in the past. But look, does she look like she doesn't remember anymore? That terrible past, the past that lasted all four years, came every night to torture Bich Quyen in her sleep. Whenever she closed her eyes, she dreamed of that scary past and woke up in the night with a tearful face. And even now, she can't help crying.

- What's wrong with Quyen? What did you say to her again?

Mr. Tu looks up at his daughter's room upstairs, then looks anxiously at his wife. Earlier, when he came down to the house, Bich Quyen rushed up to the room again, his face pale without any vitality. He watched his wife stand under the kitchen sink, grimacing indescribably. Mrs. Huong sighed. She had only accidentally mentioned Tuan, not thinking that Bich Quyen would react so violently. After listening, he could only sigh. It's been three years since his daughter has not forgotten what happened. That's right, Bich Quyen endured these things for four years in a row, saying "forget it." How can she forget it right away?

- Don't talk about it later. She doesn't like to hear about Tuan.

- I didn't think it would be so violent. I'll pay more attention to that later.

Her voice was sad, the wrinkles in the tail of her eyes were deeper, and her daughter, so miserable, four years in the past, is still a ghost in her heart, haunting Bich Quyen to this day. After three years of psychotherapy, the thoughts of the daughter had been forgotten, but not. Quyen'd never forgotten the past. There are times when she asks herself, "What can't be forgotten about the other person?" It's all just the past. There's nothing to hold on to? But in the end, she couldn't do it. Bich Quyen cowered, buried her head in her hands, trying to suppress her crying. Her heart was beating painfully in her chest. She had not forgotten him, had not forgotten the good memories of the past between the two of them. The two of them had been together for so long that it seemed that the name Le Manh Tuan would make Bich Quyen remember that face and recall the warm voice of the other. She bit her lip tightly, clearly saying she had to forget but couldn't forget it. The love that she has for Manh Tuan is like a habit that she has inculcated in her heart a long time ago. Bich Quyen looks at the picture on her phone screen. The two in it are so happy. The smiles on their faces, the joy they share with one another. All of this is the past Bich Quyen could not hold back and is the future she cannot have anymore. How funny is that, right? People often say that the more you try to forget, the more you remember. This is how people all over the world live. The mind says it has been forgotten, but the heart speaks and screams that it cannot be forgotten. Perhaps what she thinks she has done for so many years is just a passing cloud. Le Manh Tuan is the memory that Bich Quyen never wants to remember.