Chapter 4- I left first this time.
I'm stepping into 9th grade.
In Vietnam, after finishing secondary school, we have to take a big, nationwide exam to get into the high school we want. If we fail, we might end up somewhere we never wanted to be. This year, it's my turn. I have to build my achievements, prove myself. I've been dreaming of getting into the gifted school. So yeah, I have to try—hard. Really hard.
Honestly? I'm not ready. It's like standing in front of a giant wall with nothing but my bare hands to climb. People say it's just another school year, but for me, it feels like a battlefield I must survive to reach the gifted school. Everyone expects me to fight, to win, to rise above—but I'm tired even before it starts.
Last year, something inside me broke. I didn't know how to fix it, so I left it broken. I stopped caring. I let my mind sink into places too dark for someone my age. I thought no one noticed, but deep down, I wanted someone to. Someone did. Yazid did.
And then he vanished.
Without a word, without a goodbye. Just... gone.
Now, as the school year starts, I force myself to care again. I glue my broken pieces together with pressure, caffeine, and dreams I can't afford to lose. I'm scared—scared I might destroy my own future if I keep living like I don't have one.
So, I study. I grind. I wake up with dark circles and sleep with English vocabulary echoing in my brain. I'm doing this for me. But also for Yazid. For what he reminded me of—that I matter. That I can still change.
He's not here. And maybe he'll never be. But I'm thankful. Really.
The English contest is coming in two months. Just hearing the word "contest" makes my stomach twist. But it's English, my favorite subject, so I'll survive. Probably.
Funny thing is, when I'm under pressure, I stop being a person. I turn into a walking, breathing homework machine. I forget what I look like. I skip skincare, ignore the mirror. And when it gets too much, I eat. Mindlessly. Like food can fill the emptiness school leaves behind.
But I don't complain. That's just what it means to be someone like me: a dreamer in survival mode.
October 9th – Two nights before the contest
I sit at my desk, my room dim, my books open like tiny monsters waiting to be fed. I just finished all my homework and now I'm drilling through contest prep. No time for breaks, not when my whole future feels like it's balancing on a single score.
And yet… my mind drifts.
I think of Yazid.
Of the way he made me feel seen in a world that barely looks at me.
I shake the thought off. No time for emotions. Not now.
Ting ting.
That sound.
My heart stops.
No. It can't be.
I reach for my phone slowly, like touching a ghost.
down_good00 sent you a message.
My fingers freeze. My brain screams. I don't even breathe.
He's back.
"hi there"
I stare at it for a second too long. My heart is sprinting.
"hi, Yazid"
And then, silence. Not the comforting kind. The heavy, choking kind.
I've waited so long to hear from him. But now that he's here, I don't know what to say. My fingers hesitate above the keyboard.
Should I ask him why he left?
Should I pretend I wasn't hurt?
Should I just… let it be?
Before I can decide, his message appears.
"I'm sorry, Lola."
My chest tightens. That name. My name. From him.
"For what, Yazid?"
"For my disappearance."
I sigh. Part of me wants to scream. Another part just feels relieved.
"Okay though, thanks for talking to me that time. You were literally my hero. I feel better now. But you know what? If you don't want to talk anymore, I'm totally fine with it."
I lie. I'm not fine. I wanted this moment for months. But I can't beg someone to stay.
"No no. My parents took my phone. I had to study and join many private classes."
Ah. I get it. As a children of an Asian parents. I totally get it.
"They're strict. And my grades have to be perfect. If not, they'll take my phone forever. I didn't want to disappear. I just… had to."
I get it. I really do.
Maybe he was struggling too, in his own quiet way.
"Okay, Yazid. But why didn't you use another device? A laptop or something?"
"Oh. But I can't."
That's when doubt creeps in. Is he lying? Is he just making excuses?
But looking at his message, I remember the boy who once cared. Who once made me believe I was worth something.
So I choose to believe him.
We keep chatting. Asking each other random questions. School, life, little things that don't really matter but feel safe.
But something's off.
We're not the same.
The rhythm we had—that unspoken connection—it's not there anymore. It's like listening to your favorite song but someone changed the key and tempo. Familiar but wrong.
I feel it, he probably does too.
So I smile sadly at the screen, type a few more words, and then say:
"Hey… I need to go. Good night."
I leave first.
Not because I want to.
But because I know we're not going back to the way it was.
Not this time.