When I arrived at the emergency room, I saw my aunt sitting quietly beside him. The cold white light of the hospital reflected on her face, revealing her anxiety. He was tired, but when he saw me, he tried to smile, his warm eyes seemed to want to soothe all my fatigue.

Among the children, I was the one he loved the most, perhaps because I looked like him and was a good student. He looked at her, his voice weak but full of pride: "My child will be in 10th grade next year. He studies very hard." She smiled, turned to ask me about my studies. When she heard that I had no plans, she pondered and said: "Why don't you try the provincial specialized school entrance exam? It's very difficult, but I believe you can do it."

Her eyes lit up as she spoke, giving me confidence. Then she saw my bleeding knee. Without saying a word, she went to get some cotton and rubbing alcohol. As she bandaged me, her hands were so gentle and tender that I didn’t feel any pain.

Childhood memories flooded back to me. I remember following my father to the city to sell fish sauce. She sat below, holding a funnel, helping her father pour fish sauce from a large can into small bottles. I was standing nearby curiously, when the canister accidentally pressed my leg on hers. It hurt so much that I jerked my leg away, causing fish sauce to splash all over her shirt. The shirt she was wearing to go to work smelled strongly of fish sauce, but she just smiled gently, not scolding me at all. I have loved her since then.

Then I remembered the time she inaugurated her new house. It was a large two-story house with shiny tiles and a pale yellow stone staircase. I eagerly looked at everything, amazed. She handed me a cold bottle of Fanta and said, “Drink this, it’s delicious!” That was the first time I had a soft drink. That strange, sweet, cool taste captivated me. The city appeared to me like a new, fascinating world . Since when, I had dreamed of living there, even though I had never thought of leaving home.

At the end of ninth grade, I stayed at her house to study for the entrance exam to a specialized school. It was a difficult exam, with a competition rate many times higher than the university entrance exam. She signed me up for three extra classes, with a full schedule from morning to night. The first few classes overwhelmed me. The other students in the class were all very good at studying, but I struggled to solve difficult math problems.

One time, she brought me a set of old exam papers. I picked it up, feeling heavy-hearted. The specialized math questions confused me, I couldn’t understand them, let alone solve them. But when I turned to the specialized language questions, I suddenly realized that I had a chance. The literature questions were more suitable for me, opening a narrow door that I could enter. I was more excited, studying hard. As the exam day approached, I studied early and late. My aunt at that time also stayed up with me, worrying about each glass of milk and each late-night snack. She encouraged me and believed that I would pass the exam. Every night I studied late, she stayed up, made milk, and encouraged me.

On the day of the exam, I did not do well, only getting half. My heart sank, thinking that the opportunity was over. I returned to my hometown. At that time, I decided that I would study in my hometown. Right before the day I was about to take the exam to enter the district high school, she called me, her voice filled with joy: "You passed! Get ready to go to school!" I was surprised and asked again: "Did you really pass? I did so badly on the test?" She smiled and said: "I really passed. Just enough points, but passing is passing!"

I was the last student to pass the specialized language class that year. If I had missed a quarter of a point, I would have definitely gone to a district high school. The boundary between the two places, 40 kilometers apart, was worth that quarter of a point to me.

I left my hometown, went to the city, and started a new school life. The first days, my teacher took me to school on a motorbike. Two days later, she bought me a bicycle. I cycled through the crowded streets, full of excitement. The large specialized school, with its shady green trees and spacious classrooms, made me tell myself: “I have to try really hard!” However, the three years at the specialized school were not easy.

I chose to take the university entrance exam for the natural sciences, a choice that was different from the major of language studies. Studying in a specialized class meant that in addition to studying in the morning, I had to take extra classes at school five afternoons a week, including three foreign language sessions. Therefore, I only had about two hours in the afternoon and evening to study extra subjects for the natural sciences. With such little time, self-study in the evening was my main study time.

During my high school years, I often studied until 1-2 am. In the morning, when I went to school, I was always sleep-deprived and had a slight fever because I stayed up late. In the attic, on long nights, under the desk lamp, I studied by myself with the words “WILL” stuck on the wall, as a reminder to myself not to give up. She was always there, silently worried. One day, she came to my room and saw me still engrossed in my books: “Study slowly, take care of your health. How can you keep up with your studies when you are sick?”

The day the university results were announced, I remember that moment clearly. Back then, there were no cell phones, nor internet to check the results. Everything could only be done through the landline switchboard. That afternoon, when she was preparing to go to work, a friend who had taken the exam with her came to tell her that the results were out. She picked up the landline phone, dialed the number and called the switchboard. The cold numbers on the other end of the line rang out: “Math 10, Physics 9.5, Chemistry 10”. As soon as she finished speaking, I stood still, as if I couldn’t believe my ears. I turned to look at her, and couldn’t hold back my emotions. She hugged me, tears of joy in her eyes, and comforted me: “You passed, you passed, my dear!”. I felt choked up.

She is not only the only relative who encouraged me through every difficulty, but also the person I love the most. I looked into her eyes, saw the pride and joy of a mother, an aunt who followed me every step of the way. Perhaps she is happier than me, because she has gone through so many hardships and difficulties with me to get to this day.

Time passed, I went to college, then graduated and entered the world. Projects and works kept me busy, but I always remembered what my teacher taught me: “Remember, when doing anything, you must try your best, do it with the purest heart. Later, whether you succeed or fail, there is nothing to regret, because at least you have tried your best.” That teaching followed me throughout the months of traveling, working, and reaching for my own dreams.

Recently, while I was working on a remote project in the Northeast, my mother called. She said, “Auntie is seriously ill. Come back immediately.” My heart sank. I quickly packed up my things, then got on the night bus and headed straight to the city.

During the whole journey home, I lay awake in the car, unable to sleep. I remembered my aunt sitting at the hospital bed taking care of him. I remembered what my aunt said when he had just passed away. She was sad and sighed and said to me: “Now that he is gone, I probably have no reason to go back to my hometown anymore.” Before that, every other week, she would come back to visit him. She went to the market and cooked meals with sour fish soup, his favorite dish. She sat and watched him eat little by little. Then I was afraid, I was afraid that my aunt would follow him to the white clouds like she had done before.

The car arrived in the city when the sky was just getting light. I entered her house and gently walked up to her room. After a long time of not seeing her, she had become so thin. She lay on the bed and opened her eyes slightly when she heard my footsteps approaching. I held her thin hand without saying a word. We looked at each other, my eyes blurred. I lifted her hand and kissed it gently. She whispered: “You… are… back… Sit… here… with… me”.

I stayed with her for the next two weeks until the day she left. That day was cold and rainy, like the end of a black and white movie, the movie of life, my aunt's image slowly blurred and gradually disappeared.

I sobbed and whispered, "Miss!"

Le Ngoc Son