The night had fallen, and the streets were aglow with the warm light of street lamps and houses nearby. A car pulled up quietly in front of a house, lingered for a moment, then drove off.
The front door opened, and Thiên Ân stepped inside, calling out, "I'm home!"
From the kitchen came a woman's voice, "You're back already?"
Thiên Ân walked in to find his mother — Mrs. Lan — cooking dinner. She turned around and said, "Are you hungry? Go wash up first, then come down to eat."
He nodded and asked, "Where's Dad?"
Mrs. Lan replied, "He's in the living room, watching TV as usual. Honestly, that man — his own son's home and he can't even say a word."
Thiên Ân nodded, said he'd go shower, and passed through the living room. There sat his father, Mr. Trọng — a middle-aged man — watching the news intently as if it were something deeply profound.
"Dad, I'm home," Thiên Ân said softly.
Mr. Trọng turned, "You're back. Did you have a good time?"
"It was fine."
"That's good. Now go get cleaned up."
"Yes, sir."
His room was dim. When he turned on the light, Thiên Ân walked over to the bed and dropped down onto it. Lying flat on his back, he closed his eyes, the soft glow above casting a quiet light over his calm face. The room was silent, except for the faint scent of food wafting up from the kitchen. After a while, he opened his eyes, sat up, and grabbed his clothes to take a shower.
At dinner, Mrs. Lan asked, "So, how was it today? Did you have fun?"
Chewing, Thiên Ân answered, "It was fine."
"Was it big there? Did you take any pictures?"
He shook his head.
Mr. Trọng tapped his chopsticks lightly, "Alright, let him eat. He's probably starving after being out all day."
Mrs. Lan sighed and served some food into his bowl. "Here, eat this. I bought some fresh fish at the market — good for your father's health."
Thiên Ân wasn't really paying attention; his mind was somewhere else. Seeing his son distracted, Mr. Trọng didn't press further. He just picked up some food for his wife. "You should eat too. The rice's getting cold."
She smiled softly and ate what he served her.
Dinner passed quietly. Later, the family sat in the living room for a while before heading off to their rooms.
Lying in bed, Thiên Ân turned from side to side, pressing a pillow over his face as if he could force himself to sleep — but couldn't. Some lingering thought kept circling his mind, refusing to leave.
Suddenly, he remembered he hadn't texted his friends yet. He picked up his phone and typed into the group chat:
"Got home."
Within seconds, messages flooded in:
"Bro, we thought you got kidnapped!""You said you'd text right away when you got home!""We were freaking out, man!"
Thiên Ân stared at the messages but didn't reply. Then he saw one from Hoàng Nam:
"Hey, have you guys decided on your college yet? Tomorrow's the last day to submit preferences."
Only then did Thiên Ân remember the form he'd been given. He got out of bed, opened his bag, and pulled out the application sheet. For a long moment, he held the pen but didn't write — hesitating. Then, biting his lip, he finally filled it in with determination.
When he finished, he felt oddly lighter. His violet eyes lingered on the line he had just written before he went back to bed.
He texted one last message:
"I'm sleeping."
Then set the phone down and drifted into deep sleep. Outside, crickets sang under the bright silver moon. Another day quietly slipped by.
The next morning, the school bell rang, signaling the end of class. As the teacher left, the class monitor called out, "Everyone, take out your preference forms! I'll collect them for Ms. Hana."
The room filled with noise as students pulled out their papers, handed them over, and rushed out to the courtyard.
Outside, three boys — Hoàng Nam, Đức Minh, and Thiên Ân — sat on a bench in their uniforms, eating breakfast.
"Hey," Hoàng Nam asked, "what did you guys put down for your college choices?"
"Says me?" Đức Minh replied between sips of milk. "I just followed my parents — University A, Economics major."
Hoàng Nam grinned and slapped his knee. "Knew it! Totally called it."
"So what about you?" Đức Minh asked.
"Me?" Hoàng Nam scratched his head. "Probably University A's Sports Department. My P.E. teacher said I'd be wasting my potential if I didn't, and honestly, he's right."
"Yeah, that fits you," Đức Minh agreed.
Then both turned toward Thiên Ân — who was quietly eating his sandwich, listening to them while gazing off at the scenery ahead.
"So, what about you, Ân?" Đức Minh asked. "Which school did you pick? I can't even guess."
"Yeah," Hoàng Nam chimed in, "spill it."
Feeling the weight of their stares, Thiên Ân finally spoke, calm as ever:
"I applied to Harmonic Royal Academy."
Silence. Only the distant chatter of other students filled the air.
Đức Minh froze — his milk box slipped from his hand, his glasses tilted.
Hoàng Nam pinched his own arm. "Ow! Not dreaming. Hey Minh, did I hear that right?"
"You did."
Hoàng Nam's eyes went wide. "Wait, Ân! You applied there? You can sing? Since when? Why music all of a sudden?" — he rattled off so fast that his spit almost hit Thiên Ân.
Thiên Ân quietly slid his sandwich out of range, his face showing mild disgust.
Đức Minh pushed Hoàng Nam's head aside. "Ân, why that school? You know how hard it is to get in. I've never even heard you sing."
Thiên Ân remained calm. "I just… want to try."
They looked at each other. Đức Minh remembered last night and asked softly, "Was it because of yesterday? Don't make a rash choice that could affect your future."
Thiên Ân brushed crumbs off his lap. "It's not rash. I really mean it."
Then he stood. "Bell's about to ring."
The two looked confused but followed him inside.
That evening, the family gathered in the living room. Mrs. Lan was going over the household ledger, and Mr. Trọng was reading messages from work.
Thiên Ân spoke up, "Dad, Mom… I have something to tell you."
They both stopped what they were doing and turned toward him.
"Last week, our homeroom teacher gave us the college preference form," he said. "Today was the final deadline. I've already submitted mine."
Mrs. Lan asked, "And which school did you choose?"
Tension flickered in Thiên Ân's eyes; his fingers gripped the rug slightly before he answered, "I applied to Harmonic Royal Academy."
Mrs. Lan blinked — the name meant nothing to her — so she turned to her husband.
Mr. Trọng spoke gravely, "That's one of the most prestigious music academies on the continent — and among the top in our country."
Mrs. Lan was taken aback. "A music academy? Since when does my son have musical talent?"
Thiên Ân met their gazes. "I'm not sure if I'm any good… but I want to give it a try."
Mr. Trọng's tone grew serious. "Then your father wants to hear a reason. Don't tell me 'because I like it.'"
"I've thought it through," Thiên Ân replied firmly. "I may not get in, but I want to try. For the first time, I actually feel like there's something I want to do."
For a long moment, the room was silent enough to hear a mosquito. Mr. Trọng studied his son's face — and seeing the determination in his eyes, he finally nodded.
"Alright. If you've made up your mind, we'll respect it. But remember, this is your choice. If you fail, your parents won't take responsibility for that future."
"Yes, sir."
Mrs. Lan suddenly interrupted, "Oh, so the two of you just decide everything without me now?"
Her husband went quiet as a mouse.
She turned to her son, half-scolding, half-smiling. "I've never heard you sing, but if you're going to do this, you'd better rely on skill — no luck. Still…" — her tone softened, teasing — "with that handsome face, I bet you'll outshine half the applicants already."
She pinched his cheek proudly.
Thiên Ân sighed, helpless against his mother's self-congratulating joy over her "beautiful son."
"Alright," she said, "tomorrow I'll find you a music tutor. Don't even think about whining when lessons get tough."
"Yes, Mom."
"Good. It's late. Go to bed, you've got school tomorrow."
"Okay. Good night, Dad, Mom."
He dashed upstairs.
Down in the living room, his parents sat in silence for a moment — exchanging quiet looks as the night deepened around them.