The next morning, Mai woke up before her alarm went off.
The first thing she saw wasn't the clock or the half-finished stack of books spread across her desk. It was the blue umbrella standing beside her bedroom door. A few dried drops of water still clung to its ribs. The little note Khanh had taped to the handle was already a bit crumpled from how many times she'd touched it.
“Don't get wet, you klutz.”
Mai read the words one more time, then hurriedly turned away, as if the note could see how hot her ears had gotten.
She grabbed a clean towel and wiped down each rib of the umbrella so carefully that even her mother, passing by, had to stop.
“Whose umbrella are you taking such good care of?”
“A friend lent it to me.”
“A boyfriend?”
Mai nearly dropped the umbrella.
“What are you talking about?”
Her mother only laughed, while Mai hugged the umbrella and ran straight to her room to change. She picked out a pale yellow hair clip, then took it off again. In the end, she tied her hair the way she always did, but before leaving the house, she stood in front of the mirror for a few seconds longer than usual.
The sky was crystal clear that day. There wasn't the slightest sign of rain, but Mai still brought the blue umbrella with her.
Khanh was already in his seat when she entered the classroom. He was bent over his work, yesterday's worn-cornered math notebook beside his hand. At the sound of a chair scraping, Khanh looked up.
“Oh, you really brought it?”
Mai set the umbrella on his desk.
“What, should I just keep it if I don't return it?”
“That's fine.”
“What's fine?”
“Keep it.” Khanh said it as calmly as if it were obvious. “I need an umbrella.”
Mai looked at the umbrella lying between them.
“But yesterday you said you could just run through the rain.”
“That was yesterday. Today I changed my mind.”
The answer was so ridiculous that Mai didn't know how to argue with him. She pushed the umbrella toward him.
“Take it.”
Khanh didn't accept it right away. He pulled a small packet of cookies from his backpack and set it on Mai's notebook.
“Trade.”
“You bought cookies to trade for the umbrella?”
“No. The cookies are the delivery fee.”
Mai laughed. She picked up the packet and looked at the little cookies printed on the wrapper.
“That delivery fee is way too expensive.”
“Then give it back.”
Just as Khanh reached for it, Mai quickly slipped the packet into her desk.
“Once it's been delivered, there's no returning it.”
Khanh looked at her for a few seconds, then smiled. It wasn't a big smile, but it was enough to make Mai's morning brighter than the stretch of sky outside the window.
The first class passed with a ten-minute quiz. Mai was pretty good at literature, but she was always afraid of open-ended questions. When the teacher asked them to write about their most memorable experience of the school year, the whole class bent over their papers. Mai chewed on the end of her pen, unable to understand why the blue umbrella and a wet shirt sleeve kept appearing in her mind.
She wrote a few lines, then stopped.
At the desk in front of her, Khanh turned around and asked softly,
“Can't think of anything?”
“I'm thinking.”
“About what?”
“I'm thinking about whether yesterday counts as a memorable experience.”
Khanh looked at her, his eyes suddenly gentler.
“Of course it does.”
“But it was only yesterday.”
“Some things only have to happen once to stay with you for a long time.”
The teacher walked toward the back of the classroom. Khanh immediately turned around again, and Mai lowered her eyes to the page. This time, she wrote faster.
In the afternoon, the decorating group gathered in the old classroom behind the library to prepare for the camping trip. Colored poster board, ribbons, and paint boxes covered the tables. Lan, Mai's best friend, cut paper while watching her.
“You've been smiling all day.”
“Have I?”
“You have. Every time Khanh says something, you smile.”
“That's because he's funny.”
“What did Khanh even say to you?”
Mai fell silent. Lan raised an eyebrow, looking as if she'd just uncovered a huge secret.
Right then, Khanh came in carrying a cardboard box. He set it on the floor, dusted off his hands, and looked around.
“Mai, you're in charge of drawing the name tags.”
“Why me?”
“Because your handwriting is nice.”
“Lan's handwriting is nice too.”
“Lan's is nice in a serious way. Yours is nice in a way that…”
Khanh trailed off.
“In what way?” Mai asked.
“You can tell it's yours just by looking at it.”
The words were simple, but Mai suddenly didn't want to ask anything else. She sat down, picked up a blue marker, and began writing each group member's name on leaf-shaped pieces of poster board.
Khanh sat across from her, quietly cutting ribbon. Every so often, they both reached for the same thing and quickly pulled back. Each time, Lan glanced over but said nothing.
Near the end of the afternoon, a sudden gust blew through the window and sent the papers on the table flying. Mai hurried to her feet to hold down the name tags, but one yellow piece of poster board was still swept out into the hallway.
She ran after it. Khanh followed right behind her.
The piece of poster board had gotten caught on a low branch beside the library. Mai rose onto her toes but still couldn't reach it. Khanh stepped up beside her and reached down to retrieve it. When he turned back, there was only enough space between them for a single breath.
“Here.”
Mai took the piece of poster board. Her name was written on it in her own handwriting, slightly slanted to one side.
“Thanks.”
“Mai.”
“Yeah?”
“About the umbrella yesterday…”
Mai looked up.
“What were you going to say?”
Khanh looked at the piece of poster board in her hand, then turned his gaze away.
“Nothing. It's just… if it rains tomorrow, wait for me at the school gate.”
Mai thought she must have misheard him.
“What for?”
“So we can walk together.”
“But it's not raining today.”
“Then maybe it'll rain tomorrow.”
“Do you know that for sure?”
“I don't know.” Khanh smiled, looking a little flustered this time. “Just wait. Maybe I'll be right.”
He went back into the room first. Mai remained outside, clutching the yellow piece of poster board. She looked up at the late-afternoon sky, where a small cloud was slowly drifting by.
She didn't know whether it would rain tomorrow.
But for the first time, Mai realized she had a reason to get to school earlier than usual.
And the blue umbrella, after being returned, seemed to have left something behind between them—a promise that had never quite been spoken, light as the wind, but enough to keep Mai's entire evening from feeling peaceful.