After many evenings of talking about the future, I gradually became used to listening to him share his plans.
He wasn't someone who spoke a lot.
But when he did, every sentence was clear.
He didn't talk about distant dreams.
He talked about very specific steps.
Language exams.
Preparing applications.
Contacting universities.
Everything had already been carefully considered.
I often sat beside him, listening, almost as if I were hearing a story about a world very far away.
A world much bigger than the simple life I was living at that time.
One evening, after we finished dinner, he sat in the corridor reading some documents.
I sat beside him.
I looked at the foreign words printed across the pages, but I understood very little.
So I asked,
"Is studying this kind of thing difficult?"
He smiled.
"Of course it is."
"Then why do you keep pushing yourself?"
He closed the papers in his hands.
Then he turned to look at me.
"Because I want my future to be better."
His answer was simple.
But I still asked,
"What do you mean by better?"
He thought for a moment.
"Having more opportunities."
"Being able to do more things."
Then he said slowly,
"So that in the future… I won't have to worry too much about life."
I nodded.
I understood part of it.
Everyone wants their life to be better.
But with him, it didn't feel like a simple wish.
It felt more like a responsibility.
After a moment I asked,
"Do you ever think that if you leave… you might never come back?"
He looked at me.
"What do you think?"
I shook my head.
"I don't know."
He smiled faintly.
"Neither do I."
Then he added,
"But wherever I go, I'll still be the same person."
I looked at him.
Some people become distant when they talk about the future.
But he didn't.
He was still the same quiet neighbor.
Still spoke gently.
Still cared about me in small ways.
Like that evening, when I stood up to return to my room, he said,
"Wait a moment."
He went into his room and came back with a small bag.
"This is for you."
I looked inside.
There were a few small pastries.
"I bought them this afternoon."
I took them.
"Thank you."
He simply nodded.
"Eat them. Don't stay up too late studying."
His gestures were always ordinary.
Nothing dramatic.
But I was beginning to realize that he was living for the future.
And that future was slowly pulling him farther away from this place.
Another evening, while we were talking, I asked him something I had never asked before.
"Khang."
"Yeah?"
"If you leave… will you miss this place?"
He looked around the small corridor of the boarding house.
The old walls.
The yellow light.
Two doors facing each other.
Then he looked at me.
"Yes."
"What will you miss?"
He smiled softly.
"The very ordinary days."
I was slightly surprised.
"Just that?"
He nodded.
"Ordinary days are sometimes the most memorable ones."
I thought about that for a moment.
Then I asked,
"Do you think your life will be very different in the future?"
He answered quickly.
"Definitely."
"But I hope I can still keep the important things."
"What things?"
He looked at me for a few seconds.
Then he said,
"The people who matter."
For some reason, when I heard him say that, my heart trembled slightly.
But at that time, I still didn't understand what that feeling meant.
I only thought he was a very sincere person.
Someone who always thought about the future.
Someone who wanted to become better.
Not to prove anything to the world.
But so he could protect the things he cared about.
After a while, we both stood up.
He returned to his room.
I opened the door to mine.
Before closing it, I glanced at the door across the corridor.
I suddenly thought that if one day he truly left, the corridor would feel like it was missing something.
But at that time, I didn't yet understand that sometimes we begin to miss someone even before they leave.
Message of Chapter 10
Some people strive not because of ambition,
but because they want a better life in the future.
And sometimes behind the words
"I want to be better one day"
is simply the desire
to protect the people they care about.