May Café was filled with the sweet aroma of freshly baked pastries. I sat in my usual corner, where the afternoon sunlight filtered through the window frame. The unsweetened black coffee in front of me was half-finished, its surface rippling gently each time I inadvertently touched the cup.
My eyes remained glued to my phone screen, my heart beating faster than when I stood before a billiard table, each time a message from Minh Anh appeared. Even now, I still find it hard to believe—the Queen was paying attention to professional comments from a newcomer like me.
I recalled that day when, in a moment of impulsiveness, I had left a rather long and somewhat boastful comment under her video when she executed a massé shot. Instead of ignoring it or reacting harshly, Minh Anh had messaged me privately, asking for more of my perspective. I remember being frozen in front of my phone screen for half an hour, unable to believe it was real.
The phone chimed. Another new message.
"Are you okay now?"
I stared at the screen, my finger hovering. How could I explain to Minh Anh that I had frozen before entering the match? That an invisible fear had made it impossible for me to even make a break shot?
"I'm sorry," I finally admitted to her. "I couldn't play billiards because I couldn't hold the cue stick."
The message immediately showed "seen." Three dots appeared, disappeared, then appeared again. I held my breath, waiting.
"You didn't even participate in a single match?"
A simple question but one difficult to answer. I closed my eyes, pondering.
I messaged back, "I feel overwhelmed when I stand in front of a billiard table."
The three dots appeared again, this time for longer.
"I just want you to fight against yourself."
I put my phone down on the table, hands clutching my forehead. Her words hit right at the truth.
"I know. Next week there's a tournament at another club. I'll participate, and this time I won't give up."
Minh Anh replied immediately, "Do you promise?"
I felt guilt rising within me. My promises were all just attempts to justify my own weaknesses.
"This time will be different," I typed, trying to convince both her and myself. "I swear. If I give up this time, I'll delete all contact with you."
The three dots appeared, disappeared, then appeared again. It seemed Minh Anh was carefully considering what she was about to say.
"Sometimes I wonder if you even know your potential?" Her message surprised me.
"I could see it from the way you analyzed, from the perspective you gave in your first comments."
"Really?"
I couldn't believe Minh Anh's words. "I'm just someone who memorized theories from the internet."
"Not exactly. I've played billiards long enough to recognize natural talent. You have a gift for this sport. You just lack experience," Minh Anh continued to affirm.
I looked out the window, observing the stream of people passing by on the street. They all had destinations, had goals; no one stood still in one place. As for me, I had sat still too long in my comfort zone. It was time I had to change; I couldn't continue being an outsider to the game anymore.
Moved by emotion, I responded immediately,
"I've hit rock bottom. I can't go any lower. If I can't overcome this obstacle, I'll never dare to hold my head high in the billiards world."
My phone buzzed. "You know what? That might be exactly what you need. Sometimes, we need to fall to the bottom to find the motivation to rise up."
I smiled faintly. "I think so too."
"Have you thought about finding a coach?"
I chuckled softly. "Who would coach a K-rank like me? They'd think it's a waste of time."
She didn't reply immediately. I took a sip of coffee, and my phone buzzed again.
"What about Master Long 'The Bender'?"
Master Long Bi, the legendary grandmaster I only knew from videos Minh Anh had shared a few days ago. His nickname "The Bender" originated from his ability to execute a technique considered lost in the billiards world. Even when facing seemingly impossible situations, when two balls completely blocked the path to the nine-ball, he could still control the cue ball to trace an unimaginable Z-shaped trajectory, making viewers think the ball had been bent. Not magic, but a fusion of physics and delicate artistry, the result of thousands of hours of practice.
But what made Master Long legendary wasn't just his technique, but also his unapproachable personality. He refused all invitations to teach classes. Some said he had even turned down star-ranked players, simply because they didn't have the right spirit.
"But the chances of Master Long accepting me are almost impossible," I replied, maintaining a realistic tone.
The Queen responded,
"You need to play a match first, prove you can play billiards. You don't need to win, just don't give up."
"Why do you want me to prove that?" I asked.
A message from Minh Anh appeared instantly, "Master Long doesn't teach those who lack determination. He accepts beginners, but despises quitters. To catch his attention, you need to prove your ability to stand up after falling."
"And more importantly, you know what? I've been following you since before you left your first comment," a new message from Minh Anh appeared, surprising me.
"Really? How do you know me?" I asked, feeling both curious and anxious.
"The International Youth Tournament in 2005, in Tokyo. You were preparing to execute the final shot on the eight-ball in the championship round."
The phone screen swayed before my eyes, the lines of text blurring together like ink spreading on wet paper. A sharp pain flashed through my temple, forcing me to close my eyes for a moment.
"You've got the wrong person," I replied. "I never played billiards before messaging you."
"Phi Dang, I'm not mistaken. But I understand—sometimes, forgetting is the only way to continue living and start over. Master Long was there too; he was the coach of the youth team I participated in."
"Master Long was my first teacher. He saved me from giving up after my first failure. And he can help you too, if you truly want to change."
"Why do you care about me so much?" I asked, trying to stay calm.
"Because I saw your true character before, through those competition videos. And because... Master Long has almost given up on his coaching career. I believe you can help him rediscover his passion, just as he can help you face the things you don't want to remember."
I was about to write a denial, but then stopped. Instead, I just sent a heart emoji—a simple reaction that contained both confusion and gratitude.
* * *
I put my phone down, about to stand up and leave, when the café door swung open. Tung Rau—the opponent I had never had a chance to face—walked in with his familiar confident stride.
"Oh, what a surprise to see you here," Tung stood opposite me, an unreadable smile on his lips. "I thought you had already left the city."
Barely able to lift my head, I stammered,
"I... I'm sorry about yesterday."
Tung raised an eyebrow: "For what? For not being able to make a single shot or for running away from the game?"
My throat felt as if it were blocked with sand. Tung observed me, then sighed.
"You know, I used to be like you," he said, his voice suddenly dropping. "The first time I held a cue, I didn't even dare to shoot in front of others."
Tung suddenly paused, looking out the window. "Well, you probably don't care anyway. Good luck next time, if there is a next time."
Tung sat down in his usual spot—the very corner I frequented. A thought suddenly sparked in my mind.
Could it be that other professional players had also once been in my position?
I took a deep breath, placed money on the counter, and walked away. If I wanted to change, I had to act before fear could drag me back into that familiar dark corner where I'd been hiding for far too long.