5:45 AM. I left home to take the Literature exam — the first subject of the most important test of my life, the greatest battle of my student years.

On my back was a backpack filled with pens, papers, and documents. My head was packed with quotes and references I had memorized by heart. I told myself: “Just get to the exam site — the rest, let literature do.”

But fate had one last challenge for me.

Just 7 kilometers from the exam center, my old, rusty motorbike suddenly broke down in the middle of the road. I panicked, trying to restart it, kicking repeatedly, opening the seat, checking the wiring… but it was all in vain. Then I suddenly remembered — my phone was charging at home. I’d forgotten it!

On a nearly empty street, I frantically waved to passersby for help.

“Please! My bike broke down and I’m going to my exam! Can I get a ride?”

“Ma’am, please help me, I don’t have a phone…”

Some shook their heads. Others sped up, avoiding me like a scammer.

I screamed in the middle of the road like someone who had lost their mind. Useless.

6:10 AM. Just over 30 minutes left. I had only one option left: run.

I abandoned my bike on the roadside, stuffed my exam slip into my shirt pocket, grabbed my backpack — and ran.

I ran non-stop. Through intersections, over bridges, down busier and busier streets. My heart pounded wildly. My stomach churned with hunger. My head buzzed.

6:40 AM. Still not there.

6:50 AM. I sprinted like mad down the final road to the school. My shirt was drenched with sweat. My legs felt like collapsing.

6:55 AM. I arrived.

But…

The school gate was closed.

Two security guards stood watch, expressionless. A loudspeaker crackled from inside:

“The test has begun. No candidates may enter after the designated time.”

I banged on the metal gate.

“Please! I’m here for the exam! My bike broke down! I didn’t have a phone! Please…!”

One guard shook his head.

“Rules are rules, kid.”

I stood frozen. Then I fell to my knees.

In the early morning sunlight, a student collapsed to the ground, sobbing like a child.

“I’m sorry, Mom… I’m sorry, Dad…”

Just then, a voice came from beyond the gate:

“Wait! Open the gate for him.”

A woman with short hair and an exam center supervisor badge stepped out, her eyes stern but tinged with sympathy.

“Tell me what happened.”

I lifted my tear-streaked face, stammering through sobs, broken sentence by sentence. She listened quietly, then turned to the exam board:

“Verify with the security guards. Check the gate camera. If he was here before the test started, I’ll take full responsibility.”

One minute. Two. Time stood still.

Then she nodded and gently said to me:

“Go in. Luck is still on your side.”

That day, I walked into the exam room with red eyes and trembling hands, exhausted legs — but I held my pen and wrote with a heart full of gratitude.

And in the end, I got accepted to my top-choice university. But more than a college entrance, I realized something far greater: a single act of kindness, at the right moment, can change someone’s entire life.

That afternoon, I didn’t go straight home. I waited under the schoolyard tree, hoping to thank the supervisor once again.

She walked out from the office. I shyly approached.

“Miss… I just wanted to thank you again. Without you… I wouldn’t have taken the exam.”

She looked at me and smiled gently.

“As long as you did well. By the way… what’s your last name?”

“My name is Tran. Tran Van Dung.”

Her smile froze.

“Dung… son of Tran Van Khang… from Xuan Loc village?”

I was stunned.

“Yes… how do you know?”

Her hands trembled as she pulled a faded old photo from her wallet.

“This… this is your father, isn’t it?”

I nodded, my heart pounding.

She choked up:

“I’m your father’s younger sister. I got separated from the family when I was five, during the war. I was lost in the big market and adopted by a family in the South. I’ve tried to return and find my family so many times, but no one knew where your father had moved…”

I stood speechless. I couldn’t believe my ears.

In the sunlit courtyard, a teenage boy and a middle-aged woman stared at each other in disbelief, then embraced, crying in each other’s arms.

On the first day of the exam, not only was I allowed to enter the room at the last moment —
I also found my long-lost aunt, the woman my father had searched for over twenty years.

That university exam, no matter the final score, gave me the most precious result of my life:
my family, reunited.