10 a.m.
Sunlight filtered through the leaves above a narrow alleyway in Bình Thạnh District, Saigon. Beads of sweat shimmered like morning frost on Trang's forehead—proof of nearly two hours of hustling through the market since dawn.
Her 50cc scooter was old and worn, its paint chipped in several places. The muffler, rusted and tired, rattled noisily with every stop. But to her, it was everything—a treasured companion on the road of survival for the past five years.
Strapped firmly to the back seat with thick elastic cords was a large plastic container, carefully packed with all the ingredients she needed for this afternoon's street stall.
Layered on top were thinly sliced sheets of bánh tráng, bundles of rice paper with chili salt, fresh green mangoes handpicked at the market, packets of dried beef, fiery red satay, crispy fried shallots, and countless other condiments. Next to them sat a separate bag containing ingredients for milk tea: milk powder, black and white tapioca pearls, coconut jelly, egg pudding…
The scent of mixed rice paper, milk powder, and satay clung to the air—a familiar aroma. The smell of survival.
Trang parked her bike outside the row of rented rooms and gently wiped the sweat from her cheek.
– "Mmm, today's mangoes are nice and fresh... should sell well." – she murmured, glancing toward the last unit in the alley, where old Ông Nhân had just returned with his daily haul of recyclables. He was still fumbling with a bundle of plastic bottles.
She unstrapped the container from the scooter. Though her hands were small, they were strong—lifting the full box of ingredients with practiced ease as she stepped into the room. Her movements were familiar: resilient, solitary, but full of determination.
Ông Nhân had just finished tidying up a stack of empty beer bottles, plastic containers, and flattened cardboard, now neatly arranged in the corner of the shared courtyard. His frame was thin, his faded button-up shirt worn through at the shoulders. A tattered Nón Lá shaded his face, its frayed edges fluttering slightly in the breeze—but his eyes still held the warmth of early morning sunlight.
In his hand was a small plastic bag. Inside were a few bánh ít—sticky rice dumplings with mung bean and coconut filling—each wrapped carefully in fresh banana leaves.
He shuffled slowly toward Trang's door and knocked gently, three times.
– "I bought these early at the market… Got ten, saved five just for you." – His voice was low and steady, filled with quiet affection.
Trang, busy organizing ingredients, quickly rushed out when she heard him.
– "Thank you so much Ông!" – She bowed slightly, receiving the bag with both hands and a rare, radiant smile spreading across her sun-kissed face.
In return, she handed him a cup of warm soy milk, poured into a plain white plastic cup.
– "Here, this is for you. Drink it while it's still hot."
Ông Nhân accepted it, his eyes slightly misty, though he tried his best to smile.
– "A warm cup like this in the morning… makes the whole day better."
They sat together on the front step of the boarding house. The space was humble, yet oddly comforting.
No need for shared bloodlines.
No need for lofty promises.
Just small, daily acts of kindness—enough to make them family, in their own quiet way.
4 PM.
The afternoon sun had softened, casting long slanted rays into the narrow alley leading to the modest boarding house. On the sidewalk near the gate, Trang had already arranged her fresh ingredients inside a small glass display case, neatly positioned atop her compact stainless-steel food cart. Inside were all the components for her bánh tráng trộn—pre-cut rice paper, shredded green mango, dried beef, roasted peanuts, crispy shallots, Vietnamese coriander, spicy satay… all organized in clean plastic trays.
Above the cart, she had hung strands of bánh tráng muối tôm and bánh tráng me—so appetizing they could make anyone stop in their tracks.
Next to the cart stood a large stainless-steel container filled with warm milk tea. Surrounding it were small lidded containers with assorted toppings: black tapioca pearls, coconut jelly, egg pudding, white pearls—all carefully prepared.
Her old 50cc motorbike was parked nearby, still strapped with the thick rubber cords she hadn't yet removed. It had followed her through every corner of the city—a weathered companion on the long road of survival.
Just then, Ông Nhân rattled in with his rusty bicycle. The rear basket was piled high with aluminum cans, plastic bottles, and flattened cardboard, all tied together neatly with worn rope.
After parking his bike, he washed his hands thoroughly at the outdoor faucet by the communal sink, then walked slowly over to Trang, rolling up his sleeves, ready to help.
– "Let me help you pick the coriander and peel the quail eggs. It's almost time for the kids to get out of school."
Trang nodded, eyes still focused on her bowl of tapioca pearls.
– "Yes, thank you. You can take a rest if you'd like."
– "Rest for what… Seeing you hustling on your own makes it hard for me to just sit back."
The late afternoon breeze carried with it the savory scent of dried beef and the faint sweetness of milk powder. A few motorbikes began to pass by. From a distance, the faint sound of a school bell echoed through the air, signaling the end of the school day.
That little spot on the sidewalk began to come alive with its usual rhythm—simple, struggling, yet full of warmth and quiet humanity.
While Trang and Ông Nhân were still busy prepping ingredients, they suddenly heard the soft hiss of brakes in front of the little food stall.
A sleek, black Mercedes-Benz pulled up smoothly to the curb. The entire alley seemed to pause for a moment—such a luxurious vehicle was a rare sight in this humble neighborhood.
Both Trang and Ông Nhân looked up.
From the driver's seat, a man in a crisp black shirt quickly stepped out and walked around to open the back door.
Emerging from the car was a man in a dark tailored suit, neatly combed hair, and a commanding presence: it was Mr. Dũng, Trang's maternal uncle.
– "Trang."
His voice was deep and warm, but carried a trace of hesitation.
Trang stood up, quickly wiped her hands on a cloth, eyes flickering with mild surprise.
– "Yes... I'm here, uncle."
Cậu Dũng stepped closer, pulling out a soft pink wedding invitation and handing it to her.
— "Next week is my eldest daughter's wedding. I hope you'll come and celebrate with us."
Trang received the card with both hands. Her eyes wavered slightly. Before she could say anything, Cậu Dũng reached into his wallet, pulled out a neat stack of bills—three million đồng, and placed it in her hand.
– "Here, take this. Buy yourself something nice. Just make sure to be there on time."
He gave Ông Nhân a brief nod before returning to the car. The driver opened the door at once. Cậu Dũng stepped in, and the Mercedes purred to life, slowly gliding out of the narrow alley.
Trang stood still for a few seconds, holding the invitation and money tightly in one hand. Her face revealed no clear emotion—just a flicker of silence, a soft exhale. Then she turned back and resumed slicing mango, as if the whole moment had been nothing more than a passing breeze.
Ông Nhân looked at her, his eyes calm and gentle:
— "You should go. It's a wedding, after all. He's still your uncle."
Trang gave a faint smile:
— "Yes. I know. And after you wash your hands, can you help me mix a few portions without chili oil? The schoolkids will be here any minute, and I won't be able to keep up once they flood in."
The evening breeze swept through once more, carrying the scent of rice paper and milk tea, mingling with the faint bitterness of a wedding invitation—echoing from somewhere deep in the memory.
At 5 PM, the sharp chime of the school bell rang out in the distance. Just minutes later, groups of students in uniform came rushing into the narrow alley. Trang's humble food stall on the sidewalk instantly came to life.
— "Chị Trang! One milk tea with extra boba, please!"
A fourth-grade boy called out loudly as he parked his tiny bicycle.
— "Chị Trang! I want a bag of rice paper salad with lots of shredded beef!"
A girl with braided pigtails skipped over, holding out her money in anticipation.
Trang beamed, her hands moving swiftly as she scooped dried beef, sprinkled shrimp salt, and drizzled chili oil onto the rice paper.
– "Alright, alright, wait a minute, okay? Anyone who can't handle spicy food, speak up now!"
Ông Nhân, having just finished mixing a few portions, sat at the end of the table. He carefully wrapped each bag, tucked in a pair of bamboo chopsticks, and handed them to the kids.
– "Here you go—non-spicy for anyone with a sensitive tummy. And this one… packed full of boba, enjoy!"
The children chattered and laughed, their cheerful voices filling the alley. The air around the boarding house now felt like a tiny street café—simple but overflowing with joy.
By 8 PM, the crowd had thinned. People had returned home, settling into warm dinners with their families.
Trang wiped the sweat from her forehead, let out a quiet sigh, and began tidying up the stall.
Ông Nhân, having just gathered the last bag of recyclables, stacked them neatly in a corner of the yard. Without saying a word, he walked over and helped Trang push the food cart to a small spot beside the row of boarding rooms.
The wheels creaked softly as they rolled over the uneven concrete. A crescent moon peeked out from behind a rusty tin roof, and the streetlight cast two shadowy figures—uneven but quietly walking side by side.
– "Are you setting up early tomorrow?"
Ông Nhân asked, his voice as gentle as a breeze.
— "Yes, probably around 3 PM. The kids will come back early after their exams."
– "Alright. I'll come earlier to help you."
She nodded, a faint smile brushing the corner of her lips.
Amidst all the hardship, at least she still had someone by her side. Someone not bound by blood, but who treated her like a daughter. Someone who gave her the warmth of a father's love—the kind she had long been missing.