8:30 PM, after helping Trang push the food cart neatly into the corner of the yard, Ông Nhân returned to his small rental room at the end of the row. The dim 3W bulb hanging in front of his room kept flickering as if it was about to die.
He carefully took out an old small water bottle and filled it from the kettle placed on a mini gas stove. Then, he opened the lid of a small aluminum pot set on a trivet—inside was white rice cooked since the afternoon. He scooped the rice into a clean piece of mosquito net fabric. The sesame salt had been roasted on a hot pan and, once cooled, mixed with sugar and stored in a small jar. He had finished preparing the food for the next day—a long, hard-working day ahead.
In a modest but tidy room, Trang had just finished bathing, her wet hair hanging loosely as she wore a faded old T-shirt. She laid out a small meal on the patterned tile floor: a plate of fried eggs with tomatoes and garlic chili fish sauce, a plate of stir-fried morning glory with garlic, and a bowl of mixed wild vegetable soup cooked with a bit of dried shrimp.
Although the room was small, everything was neatly arranged. The faint scent of bo ket shampoo from her hair mixed with the smell of hot rice, making the atmosphere feel warmer.
Trang gently knocked on Ông Nhân's door, her familiar voice called out:
– "Ông Nhân, come have dinner with me."
The door opened. Ông Nhân smiled warmly, holding a plate of pickled white eggplants in a chipped blue-rimmed enamel dish.
– "I bought these this afternoon from an old acquaintance. They pickle them really well."
Trang lit up like a child receiving a treat:
– "How did you know I was craving pickled eggplants? Thank you so much!"
The two of them sat down at the small meal tray in the middle of the room, barely a few square meters wide. A dim oil lamp beside them cast a soft yellow glow, projecting the silhouettes of two solitary souls in the midst of glamorous Saigon—bonded by empathy and silent understanding.
The humble meal—just fried eggs, stir-fried morning glory with garlic, a mixed vegetable soup with sweet potato and dried shrimp, and that crunchy-sour plate of pickled eggplants—was surprisingly delicious and comforting.
In the quiet of that moment, Trang suddenly recalled the days she had lived in Cậu Dũng's villa. Back then, at every meal, she had to sit at the lower table, eating with the servants. She was never allowed to sit at the main table with the family—even though they shared the same blood.
Under the soft yellow glow of the oil lamp, Ông Nhân gently set down his chopsticks and looked at Trang with a worried gaze:
– "Are you going to the wedding? I think you should go... after all, it's your uncle's family—the man who raised you since you were little."
Trang lowered her head, her voice heavy, as if each word drifted out with her sigh:
– "I have to go… consider it my way of repaying what I owe them."
She reached for the wedding invitation placed on the small woven bamboo table and carefully opened it. Elegant printed letters stood out against the pale pink background:
"The Wedding Ceremony of Võ Thị Anh Đào – eldest daughter of Mr. Võ Quốc Dũng, construction steel magnate, and Bùi Anh Tú – beloved son of Mr. Bùi Minh Đức, real estate entrepreneur."
– "The wedding will be held next Saturday… at a five-star hotel in District 1," she murmured, her eyes carrying a wistful sorrow, half nostalgic, half resigned.
Ông Nhân's voice softened, like a father comforting a child who had long carried silent burdens:
– "You should go. If needed, I've saved up a little money…"
Trang shook her head immediately, her tone firm but gentle:
– "No, Ông Nhân. I can handle it myself. Please save that money for your medicine."
She smiled, but the smile flickered like ripples in still water under the dim lamp:
– "I have to go. No matter what… they took me in when I was just a child."
In that cramped, humble little room, lacking in material comfort yet filled with genuine warmth, love wasn't measured by blood—but by how deeply two souls cared for each other, more real than kin who treated you like a stranger.
It was Friday night. While Trang was washing dishes after dinner, her phone suddenly vibrated. The screen lit up with a familiar name: Cậu Dũng. She quickly dried her hands and answered the call.
– "Hello Uncle, I'm here."
– "Trang, tomorrow morning at 6 a.m., come by and help me with a few things, alright? I need your help setting out tea, snacks, and melon seeds for the groom's family when they arrive."
– "Yes, I'll be there early tomorrow."
After hanging up, Trang stood still for a moment, dazed. She knew—tomorrow would be a very long day.
At 5 a.m. the next morning, the sky was still veiled in mist. Trang was already up. She went through her morning routine quickly, combed her hair neatly, and changed clothes. She picked her usual outfit: a pair of long jeans and a pale gray T-shirt—something comfortable for moving around.
She opened her old fabric wardrobe and took out a light blue shirt-dress, carefully folded and stored in a plastic bag. She gazed at it for a few seconds, her rough hands gently caressing it like it was the most precious thing she owned. There was hesitation in her eyes before she finally placed it tenderly into her worn-out backpack.
The dress was simple—no lace, no beads, no ribbons—but it was the nicest piece of clothing she had. She had once saved every coin she could to buy it during a year-end clearance sale. And since then, she had never worn it.
"When there's a truly special occasion… I'll wear this." She had promised herself that once.
And today... might be that day.
The sky was still dim, a light mist clinging to the leaves along the roadside. Trang wheeled out her old 50cc motorbike from the gate of the boarding house. The engine sputtered softly, breaking the stillness of the early morning in the quiet alley.
At the same time, old Ông Nhân pushed out his worn bicycle. Hanging from the handlebars were a plastic water bottle and a small nylon bag holding his usual lunch: a handful of cold rice balls with sesame salt.
Trang noticed he was wearing the same conical hat, now frayed and tattered at the edges, with its strap nearly torn. She stopped, her voice filled with gentle concern:
– "When I come home later, I'll bring you a new conical hat."
Ông Nhân smiled warmly, a faint spark of joy in his eyes:
– "Thank you, dear. I've been meaning to get one, but I kept putting it off… I still think this one's usable."
– "Usable, yes... but it's way too old, Ông Nhân." Trang chuckled lightly.
Then she started the engine again, the rough growl of the motor echoing through the alley. Waving goodbye, she headed toward her uncle's villa in Thảo Điền, District 2—where the wedding procession would take place that day.
Ông Nhân also began pedaling, his bicycle creaking softly with every turn of the wheel. His small figure slowly merged into the flow of people hurrying to work, to school, to chase after a new day—one more thread in the fabric of daily life in a bustling city.