“Yesterday, when I stopped at Tram Suong, I think I saw Nhien there.” His friend called to ask about work, adding this casual remark, unaware that it had triggered Duan's search. For the past three years, Duan had been exhausted by this search. He wondered if Nhien was playing hide-and-seek, occasionally revealing vague clues somewhere. These clues were subtle, but in the eyes of a hopeless romantic, they would be recognized as being connected to Nhien. Like when he scrolled through Facebook and saw a photo of a friend traveling to a small house in some mountain town, with a child's floral dress hanging out to dry on the porch, Duan was certain Nhien was there. Simply because when she left, she took little Bong, who was wearing the same floral dress. His friend laughed, saying that clothes bought online are produced in thousands, so there are plenty of people wearing them; searching like that is like looking for a needle in a haystack. Another time, he accidentally scrolled through TikTok and saw a video of a train leaving the station, with a quarter-angle view of a woman's face visible through the train window. Just a few fleeting seconds were enough for Duẩn to frantically search the train stations. By the time he realized he was only looking for a phantom, the familiar scent on the handkerchief Nhiên had left behind had already faded.

Six years ago, Nhiên brought a three-year-old girl to a rented room on a stormy night. The "room for rent" sign had been blown to the ground by the wind, covered in dust. The flimsy umbrella in Nhiên's hand was constantly being tossed back by the wind. Even though she was covered, the little girl was still wet, her big, round eyes looking up at Duẩn. Her small hands, trembling with cold, clutched a gray teddy bear. Duẩn opened the door to the last rented room at the end of the row for Nhiên and her daughter. The previous tenant had just moved out and hadn't had time to clean up properly. Duẩn said, "Turn on the warm water and take a bath so you don't catch a cold. We'll clean later; if you need anything, just call." That night, the little girl had a fever. Nhiên knocked on the door and asked if he had any fever medicine. The little girl woke up after her fever and looked at the bowl of instant noodles on the table, swallowing hard. Duẩn rummaged through his jacket pocket for a lollipop he'd had left over from Tet (Lunar New Year). Nhiên and her daughter's arrival made Duẩn's single life even busier.

Duẩn is ​​an artist with a small studio at home. He lives with his elderly mother, who spends her days pickling vegetables and talking to her cat. Occasionally, she complains that the house is too lonely and wishes she had more children and grandchildren to liven things up. Although they own two rows of rental rooms, they are all busy. They work all day, returning home late at night, and retreating to their rooms with the doors closed, not bothering to talk. Since Nhiên and her mother came to live with them, the old woman has been much happier. Sometimes, Nhiên leaves little Bống with her mother to look after while she goes out and doesn't return until late at night. Nhiên's work involves writing content, editing, providing publishing consulting and support, and taking on book writing projects. When she takes her eyes off the computer screen, Nhiên often sits and chats with the old woman about all sorts of things. Sometimes she helps Duẩn and his mother sew up clothes that have come apart. Sometimes she helps the old woman cut vegetables, talking about the countryside, stirring up the nostalgic feelings of an elderly person. Sometimes, she pulls up a chair and dyes the old woman's hair, prompting many to tease her, saying, "You'd think she's his daughter-in-law." Nhiên smiled shyly, unaware that a pair of eyes were secretly watching her from the window of the art studio.

Little Bong was so fond of the cat that she spent all day playing with it without getting bored. The old woman would often wait for the street vendors to pass by, using the small change she earned from selling melons to buy gifts for Bong. Occasionally, the little girl would peek into the art studio, and Duan would give her a blank sheet of paper and a box of colored pencils, and she would sit quietly for the whole afternoon. Duan noticed that lately, his mother bought more of everything at the market. The medium-sized pots that had been stored in the cupboard for a long time were brought out to replace the small set that was enough for the two of them. Sometimes, the old woman would ask Duan to bring Nhien and her mother a bowl of sour soup, a plate of braised fish, or some freshly cooked hot corn. One day, the old woman casually uttered a few words, pretending to talk to herself but intending for someone else to hear. "If only we ate a whole meal, it would save us the trouble of carrying things back and forth." Duan could only laugh and scold his mother, saying that she hadn't even been here a year and didn't know the depths of people's hearts, yet she was already making assumptions. "What? When it comes to judging people, you're nowhere near as good as this old woman!" But the old woman couldn't see Nhiên's true feelings. She hadn't really intended to stay in this city for long. If she couldn't find someone, she would take the child and leave again, like a ship setting sail to find another shore.

But who exactly was she looking for?

- Well… she's looking for the father of her child.

The old woman said this, staring blankly at the painting of the cat that little Bong had left for her. She kept muttering, "Why didn't you let the little girl finish her cup of tofu pudding before leaving? Why rush to take her away as if you were running from a debt?" Well, it was indeed a debt. Not money, but Nhiên felt indebted to a sense of gratitude. Indebted to the thoughtfulness and expectations of an old woman. Indebted to the dream of a warm family home that Duẩn had hinted at to her. That day, when she peeked into the studio, Nhiên found Duẩn sitting motionless in front of the unfinished painting. She realized that the woman in the painting was none other than herself. This city wasn't the first place, nor the last place Nhiên and her daughter would live. She didn't want to cause anyone any longing or heartache. As she dragged her daughter away, a pang of sorrow and regret welled up in Nhiên's heart. Nhiên wondered if she was running away from Duẩn or from herself? Was it true that she had nothing to cling to in this place?

***

According to your story, if you keep going along National Highway 6, the "Sương Station" will appear on the Đá Trắng mountain pass. It's a restaurant for tourists to rest. That's all the clue you have, nothing more. Maybe the person you met was Nhiên. Maybe the Sương Station was just a short rest stop. By the time you get there, Nhiên will have probably left without a trace. Perhaps even the owner of the station couldn't remember a girl with shoulder-length hair, dimples, and a child around eight years old. That's understandable; maybe Nhiên has cut her hair short. Maybe she didn't smile at all while sitting at the station, so how could you see her dimples? Maybe little Bống has grown up into a young woman now. Whenever Duẩn's mother sees him packing up his art studio for a trip, she always puts a few handfuls of candy in the car. "If you meet Bống, remember to give her some. What child doesn't like candy?" Gradually, the tray on the cart filled with candy, but the old woman's daughter, Bong, still hadn't found it.

As the car sped past, Duẩn only just noticed the Sương Station nestled quietly by the roadside. Not flashy or ostentatious, the station resembled a native girl sitting on a rocky slope. Its back to the road, its face turned toward the mountains, with layers of white clouds rising from the valley below. Duẩn stepped inside, feeling an indescribable sense of familiarity. When the door closed, all the noise of the highway outside was silenced, revealing a separate world . On the reception counter, a vase of wild banana blossoms seemed to gather the earth and sky in a vibrant red. The station played no music, but all the natural sounds here made him feel at ease. A young employee came out and softly asked:

What do you need, sir?

I need to find someone.

- Looking for someone?

Yes! But first, give me a cup of Vietnamese filter coffee.

- The coffee will be ready soon, but who are you looking for?

- The woman was over thirty years old and had dimples. She was accompanied by an 8-year-old girl named Bong.

The waitress paused for a moment, then smiled faintly, saying nothing more, and quietly went inside. The wind chimes didn't startle the little cat. It lay peacefully asleep on the embroidered dress on the table. Outside, fluffy clouds rose high, obscuring the chairs on the balcony. The waitress came out and politely placed a cup of chamomile tea in front of him.

- He ordered coffee.

- If you have a stomachache, you shouldn't drink coffee. Chamomile tea with a little honey has a cooling, anti-inflammatory, and antispasmodic effect on the stomach.

Duan looked up, as if questioning, "Is she here?" Nhien had said the same thing several times when she saw the cup of coffee he'd brewed by the window of his studio. She'd heard the old woman complain about her son's stomach problems and his failure to eat and sleep on time. Once, Nhien brought home a packet of chamomile tea and suggested he try it, maybe he'd like it. He'd thought those kinds of flower teas were only for women and couldn't possibly uplift his emotions. Only after Nhien and her mother left did he brew himself a cup of chamomile tea.

A woman secretly watched Duẩn from behind. He still had that same thin, simply dressed figure, sitting with his head bowed as if lost in thought. That back had often bent down to help Bống put on her slippers, to fix broken things in their rented room. Those hands had often taught Bống to appreciate colors, touched her feverish forehead, and timidly offered Nhiên a snack he'd bought somewhere along the roadside. There are simple, ordinary things that you only realize how warm and precious they are when they're gone. Nhiên had been searching for something that didn't belong to her. Until she realized who truly loved her. That was when, in the midst of her fever, Bống deliriously called out Duẩn's name. It was when, sitting on a train, watching everything rush by, Bống gazed absentmindedly at the pebble with the smiley face that Duẩn had given her long ago. It was at that very moment that Bong asked, "When will we go back to our old house? I wonder what Grandma is doing right now, Mom? Does Uncle Duan still remember me?" that Nhien realized that her daughter didn't need a father who had abandoned her from the womb.

Duẩn didn't know that Nhiên was still following him through his status updates and the few rare photos he posted on Facebook. Duẩn also didn't know that when his friend stopped at Trạm Sương, Nhiên deliberately left a trail, knowing that her beloved would surely come looking for him. From where Duẩn was sitting, one could easily recognize the familiar drawing on the newly hung picture. Bống had drawn a family of four gathered in a small courtyard, the spot where the old woman used to sit by the charcoal stove cooking fish. The tabby cat lay curled up in Bống's bag. Bống said that in every place she had visited, she would leave behind a drawing. So that if Duẩn ever came looking for her, he would know how to follow the trail…

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