In the rain

Short story: Khue Viet Truong

Báo Cần Thơ•17/05/2026

The alley near my house has rooms for rent. The landlord used to be a truck driver, but he's retired and recently built these small rooms for him and his wife to earn a monthly income. These rental rooms are a temporary shelter for people working far from home or waiting for the opportunity to own a house. Tenants usually prioritize affordability, as they only plan to stay for a short time before leaving.

Even though it was only temporary accommodation, everyone hoped to have a nice room with a window and a small, slightly spacious yard. And among all the rooms in that row of rented rooms, one was considered the nicest, right next to the walkway, with a yard where they could plant a few flowers and put some potted plants to liven up their lives. That was the room of a couple, Hang and My, who were living together. They took good care of their living space, even though it was just a rented room, a temporary shelter, not yet a home, where they could repaint it or enlarge the window if they wanted to. But life is full of inexplicable things, just as we can never explain why, on such a scorching summer day, there was a sudden downpour that forced us to seek shelter under a porch.

Every morning, after Ms. Hang and Mr. My, carrying their young child, leave the alley on their motorbike, in the cramped courtyard next door, Mrs. Tam, who rents a room nearby, recounts their story. She says they aren't officially married. They met by chance, grew fond of each other, and then became a couple, even though Ms. Hang is over 40 and works daily washing and cutting hair at a women's hair salon next to a coffee shop in the neighborhood. Her son, Lan, about 7 years old, is her child from a husband she left, from Van Gia – a district 70 kilometers from the city, where most people make a living from fishing. She doesn't talk about her ex-husband, but the emotional wounds must be deep for her to leave that place and rent a room here to live with her son. Can a woman who has suffered such a heartbreak still trust another man? Sometimes people ask that. And how will she resolve the situation when the man who isn't the father of her child isn't happy to have her son around?

I often have my morning coffee at the small shop near Ms. Hang's hair salon. Every morning, Mr. My still comes for coffee before going to work. He's not alone; he brings little Lan along. Every day I witness the tiny boy reaching out his small hand to grasp Mr. My's calloused hand, as if placing his trust in it. The boy calls him "Dad" with all the affection. Mr. My orders Lan a glass of milk. He buys the little boy a packet of sticky rice or a loaf of bread, something like that, and feeds him. The boy sits and eats, telling all sorts of nonsensical stories, while Mr. My just nods. Then, at school, he takes the boy on his motorbike, drops him off, and goes to work. Mr. My started out as a construction worker, but now he's a contractor, taking on small repair projects. When he doesn't have construction work, he works as a motorbike taxi driver. The connection between him and Ms. Hang began when he worked as a motorbike taxi driver to earn extra income, picking up and dropping off Ms. Hang and her son at school – and that's how their relationship blossomed.

Life flowed on rhythmically; the flame tree on the road near my house bloomed, painting a corner of the sky with vibrant flowers, then its leaves turned green again. Each house had its own unique aspects, and sometimes people looked into them as if to reflect on themselves. My neighbor, Mrs. Tam, recounted how Mr. My washed clothes for his wife and her child from a previous marriage. Or how every Saturday afternoon they would buy two cans of beer, a can of soda, some snacks, and take little Lan to the riverbank for a date like newlyweds, even though they got married in their forties and Lan was always present. Mrs. Tam was very talkative, and sometimes I found her talkativeness hard to understand. But what could I do? Life is full of different kinds of people, especially in a boarding house. But I also found her endearing when she remarked that life also has exceptions, that Mr. My didn't beat Lan like in the stories of stepfathers abusing their stepchildren that people were spreading on social media.

One day, news spread throughout the boarding house that Ms. Hang was seriously ill. She was cooking when she suddenly felt dizzy and had to be rushed to the hospital. The doctor diagnosed her condition as very serious. The women's group leader went from house to house announcing the news and soliciting donations. Of course, the donations went easily, as it was a matter of mutual support and helping those in need due to illness – "when God calls, everyone answers." From then on, only Mr. My and little Lan lived in that boarding house, while Ms. Hang was hospitalized.

And this afternoon it rained in the city, everyone closed their doors, afraid the raindrops would soak the floor. I looked out at the glistening street and saw Mr. My leading little Lan to a taxi parked at the end of the alley. They were packing up their belongings to leave.

Through the pouring rain, I saw the father and son holding hands in the torrential downpour. Little Lan's hand still clutched a balloon that bobbed with the raindrops, probably something Mr. My had just bought for him. The two disappeared into the car, then Lan released the balloon into the sky. I ran out in the rain to say goodbye to him. Mr. My said he was going to the hospital to pick up Ms. Hang and bring her back to Van Gia for treatment, as her illness was critical and she needed to be brought home.

The car drove them out of sight, but I still stood there, watching the balloon sway with the falling raindrops. I thought that tomorrow, Mrs. Tam would tell everyone that Mr. My had held little Lan's tiny hand tightly in the rain...

Source: https://baocantho.com.vn/trong-mua-a204759.html