Chapter 2 — A Sweetness Forgotten

Lá Me tea shop is located deep in an alley, under the shadow of an ancient tamarind tree that, according to Ms. Ngọc Lành, has been standing there since before this whole neighborhood had electricity. Red and green plastic tables and chairs are placed close to the wall. The handwritten sign, faded from the sun and rain, simply reads "Tea - All Kinds", no logo, no additional decorations.

Thế Khôi stood hesitantly in front of the shop door, still holding an expensive leather briefcase in his hand, looking around with undisguised curiosity - the look of someone entering a space for the first time that he had only seen in movies.

"Sit down, what are you doing standing there?" Diệp Chi pulled the chair and pushed it towards him. "Mom, give me two cups of taro soup!"

"Who is this?" Mrs. Ngọc Lành poked her head out from behind the counter, looked at the strange boy wearing a neat uniform, her eyes quickly examined and then softened. "New classmate?"

"Yes, my friend just transferred schools. I accidentally spilled tea on her shirt this morning so I invited her over to make amends."

"Oh my god, is that so." She laughed, wiping her hands on her apron. "Sit down, my cooking is delicious. Try it and you'll know right away."

Two steaming cups of tea were placed on the table just a few minutes later. Thế Khôi held the spoon, looked at the layer of coconut milk covering the light purple taro pieces, sprinkled with a little fragrant roasted sesame, then scooped a spoon and brought it to his mouth.

He was silent.

"What's wrong?" Diệp Chi asked, a bit nervous even though she didn't understand why she cared about the opinion of someone she had just met that morning.

"Tasty," Thế Khôi said, then scooped another spoonful, faster than the last time. "Really delicious, no need to say anything."

"Have you ever eaten junk food? Why do you look so surprised?"

"Yes. But..." He paused, as if considering his words. "At home, desserts are usually Western food, or sweet soup cooked according to a personal chef's standardized recipe, with exact measurements of each gram. This..." he pointed to the cup of sweet soup, "it tastes different. I don't know how to describe it, but it feels like someone actually cooked it, rather than following the recipe."

Diệp Chi burst out laughing. "Of course someone cooked, my mother has been in the kitchen since four in the morning."

"That's not what I meant." Thế Khôi looked at her seriously. "I mean there's a difference between cooking according to a recipe and cooking with... I don't know what to call it. Passion? That sounds so cheesy, right?"

"Not cheesy. That's right." Diệp Chi nodded, her voice undisguisedly proud. "My mother has a recipe book, handwritten since she was a girl. She says every time she cooks, she tries again, it's never exactly the same as the last time, because it depends on her mood, how old or young the coconut is that day."

"That's interesting," Thế Khôi continued eating, more slowly, as if trying to remember each flavor. "At my old school, everything had to be consistent. Uniforms, schedules, even the food in the cafeteria followed pre-determined nutritional standards."

"That sounds tiring." Diệp Chi frowned.

"Not really. It's just... different." He looked out into the small alley, where a few children were playing soccer with old plastic balls, laughter resounding in the afternoon sun. "My dad told me I needed to know what real life was like, before... before I had to manage things that involved a lot of real people."

Diệp Chi looked at him, didn't ask any more questions, but in her mind began to piece together disparate pieces of information: the car, the man in the gray suit, his English pronunciation, the way he arranged his books neatly like a habit ingrained since childhood. She wasn't an idiot, and she wasn't the type to pry into other people's private lives just out of curiosity.

"You don't need to explain to me," she said, scooping up another spoonful of tea for herself. "Everyone has their own story. I can't tell you all about my family."

"But I want to tell," Thế Khôi said, then suddenly realized that sentence sounded a bit strange, so he hastily added. "I mean, not today. But maybe... later."

Diệp Chi did not answer, just smiled and bent down to continue eating the remaining dessert.

***

The next morning, the Chemistry teacher announced that the class would be divided into groups to do a final practice project - each group of four people, choosing a topic related to applied chemistry in life, to present to the class next month.

"I randomly grouped them according to the class list number," the teacher said, holding a piece of paper and reading the names. "Group three: Chử Diệp Chi, Ôn Thế Khôi, Doãn Tường Vy, Vu Đình Bách."

Tường Vy turned down, her eyes blinked rapidly at Diệp Chi, signaling "see, fate is arranged." Diệp Chi glared back, signaling to shut up.

At recess, four people gathered in a corner of the yard to discuss the topic. Vu Đình Bách — the boy sitting at the back of the class, famous for his humor and his love of games more than his love of studying — scratched his head.

"What topic now? I can't help it, my mind is empty."

"Or about chemical reactions in cooking?" Diệp Chi proposed without hesitation, because this is almost the field she knows best. "Like why coconut milk separates when overcooked, or why adding a little salt makes sweets sweeter."

"Oh, that's cool!" Tường Vy clapped her hands. "But you really know this stuff, you have a laboratory right at your house."

"I think it's reasonable," Thế Khôi contributed, his eyes shining rarely. "You can do real experiments, measure temperatures, record the change process. It's not just about reading theories."

"Hey, does that mean we have to go to Diệp Chi's house to do the experiment?" Đình Bách raised his eyebrows, his voice full of hope. "After cooking, can I try it?"

"You can try it, but you have to help clean up," Diệp Chi replied, laughing.

The first group meeting took place that afternoon at Lá Me tea shop, after school. Mrs. Ngọc Lành happily gave up a small corner of the kitchen for the children to "do experiments", as long as the house did not burn down. Diệp Chi stood at the helm, explaining each step in detail — why you had to stir it while the coconut milk was still cool, why you can't boil it, why adding a small pinch of salt at the end made the sweetness more obvious instead of salty.

"This is called the taste contrast effect," she explained, sounding as confident as a little teacher. "Salt activates the taste buds to be more sensitive than sugar. In the chemistry book, it says, but my mother has known this method for a long time, she just doesn't know the scientific name."

Thế Khôi stood next to him, holding a notebook carefully recording each number and observing, but occasionally looked up to see the way Diệp Chi quickly handled the pot of tea on the stove - the skillful movements of someone who had done this hundreds of times, not at all like the appearance of a top student in the grade who only knew how to bury his head in books.

"When did you learn to cook?" He asked, when Tường Vy and Đình Bách were busy arguing about whether to add pandan leaves or not.

"Ever since I learned how to stand firmly on a stool to reach the stove," Diệp Chi replied, constantly stirring. "Dad left when I was young, so my mom raised me alone. I help with whatever I can, I don't have time to be lazy," she said that sentence very naturally, not trying to sound pitiful, nor trying to hide it, making Thế Khôi pause for a moment - in the world he used to live in, things like "father left" and "carrying alone" were often said in a sad voice, with avoiding eyes. And Diệp Chi said it as if telling an obvious truth about the weather.

"So you must be better at a lot of things than me," he said, quite matter-of-factly.

"Definitely better than you at washing dishes." Diệp Chi tilted her chin toward the waiting stack of bowls. "It's your turn, good experimenter."

Thế Khôi looked at the pile of bowls, then looked at his hands that had never touched a dishwashing sponge in his life, gritted his teeth and rolled up his sleeves.

"Okay," he said, his voice a bit forced but not avoiding it. "Tell me how to do it." Diệp Chi laughed out loud, held his hand and placed it in the correct position to hold the sponge, patiently pointing out each movement as if teaching a child. Tường Vy stood behind the two people, looked at Đình Bách, both of them smirked without anyone saying a word.

That afternoon ended later than expected. When Thế Khôi stepped out of Lá Me alley to get in the car to go home, his hands were still a bit wrinkled from being soaked in dishwashing liquid for too long, but on his face was an expression that his personal driver - who had worked for the Ôn family for more than ten years - had never seen before: a relieved, relaxed smile, not forced at all.

"Master, you're having so much fun today," the driver commented as the car pulled away.

"YES." Thế Khôi looked out the glass window, the streetlights passing through each window frame. "Today is a good day."

He didn't say more, just quietly opened the experiment notebook to review it, but his eyes stayed for a long time on a corner of the page, where he had unconsciously scribbled the small line: "Chử Diệp Chi - taste contrast effect," then below, a note that had nothing to do with chemistry: "Smiling is very genuine."

The car drove through the downtown area, where high-rise buildings were brightly lit, reflecting on the car's windshield in shiny streaks. Thế Khôi looked at the familiar scene passing by and remembered the small, cramped kitchen, the smell of wood stove smoke mixed with coconut milk, and the laughter of four students crowded around a pot with not enough room for everyone to stand.

Returning home, Mr. Ôn Bách Quân was sitting in his office, the desk lamp shining on a thick stack of files. Seeing his son walk in with his hands still slightly wrinkled from being soaked in water for a long time, he just glanced over and asked, without any reproach in his voice.

"Are you coming home late from your study group?"

"Yes. I did a chemistry experiment at my friend's house," Thế Khôi replied, then for some reason that could not be clearly explained, he added. "She taught me to wash dishes."

Mr. Bách Quân raised his eyebrows, the corner of his mouth raised in an imperceptible way. "Is that so? Have you learned anything yet?"

"I think so." Thế Khôi stood at the door of the room, his eyes distant. "More than you think." He didn't ask any more questions, just nodded and turned back to the stack of files in front of him. But when the door closed behind his son, he sat quietly for a moment, thinking about the day he decided to change schools for his son, and wondering if that decision was going in the right direction as he had hoped.