Chapter 21 — Unnamed Perfume Shop

For three days after the argument, Bach Nguyen did not visit the store, and Bao Nghi did not proactively contact him, both were stuck in their own pride and hurt. Bao Nghi buried her head in preparations for the festival that was only two days away, trying not to let herself think too much, but every time she glanced at the chair where he usually sat next to the mixing table, an emptiness crept into her heart.

The work of perfecting the Hoai Huong formula also fell into a deadlock. The new batch of cork flower essential oil, even after being soaked, when mixed did not produce the same results as the previous batch - perhaps because the amount of flowers collected in the second batch was not as fresh as the first batch, or perhaps because Bao Nghi's troubled mood affected the necessary sophistication in each mixing decision. She tried again and again, but the scent kept deviating slightly from the complete feeling she had achieved the first time, making her even more frustrated.

Thursday night, when Bao Nghi was sitting in a daze in front of dozens of failed test jars stacked on the table, Nha Truc brought over a pot of hot green bean sweet soup. Seeing his friend's listless expression, he sat down without saying anything, just scooped the sweet soup into two small cups. "Eat first, then tell me what's making you like this," she said, her voice firm and not allowing for refusal.

Bao Nghi told the whole story, from Mr. Vinh Khang's new ultimatum to the argument with Bach Nguyen, her voice gradually lowered with each sentence. "I think I've ruined everything, Truc," she concluded, her voice choked up. "Not only the thing with Mr. Nguyen, but also the formula. The more I try, the more it feels different from the feeling I first found."

Nha Truc put down the tea cup and looked at her friend with serious eyes rarely seen in her, who always maintained a cheerful and carefree attitude in all situations. "Do you know what I think?" she said. "I think you're trying to force yourself to be perfect, just like how you said your grandmother tried twenty-three times. But you forgot one thing - your grandmother never completed it in the true sense of perfection. She only left a direction, a heart, and completing it, perhaps, is not copying exactly what she thought, but you, with your own experience and heart, continue that story in your own way."

Bao Nghi remained silent, letting those words slowly sink into her heart. "What do you mean..."

"What I mean is," Nha Truc continued, "you keep trying to recreate the exact feeling you got on the first try, as if that was the only right answer. But who knows, Hoai Huong is not a fixed formula, but a story that is still being written. Under what circumstances did you first make it? Right after you had just found the last clue from Mr. Nguyen, right after your mother had just told you about the three layers of incense. Feelings at that time Yours is hope, a burst of emotion. And now, you are mixing it in a state of anger, fatigue, and self-blame.

That sentence was like a flash of light in Bao Nghi's head. She remembered her grandmother's words written in a half-burnt notebook page: "Mom is not a scent, she is a feeling." Perhaps, she misunderstood the problem from the beginning - she kept searching for an exact formula, a perfect ratio, while what her grandmother really wanted to pass on was not a chemical calculation, but the ability to listen to her own emotions in each moment, so that the scent accurately reflects the state of soul of both the maker and the person being remembered.

"I think I understand," Bao Nghi said, her voice regaining some vitality. "You don't need to copy exactly how you felt the first time. You need to find the sincerity in your heart right now, even if it's different."

"That's right," Nha Truc nodded, smiling with satisfaction. "As for Mr. Nguyen, I think you should call him. You know your personality, the longer you wait, the harder it is to say anything. He's not your enemy, Nghi, he's just stuck between two things he cherishes."

Bao Nghi nodded, feeling a familiar warmth from the strong friendship between the two of them over the years. After Nha Truc returned, she did not call immediately, but returned to the mixing table, wanting to try to apply what she had just realized before her courage cooled down. She looked at the dozens of failed test vials lying around, no longer feeling discouraged like before, but instead felt a new determination. She cleared the table, keeping only three bottles of carrier essential oils — honey grass, damp earth, and cork flower — then closed her eyes, not thinking about proportions, not thinking about the numbers she had recorded over the past few days, but simply letting her mind drift to what she truly felt at that moment: the longing for her mother during the days when she was still lucid, the regret for blaming Bach Nguyen, and even the gratitude for her grandmother, who had left behind an unfinished but meaningful journey for her. move on.

She dripped it, not according to the old recipe, but according to the intuition that guided her in that moment — a little bit of honey grass to preserve the peace, a little bit of moist soil to anchor the source, and cork flower, a little more than in every previous attempt, as an affirmation that the thing that stayed the longest, the most important, deserved to be honored more. When she brought the mixture to her nose to smell it, she felt something different from her recent experiments in a heavy mood - not quite the same as the feeling she had the first time, but with a unique beauty, equally genuine and warm, as if her own story, of the past days, had also been mixed into it.

"Maybe this is truly my Hoai Huong," she whispered to herself, tears rolling down but this time they were tears of relief, of a newly restored faith.

She sat for a long time, looking at the finished sample bottle, then picked up the phone, her finger hesitated on the screen for a moment before finally pressing the call button. The bell rang three times, then Bach Nguyen's voice rang out, somewhat cautiously. "Hello?"

"Brother," Bao Nghi said, her voice choking from the first word. "I'm sorry for that day. I said things I shouldn't have said, I shouldn't have blamed everything on you like that."

There was a short silence on the other end of the line, then Bach Nguyen's voice rang out, clearly relieved. "I'm sorry too," he said. "I should have been more understanding and patient with you at that time, instead of letting my own emotions take over."

"Can we meet?" Bao Nghi asked, her voice full of hope. "I just made a new batch, I want you to be the first to smell it. There are two days left until the festival, I... I don't want to go into that day without you by my side."

"I'll be there soon," Bach Nguyen replied, and in that voice, Bao Nghi could feel a smile, even though she couldn't see it with her own eyes, gradually returning to the face of the person she loved.

Less than twenty minutes later, the shell bell rang, and Bach Nguyen walked in, looking somewhat hurried as if he had just run all the way from home. He stopped in the middle of the door, looked at Bao Nghi for a long time, then walked quickly to hug her, without saying a word, just letting that hug replace all unfinished apologies. "I miss you so much," he whispered in her ear. "Three days felt like a month."

"Me too," Bao Nghi replied, nestling in his arms, clearly feeling his steady, steady heartbeat, soothing all remaining worries in her heart. After a while, she pulled him closer to the mixing table and handed him the latest sample bottle. "Smell it, I want to know what you feel first."

Bach Nguyen took the small bottle, closed his eyes, and took a slow breath the same way Bao Nghi had shown him. His face gradually changed from curiosity to a look of deep emotion. “It's warmer than last time,” he said, opening his eyes, his voice full of surprise. "Last time I felt a gentle sadness, but this time, I felt hope in it as well. It was as if the scent was telling me that, despite the loss, life still goes on, there are still good things ahead."

Bao Nghi smiled, tears welled up again, but this time it was because of happiness. “That's exactly what I wanted it to say,” she said. "Not just the memory of loss, but also the belief that we can move on, carrying that memory as a strength, not a burden."

They sat together until late, not talking much about the upcoming festival or ultimatum, simply enjoying the peace of being together after stormy days of separation, mentally preparing for the two important days that were about to come.