Chapter 22 — Unnamed Perfume Shop

The morning before the opening day of the festival, Bao Nghi woke up very early, brought the most complete sample bottle of Hoai Huong upstairs, wanting her mother to smell it before starting a busy day with hundreds of things to prepare. Mrs. Bich Van was sitting by the window as usual, her eyes watching the first rays of sunlight filtering through the window frame, her face had an unusually calm look.

"Mom, I brought this for you to smell," Bao Nghi said, sitting down next to her mother, bringing the small bottle closer. Ms. Bich Van took it, closed her eyes, and took a slow breath according to the professional habits that had been imprinted on her body for decades.

There was a long silence, and when she opened her eyes, Bao Nghi immediately noticed something different - her mother's eyes were clear, sharp, without any ambiguity, as if all the layers of fog that had often covered her mind over the past two years suddenly disappeared completely, even if only for a short moment. "Nghi," she called out, her voice clear and certain, "this is it. This is Hoai Huong. You've finished it."

Bao Nghi was stunned, tears immediately welled up. This was the first time in a long time that her mother not only recognized her, but also showed such rare complete lucidity. "Mom, you're awake, you recognize me," she said, her voice trembling with emotion, holding her mother's hand tightly as if afraid this moment would disappear in an instant.

"I always recognize you, Nghi," Mrs. Bich Van replied, smiling, shaking her hand to gently stroke her daughter's hair. "It's just that sometimes, I feel like I'm standing in another room, seeing you through a layer of frosted glass, wanting to call your name but not being able to find the way out. Today, for some reason, that door opened so clearly."

They sat together, Bao Nghi recounted the entire journey she had gone through - from the day she found the burned page, to the trip to find cork flowers, to Mr. Ta Khac Nguyen's story, to the broken batch of essential oil the night her mother panicked. Mrs. Bich Van listened attentively, occasionally nodding, her eyes filled with tears when she heard the story about that night.

"I'm sorry for scaring you that night and ruining your efforts," she said, her voice heavy with regret.

"It's not mom's fault," Bao Nghi quickly replied, squeezing her mother's hand. "Mom, don't ever think like that. Thanks to that night, I learned that I don't have to be perfect, I don't have to copy anything exactly, I just need to be sincere with my own feelings."

Ms. Bich Van was silent for a moment, her eyes looking far away at the empty wooden sign below. Even though she couldn't see it from upstairs, she seemed to be seeing it with another sense, an understanding that went beyond normal sight. "You know," she said, her voice slow, "the day your grandmother passed away, I blamed myself a lot. I thought, if I hadn't been preoccupied with my own business that day and had been at the factory earlier, perhaps I would have been able to save her, to have heard everything she wanted to say. For many years after that, I didn't dare touch that half-burnt page, didn't dare to try to complete the recipe, because I was afraid, if I failed, it would be the one time I failed my grandmother."

"I still remember," Mrs. Bich Van continued, her voice slow, as if she were going through each page of precious memories, "that morning, before I went to work, your grandmother called me back, showed me a branch of pressed dried cork flowers in the book, saying that the night before she had just finished distilling the last batch of essential oil, there were only a few steps left to complete. She smiled so brightly, Nghi, I have never seen her so happy in many years. I planned to stay and help her that evening, but then something urgent happened at work, so my mother had to make an appointment with her the next night. Unexpectedly, the next night, everything burned down, and three months later, she was no more.

Her voice choked, and Bao Nghi squeezed her mother's hand tighter, both of them silent for a moment, letting that old pain be fully acknowledged instead of forever buried. "Mom has carried that regret alone for more than twenty years," Bao Nghi said softly. "I wish you had told me sooner, so I could share it with you."

Bao Nghi listened, her heart aching at the confession that her mother had never shared with her for the past twenty-seven years. "So why didn't you tell me before?" she asked softly.

"Because I don't want you to carry that burden," Mrs. Bich Van replied, smiling sadly. "I want you to grow up with love for this profession, not with fear or guilt. But now looking at you, looking at what you have accomplished, I realize, perhaps I was wrong. You are strong enough to face both that pain and responsibility, stronger than I ever dared to believe."

"Mom, it's not wrong," Bao Nghi said, tears rolling down her eyes. "I protected you in my own way, just like you're trying to protect me now."

Mrs. Bich Van reached out to wipe away her daughter's tears. Her eyes were filled with a deep love that the illness over the past two years has never been able to completely fade. "Look," she said, her voice growing serious, "I know, I'll forget more and more each day. Maybe one day, I won't recognize you anymore, not just for a moment like before, but forever. I don't want you to spend the rest of your life dreading that day. You have to promise me, no matter what happens, you will live your life to the fullest, will love the person who deserves it, will keep this shop not because of a burden, but because of you." really love it."

"I promise, mom," Bao Nghi said, her voice choked but determined.

"One more thing," Ms. Bich Van continued, her voice suddenly becoming earnest. "The name. You have to name the shop, Nghi. Don't let it remain nameless as a way to avoid having to claim something as your own. My grandmother wanted to name the shop Hoai Huong, but she didn't have time to do so. Mom, for many years, didn't dare to do it, because she was afraid that if she named it not in accordance with her wishes, she would disappoint her again. But you, you found that formula with your own heart, you deserve to be the one to decide. The last name, whether it is Hoai Huong or another name I feel is more appropriate.

Bao Nghi nodded, clearly feeling the weight and freedom in the words her mother had just given her - not an order to be obeyed, but a permission, a word of empowerment from three generations of women in her family, allowing her to freely continue writing the story in her own way. "I'll think carefully, Mom," she said. "I want that name to be worthy of everything my grandmother, mother, and I have been through."

They sat together for a while longer, not saying anything, simply enjoying each other's rare lucid presence, until Bao Nghi felt, through her mother's eyes that gradually became distant again, that precious moment was slowly closing. She hugged her mother tightly one last time before the familiar fog covered her again, whispering a wordless thank you, cherishing each of those rare moments as a priceless gift that she knew she would never take for granted again.

When aunt Xuyen came to take over the morning shift, Bao Nghi was still sitting quietly next to her mother's bed, her hand clutching the sample bottle of Hoai Huong, her mind reeling with everything she had just heard. She didn't go down to the store right away, but sat for a while in her room, carefully recording in a separate notebook every detail her mother had just told her - about the dried cork flower branch, about her grandmother's last bright smile, about the unfinished date that never came true - not wanting to let any precious memory be swept away by time again.

Going down to the shop, she stood silently in front of the empty wooden sign for a long time, thinking about her mother's words that had just given her the right to decide on the name. She thought about Hoai Huong, about its profound meaning associated with three generations of women in the family, but also thought about her own journey - the meeting with Bach Nguyen, the friendship with Nha Truc, the help of Mr. Ta Khac Nguyen, the whole small community that has contributed together over the past few months. Perhaps, she thought, the final name needed to contain not only the story of the past, but also the story she was continuing to write for the present and the future. But it's something she'll consider more carefully after the festival — right now, there are too many urgent matters ahead.

Bach Nguyen arrived soon after, carrying the last panels for the display, and when he saw Bao Nghi's emotional and determined face, he didn't ask right away, just quietly put down the things and pulled her into a tight hug. She told him the entire conversation with her mother, her voice still shaking with emotion. "My mother told me I had the right to name the shop myself," she said. "I still don't know what name to choose, but I know that no matter what name I choose, I want you to be the first to know, after my mother."

"I will wait," Bach Nguyen replied, smiling gently. "No matter how long it takes you to decide. But whatever name you choose, I believe it will be beautiful, because it comes from your heart."