Chapter 27 — Unnamed Perfume Shop

Ten days after the signing, Bao Nghi decided to spend a special morning to officially bottle the first batch of Hoai Huong according to the complete recipe - not to sell, but to keep as a milestone, a testament to the past journey. She chose the right day with clear, mild sunshine, the type of weather that, according to her professional experience, will help the scent stabilize and shine at its best when bottled.

She prepared everything the night before - the mixing table was cleaned, the glassware was carefully sterilized, and in particular, a special bottle she ordered from a veteran glassblower in town according to a design she drew herself - the bottle's shape is elongated, the bottle's neck is gently curved like a rice branch, reminiscent of the riverside fields where her grandmother grew up.

That morning, Bao Nghi invited her mother down to the shop earlier than usual, arranging for her to sit right next to the mixing table, in the same position she used to sit in when she was working, before illness forced her to step back. "Mom, today I want you to sit here and help me," Bao Nghi said, her voice both nervous and emotional.

Mrs. Bich Van, although she did not completely understand the context of that day, still obediently sat down, her eyes following her daughter's every move with gentle curiosity. Perhaps, although the memory of events and dates has mostly faded, the professional instincts that have been ingrained in her body for decades are still intact - as soon as Bao Nghi gave her a small glass funnel, she picked it up properly, holding it firmly above the mouth of the jar without anyone's instructions.

"Mom, please keep it for me," Bao Nghi said, smiling through the tears that were welling up in her eyes, then began to pour little by little the prepared Hoai Huong mixture through the funnel, slowly and carefully, as if performing a sacred ritual rather than a common technical step. Ms. Bich Van held the funnel firmly, occasionally tilting her head slightly, as if listening to the sound of liquid flowing into the jar, a professional habit she has always had since she was young.

"This smells so fragrant," Ms. Bich Van suddenly said, her voice full of surprise and delight as if she was smelling it for the first time. "Did you mix it yourself?"

"Yes, I mixed it, mom," Bao Nghi replied, her voice choked but still trying to keep her smile. "This is Hoai Huong, mom. I've finished it."

Mrs. Bich Van nodded, although her eyes did not completely show that she clearly remembered the meaning behind that name, her reaction to the scent was still as genuine and complete as any other person's experience. "You're very good," she said, repeating the familiar words she had often given her daughter over the past two years, but this time, for Bao Nghi, the words carried a different weight, like an official blessing, a recognition from the first and most important teacher in her professional life.

When the jar was full, Bao Nghi gently closed the lid, used a red thread to tie it around the neck of the jar in accordance with the shop's tradition, and then wrote on the attached small piece of paper, not the name of a customer's memory as usual, but the words: "Hoai Huong - Ton Nu Anh Nguyet begins, Ton Nu Bich Van preserves, Ton Nu Bao Nghi completes." She placed the jar in the middle of the display shelf, the most solemn position in the entire store, where the morning sunlight always shines first every time the store opens.

"I want to leave it here forever, not sell it," Bao Nghi explained to her mother, although she wasn't sure she fully understood. "So that anyone who walks into the store can see it and know the story of all three generations of our family."

After the main bottle was completed, Bao Nghi also extracted a few smaller bottles from the remaining essential oil, intending to give them to those who had accompanied her throughout the past journey - one bottle for Mr. Ta Khac Nguyen, one bottle for Nha Truc, one bottle for Aunt Xuyen, and one bottle, she hesitated for a moment before deciding, for Bach Nguyen herself. Every time she poured, Mrs. Bich Van held the funnel to help her daughter, seemingly finding in that simple, repetitive task a pure joy that she had long lost since the day her illness forced her to step back behind the bar.

"Do you remember when you were little," Mrs. Bich Van suddenly spoke up, her voice still immersed in the concentrated atmosphere of work, "my mother often let me keep the funnel like this. I liked it so much, I kept asking to keep it and wouldn't let go." Bao Nghi was stunned by the memory that suddenly appeared so clearly in her mother's mind, not about big events, but about a small, everyday detail. Perhaps it was because of that simplicity that it still remained, not being swept away by the illness. "I remember, Mom," she replied, although actually that memory had long faded from her mind, but she was willing to accept it and keep it for both mother and child.

At that moment, Bach Nguyen stopped by, bringing a small bouquet of flowers to celebrate this important day. He stood still, looking at the scene of Bao Nghi and his mother sitting together, the morning sunlight shining through the window, covering both of them with a warm halo, and unable to help himself, he took out his phone to capture that moment, a photo he knew he would cherish for the rest of his life.

"Hello, mother, hello," he said, entering, bowing politely to Mrs. Bich Van, who now, after many meetings, had grown accustomed to his presence, even though she did not always clearly remember his name or the relationship between him and his daughter.

"Hello," Mrs. Bich Van replied, smiling friendly and looking at the bouquet of flowers in his hand with interest. "The flowers are so beautiful, who did you buy them for?"

"Yes, I bought it to congratulate Mom and Nghi," Bach Nguyen replied, placing the bouquet on the table next to the just finished Hoai Huong vase. His eyes could not hide his affection when looking at both mother and daughter.

"Are you coming to play with Nghi?" Mrs. Bich Van asked again, it seemed like the previous question had slipped from her mind in just a split second, a familiar manifestation of the disease that both Bao Nghi and Bach Nguyen had learned to accept gently, no longer feeling as heartbroken as in the first days.

"Yes, I came to visit Mom and Nghi," Bach Nguyen replied, gently, without correcting or explaining further about the real relationship between the two, simply accepting whatever role she assigned him in that moment, a tolerance and patience that made Bao Nghi love him even more.

The three people sat together all that morning, not doing much, simply chatting, looking at the bottle of Hoai Huong sparkling in the sunlight, and enjoying a rare peace that over the past two years, since the day illness struck the family, Bao Nghi had never dared to hope that she would be able to feel so completely. She knew that her mother's moments of lucidity would become less and less frequent over time, that her illness would continue to progress according to its irreversible laws, but the bottle of Hoai Huong glittering on the shelf had now become an eternal proof that, no matter how the memories faded, the love and connection between three generations of women in her family would never truly disappear.

That afternoon, after her mother went upstairs to rest, Bao Nghi brought the small bottle she had prepared separately and gave it to Bach Nguyen. “There, you kept your promise,” she said, smiling. "You are the second person to receive Hoai Huong, after me."

Bach Nguyen took the small bottle, turned it gently in his hand, watching the afternoon sunlight penetrate the transparent glass layer, creating shimmering streaks of light on the table. "I'll keep it safe," he said, his voice more solemn than he had ever received any gift in his life. "Not for use, but so that every time I open the lid, I am reminded of today, of everything we have overcome together."

He hugged her, placed a light kiss on her forehead, and they both stood silently in the middle of the shop filled with afternoon sunlight, not saying another word, simply enjoying the fullness of the present moment - a moment that just a few months ago, amidst all the storms and storms, Bao Nghi was not sure he would ever have the opportunity to experience again.

Before leaving, Bach Nguyen stayed behind to help Bao Nghi clean up the mixing table and arrange the glassware in their usual place. "I'll bring this little bottle to the office tomorrow, put it on my desk," he said, smiling. "So that every time I have a difficult customer, I open the lid and smell it a bit, reminding myself why I chose this path."

Bao Nghi laughed, feeling lighter and happier than at any time during the past long journey. She walked him out the door, stood and watched his shadow disappear on Hang Diep Street as it was lit up, then turned back inside, looking at the sparkling bottle of Hoai Huong on the shelf one last time before turning off the lights, locking the door, ending a day that she knew she would remember for the rest of her life.