Chapter 30 — Unnamed Perfume Shop

Six months after the sign was hung, on an early summer morning on Hang Diep Street, golden sunlight spread across the curved tiled roofs that had been neatly renovated but still retained their original ancient look. Hoai Huong Shop has now become a familiar stop on the journey to explore the old town for many tourists, but no matter how many strangers stop by every day, Bao Nghi still maintains the same slow, meticulous working rhythm as in the early days - she still spends all her time listening to each customer, each scent is still prepared with all her heart, without being swept away by the pressure to serve quickly or serve a lot.

Bach Nguyen, with a small office a few steps away, has now received several other projects to renovate ancient buildings in the province, his reputation gradually spreading thanks to the success story of Hoai Huong shop. Their wedding is scheduled for the end of the year, a small, simple wedding, planned to be held right on Hang Diep Street, with the witness of all the people who have accompanied them through their turbulent journey throughout the past year.

Mr. Ta Khac Nguyen still visits the shop regularly several times a week, now no longer as a nostalgic customer, but has become an unofficial advisor, sometimes sitting for hours telling curious customers about the history of the shop, about Mrs. Anh Nguyet, and about the arduous journey to find the Hoai Huong formula. Nha Truc has expanded a small corner of her flower shop to sell pots of jasmine and cork flowers propagated from trees in the old Van Dien village, serving customers who want to grow a little fragrant memory to take home.

Ms. Bich Van, her health condition continued to progress according to the inevitable law of the disease - the moments of clarity became less and less, there were weeks in which she almost did not recognize Bao Nghi, calling her by all different names in her patchy memories. But Bao Nghi has learned to accept that much more gently than in the early days full of panic and self-blame. She no longer tries to "pull" her mother back to the present at all costs, but learns to enter her mother's world, whether that world is thirty years ago or forty years ago, just to be with her mother, to hold her hand, to be a part of whatever memory she is reliving at that moment.

The only miracle, which even the treating doctor had to admit was rare, was that every time Bao Nghi opened the lid of the bottle of Hoai Huong placed on the small altar in her mother's room, no matter how confused Mrs. Bich Van was, her face always softened, her eyes always shone with an indescribable peaceful light. Perhaps, as she once said, scent touches the deepest areas of memory, areas that even the most cruel disease cannot completely erase.

One afternoon, when Bao Nghi was making a concoction for a new guest - a young woman who had come from a far away city, carrying her late grandmother's embroidered scarf, wishing to preserve a part of the memory of her childhood days with her - she suddenly realized that she was repeating the exact gesture that her mother, and before that, her grandmother, had done thousands of times throughout their lives: closing her eyes, taking a deep breath, letting the layers of scent build up in her mind into shapes. images and emotions of a life that is not yours.

"Your grandmother must love you very much," Bao Nghi told the guest, after fully feeling the story hidden in the scent of the embroidered scarf. "I see in her a very special gentleness, like she always has the best for her sister, even though sometimes she doesn't say it out loud."

The young woman burst into tears, nodded, recounted a few memories about her deceased grandmother, and Bao Nghi listened, took notes, and prepared to prepare a scent that would become a bridge between the past and present for that girl, just like the way Hoai Huong shop has done for so many other families over the past fifty years, and now, will continue to do for many more generations in the future.

That evening, after closing the shop, Bao Nghi went upstairs and sat next to her mother as usual. Mrs. Bich Van was sitting by the window, looking vaguely at the lighted street, not recognizing her daughter entering. "Who are you?" she asked, her voice gentle, without fear or confusion like her previous panic attacks, simply a question from someone living in another moment in time.

"I'm Nghi, my daughter," Bao Nghi replied, sitting down next to her, no longer feeling the sharp pain like the first time hearing that question, but instead a calmness that had been refined through time and acceptance. "I'm just coming to sit with mom for a while."

Bach Nguyen, who had just gone upstairs after closing the office door, stood silently outside the door for a moment, observing the scene with an undisguised gentleness. He didn't go in right away, just quietly waited, respecting the private space between mother and child, a habit he had learned over the past year as he became an indispensable part in the life of this small family.

Mrs. Bich Van nodded, smiled at the stranger she did not recognize as her daughter, but still let her hold her hand, still let her rest her head on her shoulder like she had done thousands of times throughout her life. Bao Nghi took out a small bottle of Hoai Huong from her pocket that she always carried with her, opened the lid, and brought it close to her mother. Mrs. Bich Van closed her eyes, took a breath, and in that moment, even though she did not remember her daughter's name, even though she did not remember where she was, her face still lit up with a peaceful, complete smile, as if she was touching something beyond memory, something that belongs to the deepest nature of the love between mother and child.

Bao Nghi sat there for a long time, looking at the yellow street lights shining through the window, watching her mother immersed in a peace that she could not always bring, and thinking about the long journey that had passed - from a young girl embracing fear and loneliness, today, when she had a steadfast love, a community always ready to support, and a family legacy that finally had a name, a strong foothold in the constant flow of time. time.

A moment later, Bach Nguyen quietly walked in, sat down on the other side of Ms. Bich Van, and gently held her other hand. "Hello," he said, his voice warm and gentle as he had told her hundreds of times before, even though each time was a first in the mind of the woman sitting between them. Mrs. Bich Van smiled at him, a strange smile but not at all cautious, as if somewhere in her subconscious, she still recognized that this was a trustworthy person, someone who belonged to the small family surrounding her right now.

The three people sat together like that for a long time, no one said anything, just letting a warm silence cover the whole small room. Bao Nghi leaned her head on Bach Nguyen's shoulder, one hand still holding her mother's hand tightly, feeling the steady breathing of the two dearest people next to her, and thinking, perhaps this is the most complete image of happiness that she has ever dared to dream of - not perfect, not complete in the way people imagine, but true, warm, and complete in its own way.

She looked down at the bottle of Hoai Huong in her hand, the three layers of incense mixed together - earth after the rain, honey grass, and cork flowers blooming at night - and suddenly realized that was exactly what her life had taught her throughout her past journey: all loss will subside like soil after the rain, all peace is fragile but cherished like honey grass in the field, and the most sincere love, like cork flowers, always blooms silently in the dark, without anyone to witness, without light. During the day, it still steadfastly spreads its fragrance, waiting for those who are sincere enough to come and stay. Outside, Hang Diep Street still wakes up every morning and falls asleep every night as it has done for more than fifty years, and the sign named Hoai Huong above the wooden door painted moss green, will now still stand there, quietly welcoming anyone who brings with them a memory that needs to be preserved, a loss that needs to be soothed, a house that is always open to welcome what people are afraid of forgetting, forever.