I don’t know why she was so nice to me; perhaps it was just her nature. In any case, she was the best customer I ever had. As I re-stitched her blouse, I kept thinking about how I could make it up to her. Finally, I wrote a little note and tucked it away inside the pocket of her newly mended shirt. A few days later, she replied with a note of her own, asking me to meet her at the coffee shop near the village’s south gate.

Meeting outside the café, we soon discovered that there was nowhere to sit, and so we decided to go for a stroll. I noticed she was wearing the blouse I had sewn for her. She told me she adored it; that looking at it made her think of me. I knew what she was getting at, but I couldn’t figure out why. On our second date we went to the cinema; on the way there, in the quiet darkness of the early evening, she reached out her hand and took mine in hers. It was an evening like no other. I never would have thought that on my return home my father would see it fit to bombard me with questions, warning me: ‘It doesn’t matter who she is, or where she is from: it’s over now. We have to think about your health.’

Father was right – at the time I still wasn’t fully recovered. It wasn’t the right time for a relationship. The problem was, if I waited until I was completely better, who’d be left? Would Father help me get in touch with her again? To be honest, before meeting Ngọc, this young girl was the only woman I had thought of, the only one who could stir such sweet emotions within me, such pleasant memories – but I never did find out what happened to her, where she went; even if she was still alive. She just disappeared into thin air. Although I could imagine her living somewhere out there, I had no idea how to find her.

I must have looked very upset when I spoke of this. To comfort me, for the first time Ngọc took my hand in hers and said, ‘Vı˜ Phu, I’m sure she must be somewhere waiting for you. Somewhere, I hope you will be able to find her, find your true love …’

Ngọc was overflowing with affection and kindness … thinking about her sympathy then is my most precious memory of being alive.

7