The flowering season lingers...

(Baonghean.vn) - Autumn hastily sheds its last leaves onto the streets. A cool breeze blows through my thin coat. She held my hand, murmuring, "It's almost the end of autumn, why haven't the milk flower trees bloomed yet?"

One morning, while I was still half-asleep, the phone suddenly rang incessantly. On the other end, her voice, so clear and warm—a voice I'd heard a thousand times a day without getting tired of it—was chattering away: "Hurry up, honey, I smell the scent of milk flowers! It must be the tree at the end of my street. Come on, hurry up!"

Milk flower. Artist Hong Toai.

I rushed to her side. That day, my heart was filled with joy, completely overwhelmed by the overflowing happiness in her soul.

In late autumn, after work, we would wander through the streets together, and she would inhale the rich, sweet scent of milk flowers. Suddenly, she plucked a cluster of flowers and gently placed it in my hand: "Look closely, isn't each flower blooming into five petals, like a tiny star? So, how many tiny stars would each cluster, the whole plant, be?" She furrowed her delicate, crescent-shaped eyebrows: "That's right, darling. We'll name this flower 'Thousand Stars Flower,' okay?"

At some point, I realized I deeply loved autumn, loved the fragrant scent of milk flowers every time the seasons changed, because it was the flower she loved, the season she loved.

In a small corner of the company garden, I planted two milkwood trees. The two trees were as tall as a person's head – that's me and her. My intention was quite clear: so that later, every late autumn and early winter, she would come to my company every day to breathe in the fragrance. Every day I would see her smile, hear her voice, clear and warm like spring sunshine, gentle and fragrant like her autumn scent.

That winter was unusually cold. Even at the beginning of winter, a biting chill was already lurking in every street. It rained incessantly. The sky was heavy with dark, gloomy clouds.

She texted me, just a few short lines: "Forget about me. I'm sorry." I was worried, scared, and confused. Was she joking with me? Was it because of the unusually cold winter? I clutched my phone, repeatedly dialing her number. The call was cut off. I quickly canceled my morning meeting and...

He rushed to find her. At the company, the director was stunned: "She resigned yesterday." At home, the maid opened the gate: "Go home, she's not here. The master and mistress are too tired to see visitors."

In the days that followed, I searched the entire city for her. But there was absolutely no news. It was utterly illogical. I was paralyzed. Her mother, feeling sorry for me, sadly said, "I'm sorry, I can't help you. She told you to forget about her; she's found someone else."

Filled with resentment, I grabbed a knife, intending to cut down the two flowering trees. I had cared for them, watering them daily, their branches and leaves lush and green. The secretary looked me in the eye and pleaded, "Don't, sir. The trees haven't done anything wrong. Maybe she'll come back." I snapped back to reality. That's right, I will wait, I will wait until she does. I don't believe she can live without me.

One year.

Two years.

Four years have passed. Time drags on endlessly. I bury myself in work, contracts, partners… Every month, I spend time searching, yet she remains nowhere to be found.

My mother insisted: "This year I will find a wife for you. That girl has really left you."

I took the girl my mother had chosen as my daughter-in-law to try on wedding dresses. By chance, we ended up at a shop owned by her close friend. Once, she had taken me inside, admiring the gorgeous wedding dresses, and dreamily said, "I wish that day would come soon."

While my fiancée happily chose her clothes, the shop owner looked at me sadly: "It's so sad for K... the day she's been hoping you'd get married has finally arrived." My heart stopped. "What did you say? You know where K is, don't you? Tell me quickly, please." "She absolutely refused to let me tell you, but now that you're getting married, she's content. She's sick, afraid she can't have children, afraid you and your mother will suffer, since you're her only child anyway, so she decided to break off all contact with you. That poor girl..."

For a moment, I had the feeling that the world had stopped spinning.

No, for me, the world stopped turning four years ago, and now it's finally starting to move again.

Ignoring the bewildered girl, I sped home, hastily grabbing a few clothes and stuffing them into my bag. My heart raced, my veins felt stiff.

I called off the wedding. My mother was in tears, but I believe she understood and sympathized with me.

I'll be flying to Saigon soon. You're there. And, after four years of separation, you haven't forgotten me for a single moment, still fondly remembering the scent of the milk flower from our hometown.

Winter is beginning. The chilly wind is creeping into the streets. My two milkwood trees are still bursting with life...

11/2016

Nguyen Quynh Hoa

(Literature teacher, Phan Thuc Truc High School, Yen Thanh District)