Short story: The most beautiful moonlit season

The town had just been submerged in a heavy afternoon rain. Would the moon rise tonight? Nguyet didn't care. She was preoccupied with the fragrant baked goods in her small kitchen. She was used to doing everything by herself anyway. Eating mooncakes and enjoying tea alone on Mid-Autumn Festival night wasn't such a big deal. Whether there was a moon or not wasn't a big deal, even if it wasn't full. People don't die of loneliness. They only lose their will to live when life has lost its meaning. How could Nguyet die? So many people out there needed her, at least the children. Children she didn't give birth to, but they needed her so much, just as she needed her grandmother when she was little, as much as she needed her own breath. When you yourself are needed by someone else, you get to live many other lives. Like this lovely mooncake, even if you cut it into pieces, it still comes back together, whole and delicious.
Nguyệt opened the door wide. The courtyard was still soaking wet after the rain. She set up a small table on the porch. On the table, a pot of Pu-erh tea emitted a gentle aroma. Nguyệt liked to drink afternoon tea, even though on some nights, her afternoon tea made her toss and turn, unable to sleep. Ultimately, all the joys, sorrows, happiness, and suffering were just the tea leaves at the bottom of the cup. Her job was to live each day to the fullest.
“Stay and enjoy your dream of smelling like freshly baked goods, if you like!” Huy said, when she expressed her wish to spend the rest of her life here. He walked out of her life, disappearing as quickly as he had arrived. Before Nguyet's sadness could even subside, his figure had vanished into thin air. Sometimes she wondered if it was love. No one answered her question. Life is strange. Joy is rare and fragile like dew, just waiting for the sun to break through before vanishing without a trace. Sadness, on the other hand, turns green with moss after a few rain showers.
The job of a marketing manager seemed to consume all of Nguyet's mind. She immersed herself in projects like a moth to a flame. She was used to doing everything alone, whether Huy was around or not. Sometimes, she felt like a wet towel that had been wrung dry, worn out. Many times she wondered what would become of her if she stopped.
She wanted to stop, even if only for a moment – ​​to leisurely knead the dough, press the molds, and wait for the fragrant aroma of baked goods to waft from the old oven sitting on the kitchen counter. The kitchen in the house, permeated with the scent of aged wood, occasionally returned to her memories. The fire had long since gone out in that kitchen. The smell of food was gone. Only the lingering scent of moss remained. Life in the city had often made her forget that she still had a small, peaceful place to return to.

***

The August moon. Tearful eyes at the orphanage. Mild depression and an overwhelming longing for her grandmother were the reasons why Nguyet boldly requested extended leave. The first batch of cakes took shape. Her apron was stained with flour. Flour even covered the long, curly strands of hair that cascaded gently over her shoulders. Nguyet didn't have time to prepare the sugar syrup for the cakes six months in advance, as her grandmother had used to do. She bought it temporarily from a bakery in Cholon. Nguyet's journey home during the August moon was always heavier because of that thick, glistening brown sugar syrup. In the old days, her grandmother would also painstakingly take the bus from this town all the way to the city to buy cake flour, pomelo blossom water, sausages, rose liqueur… Once a year, her grandmother would make a long trip. Sometimes Nguyet would go along to see the city streets. Her eyes just wanted to pop out of the dust-covered car window. There were so many strange things outside the window. The childlike excitement was practically ready to leap from her eyes. Grandma patted her head and smiled gently:
- Just get used to it. Later, you'll have many trips like this every year.
- Does it really have to be that much, Grandma?
- Your life is very special. Much more special than your grandmother's life. Don't you want it to be that way?
But why did Grandma only make one trip?
Well…
Grandma never answered that question. Not even after she passed away. In this life, there are countless questions that Nguyet must find the answers to herself.

***

That day, after their fateful meeting, Phong asked her, "Why did you appear in my life?" Nguyet hadn't found a satisfactory answer, nor had she found a way to escape the emotional entanglement she felt for Phong.
Nguyệt still has one big question in her life: Why did her mother abandon her in this world and then disappear as if she never existed? Who was her mother?
Grandma said:
- Your mother must have been a beautiful woman to give birth to you, a daughter as beautiful as the moon at sixteen!
Nguyệt remembered her grandmother's sigh.
- My mother and I were so foolish! If only she had stayed, I would have raised her too!
"Grandma is raising a child who has no connection to her, and now she wants to take care of the child's mother too. Doesn't Grandma fear what people will say? Doesn't she fear hardship?" Nguyet asked, sobbing. Grandma smiled softly, like the sound of a breeze rustling through the bamboo blinds on the deserted veranda.
- People's opinions don't feed you, so why be afraid, my child?
Nguyệt couldn't remember how many times her grandmother's aged hands had wiped away her tears. Her grandmother had sold all her possessions to raise her – an orphan abandoned in a banana grove by the roadside. In her final days, her grandmother lay still on her wooden plank bed, her eyes always fixed on the porch.
- Get married, Nguyet!
Nguyệt thought of Huy, and her heart ached again. What's the point of thinking about someone whose feelings have faded? A cup of tea that has lost its flavor must be poured away.

***

The August moon is so beautiful! Its light always enchants the heart and evokes memories of peaceful days gone by. Phong slowly sipped his tea. The aroma of Pu-erh tea mingled with the scent of baked goods, strangely fragrant. This afternoon, he was still resentful of the heavy rain that had prevented him from returning to the city after his recent volunteer trip to an orphanage. Now, sitting here enjoying tea, gazing at the moon, and encountering the familiar scent of baked goods that had been a childhood longing, that unwarranted resentment vanished. And, especially, when he secretly glanced at Nguyet's face. She was beautiful. Her ethereal beauty was enough to overshadow everything else around him.
The cake is delicious! You're so skillful!
- You're too kind! The cake is probably delicious because I followed my grandmother's recipe.
Nguyệt made mooncakes using her grandmother's old wooden mold. Pressing the cakes with a wooden mold was more laborious than with a plastic one. Every Mid-Autumn Festival, her grandmother would press hundreds of beautiful mooncakes like that. When she accompanied her grandmother to the orphanage, seeing the eager eyes of the orphaned children made her grandmother tremble with joy. Some were about Nguyệt's age, some were tiny, some were taller and scrawny. One little boy, usually huddled in the corner of the room, was always the last to receive his share of the mooncakes. Her grandmother would hug him, stroking his sparse, sun-scorched hair. The two of them would always whisper to each other, conversations that Nguyệt could never hear.
“In this life, even without the sun, there’s still the moon to guide you. Just live calmly, don’t be afraid! Knowing how to live is enough, Nguyet!” The old woman’s faith endured through the years. Grandma passed away, and Nguyet followed the long journeys to the city. Busyness lessened Nguyet’s loneliness, but it couldn’t erase the sadness of her grandmother’s absence.

***

Every Mid-Autumn Festival, Nguyet would sit alone on the porch, waiting for the moon to rise after distributing the fragrant mooncakes to the children at the orphanage. A living ritual. A way for her to be close to her grandmother. This year, Phong and his father were her unexpected guests.
- How long have you been like this? Baking cakes alone. Delivering cakes to children alone. Eating mooncakes alone?
- Since my grandmother passed away.
- You know, your grandmother promised that somehow she would bring me back to meet the right person I needed to meet.
And then, by some miraculous means, Phong found his way back to this home, remembering that someone had stayed for many years, always giving him a warm hug. Was it thanks to the smell of her baked goods?
How could Nguyet know about the beautiful fairy tales that her grandmother told the boy with the sun-scorched hair? But her grandmother didn't tell her why the children in that orphanage were so destitute, growing up without anyone to call them mother or father. These children suddenly appeared, without a history, without papers… just like in some fantastical story, where a stork snatched a child and gave it to an adult, and the child called those adults father and mother. Those children were always luckier than him.

***

Phong hesitated, looking at her as the full moon shone brightly in the stillness, caressed by the gentle breeze.
- If you're uncomfortable, I'll send the little girl...
No, being an orphan once is painful enough for her!
Outside, the moon rose. The little girl held the fragrant baked cake in her palm. Suddenly, she cupped her hands and gently brought the cake to her face:
- Can I… call you Mom?
Tears welled up in Nguyet's eyes. The little girl, like her, was lost in life without a mother. She hugged the child close, gazing up at the moon. Grandma would be happy that her daughter was living the life she had always wished for. The moonlight might be lonely, but it couldn't leave anyone alone.
- I have a small bakery in the city. It would be even more special with your baked goods. Or rather, even more special with you!
The moon shone brightly that night in Nguyet's sleep.