The Bakery and the Letters

Four years. Four moon seasons, but she has never returned to this place. During the days far away from the city, she thought that time would ease the pain, but every Mid-Autumn Festival, the smell of baked cakes from the bakeries on the street would make her heart ache. Today, when she got off the last bus, when the familiar smell from this small alley wafted over, she realized that there were memories that could never be forgotten.

From inside came the steady hum of the mixer, mixed with a light cough. She knew it was Aunt Ngoc preparing for the afternoon batch of cakes. Would her skinny hands still have enough strength to knead the dough, to roll out each layer of cake? She still remembered the early mornings when Nguyen woke up at 5am to help his mother prepare the ingredients, his eyes focused as he rolled each mung bean ball, each fragrant piece of meat.

The familiar wooden door creaked. Aunt Ngoc stepped out, her hair was more gray than before, her back was clearly bent. But her eyes still lit up when she saw Hue . Tears were about to fall but she tried to hold them back. “Hue is back, my child?”, her voice trembled, “I have been waiting for you forever.”

The space inside was still the same, except the cake shelves were emptier and the cake molds were fewer. The corner of the table where Nguyen used to sit to design cakes now had only a small chair placed against the wall, on which was placed a thick notebook. Hue recognized it immediately, it was the recipe book that Nguyen had handwritten line by line, since the early days of his apprenticeship.

“I still make cakes according to Nguyen’s recipe,” Aunt Ngoc said, her voice trembling slightly as she handed the notebook to Hue. Nguyen’s clear handwriting appeared before Hue’s eyes: “Moon cake with green bean filling, 5:2 ratio of sticky rice flour and rock sugar, remember to add a little cooking oil to make the cake soft. Hue likes soft cakes more than chewy cakes”… Each word was like a whisper from the past, making her heart ache.

“I’m old now, my eyes are weak, my hands are shaking, but every time this season comes, I think of you. I think of the times Nguyen talked about you.” The afternoon gradually fell. The two sat together, listening to the steady sound of the oven. The smell of the cakes baking wafted from the kitchen, mingling with the sunlight slanting through the small window. Hue looked out into the backyard, where there was still a pot of cinnamon flowers that Nguyen planted, the tiny flowers in full bloom. Aunt Ngoc whispered, “Every Mid-Autumn Festival, I make cakes not because I want to sell them. I just make them because I miss Nguyen.”

At night, Aunt Ngoc led Hue into the small room behind the shop, where Nguyen often took a nap on busy days. The room was the same as usual, with a bed, a small wardrobe, and a wooden box on the table. Alone in the room, Hue opened the box. Inside were notes, sketches of cake packaging, and at the bottom of the box was an unsent letter. Familiar lines flowed before her eyes under the light:

“Dear Hue, I am writing these lines late at night, having just finished a trial batch of mooncakes for this year’s Mid-Autumn Festival. I have wanted to tell you for a long time, I want to expand this bakery. Not only sell mooncakes but also teach others how to make them, so that the family recipes will not be lost. I dream of a small space where you can display your paintings, where we can together send our love through each cake...”.

The last lines made Nguyen burst into tears: "Darling, I believe that love is like baking a cake, it takes time, it takes patience for the cake to cook evenly and be delicious. I want to spend my whole life loving you." Outside the window, the full moon was full. Hue sat there until late at night, listening to the distant crowing of roosters from the neighbor's house, listening to the occasional motorbike passing through the small alley.

***

Early the next morning, the sound of the mixer echoed from downstairs. Hue woke up to the smell of baking bread, a familiar scent that made her feel indescribably peaceful. Aunt Ngoc was standing by the stove stirring a pot of mung bean paste. Her hair was tied neatly, her hands still skillful despite the shaking of her old age.

Hue stood next to her aunt, watching each familiar action. The pot of mung beans boiled, the aroma of pandan leaves mixed in the morning air. “Auntie, can I stay here?”. Aunt Ngoc turned around to look at Hue “Are you serious?”. “Really, auntie. I want to make cakes with you, I want to continue what Nguyen left unfinished…”.

Outside, the gentle rays of early autumn sunlight shone through the banana trees. No one said anything more, just the sound of boiling water and the smell of baking cakes.

***

That Mid-Autumn Festival, the small bakery was bustling again. Hue stayed behind, waking up early every morning with Aunt Ngoc to prepare the ingredients. In the afternoons, Hue sat at the table where Nguyen often designed the cake packaging. She opened the notebook again, reading each line he left behind. There were recipes he had not tried, there were ideas he had only briefly written down: “Durian cake - testing the ratio of durian and mung bean”, “Baking class for children, once a month”...

The night before the Mid-Autumn Festival, Hue sat alone in the quiet bakery. The boxes of cakes were carefully packaged and lined up on the shelves. Not as many as usual, but each cake was made with love. She took out Nguyen’s letter and placed it on the table under the yellow light.

She picked up the pen and continued writing, “Nguyen, now I understand. True love never ends, it just changes form. I will stay here, and continue what you left unfinished. This little bakery will forever be the place to preserve our love and the dreams you once cherished.”

Outside, the full moon hung over the mossy roof. The scent of baked cakes still lingered in the late night, mingling with the scent of osmanthus flowers in the yard. And Hue knew that, although Nguyen was no longer here, his love for her, for this small bakery, would never fade.

Short story: MAI THI TRUC

Source: https://baocantho.com.vn/tiem-banh-va-nhung-la-thu-a191751.html