Until the Next Life

Episode 5: Traditions & Temptations

April arrived, and with it, the heat. The air over Luang Prabang shimmered, heavy with the scent of frangipani and smoke from cooking fires. Children laughed in the streets, throwing buckets of river water at anyone who passed. Bamboo baskets overflowed with flowers and fragrant herbs; women wove new sinh skirts of bright silk for the holiday.

It was Pi Mai Lao — Lao New Year, a time of renewal, cleansing, and joy.

For three days, the town would be alive with music, dance, and water, washing away misfortune and welcoming blessings. Even the French soldiers, who seemed so stiff in their boots and uniforms, could not escape being drenched by playful splashes from mischievous children.

The First Splash

Khamla walked with Somchai to the market, balancing a silver bowl filled with perfumed water and flower petals. She wore her best sinh, deep indigo with gold thread at the hem. Her long black hair was pinned with a spray of dok champa blossoms, glowing like stars against the dark silk.

As she crossed the square, a sudden splash of water struck her shoulder. She gasped, turning sharply — and saw him. Étienne stood nearby, his uniform soaked through, hair dripping, his usually stern face softened by an unguarded smile. A group of village boys laughed and ran, proud of their boldness.

Khamla’s heart stuttered. She told herself it was only surprise — only anger — but her fingers tightened on the bowl.

Their eyes met across the square. For once, there was no defiance, no orders, no weapons. Only the absurdity of water dripping down his foreign face, and the soft curve of a smile he had never shown her before.

She turned quickly, cheeks burning. But something inside her cracked, like the first sound of thunder before the rain.

At the Procession

On the second day, the Phra Bang, the sacred Buddha image, was carried from the temple in a grand procession. Monks in saffron robes walked barefoot, holding parasols and fans, while villagers offered water and flowers along the path. Gongs rang, women sang, children danced.

Khamla stood among the crowd, pressing her palms together in respect. As holy water sprinkled over the golden statue, she silently prayed for her family’s safety — and, to her shame, for clarity about the foreign soldier who haunted her thoughts.

Then she saw him again. Étienne stood on the edge of the procession, not mocking, not intruding, only watching with quiet awe. His men looked restless, but he seemed utterly still, as though the sight of the Buddha carried some meaning even for him.

For a moment, their gazes crossed through incense smoke and drifting petals. Khamla’s chest ached with confusion.

A Quiet Encounter

That evening, after the procession, villagers gathered by the Mekong to float candles and flowers on the water, sending away bad fortune. The river glowed with hundreds of tiny flames, drifting like stars upon its surface.

Khamla knelt at the bank, setting her small candle boat upon the current. She whispered a wish she dared not say aloud.

When she rose, she saw him again — Étienne, standing a little apart, watching the flames with a distant, almost mournful expression. He held no candle, only his empty hands.

On impulse, before she could stop herself, she stepped closer.

“You must also give something,” she said softly, her voice trembling though she did not know why.

He looked at her, startled by her words. The interpreter was not near; he could not understand. Yet perhaps her tone, the gesture of her hand toward the river, told him enough.

Slowly, he knelt, picked a single frangipani blossom from the ground, and placed it on the water. Their eyes met as the current carried it away.

Neither spoke. Neither needed to.

The festival roared on around them — music, water, laughter — but for Khamla, the world had narrowed to that single blossom, that single gaze, that single unspoken thread tying her to the man she should hate.

It was foolish. Dangerous. Impossible.

And yet, beneath the fire of April and the blessings of Pi Mai, temptation bloomed like the river flowers.