The Days of Yesterday - Once were

Chapter 3

I arrived in Sai Gon! Before I could even settle, the city welcomed me with a heavy downpour. Standing under the bus shelter, my mind was a whirlwind of thoughts. When I’d told Mom I was coming here, she’d sent me a detailed list—addresses and phone numbers of relatives—but I brushed it off:

• “Mom, let me handle it. I don’t want to bother anyone.” Truth was, I never needed her to arrange anything. I’ve always hated relying on family. Since I was little, I’ve lived away from home, handling school, exams, and now enrollment all on my own—no parental drop-offs or worries about food and lodging.

Sai Gon was rainy yet bustling and noisy, but it wasn’t entirely new to me—I’d grown up in Can Tho, after all. My stomach growled with hunger, and I cursed my friend, who’d kept me waiting forever despite my texts blowing up his phone. Around me, the air buzzed with the clamor of street vendors, motorbike taxis haggling for fares, and the shouts of volunteers in green uniforms helping out-of-town students like me starting their Sai Gon journey. I smiled to myself—soon, I’d be a student too. Next year, I’d try wearing that green uniform to feel what it’s like to be a volunteer.

Finally, that rascal showed up. I was about to unleash a tirade to vent my frustration when I noticed a pretty girl standing beside him. Opening my mouth to curse now would ruin my image, so I softened my tone:

• “What took you so long, man? I’ve been waiting two hours, you jerk!”

• “The rain flooded the roads, and the bike stalled,” he said. My friend was kind-hearted; when he heard I was coming to Sai Gon, he’d called to offer help. I hate troubling family, but with friends, it’s different—they’re more laid-back.

• “What? A big city like this gets flooded? Man, I’d have to swim to get around—joking, right?”

• “Heh, you’ll see. Come on, let’s head to my place, drop your stuff, and I’ll take you to where I work.”

So, we wrestled our way on his rickety bike—borrowed specially from his boss to pick up this new student. By the time we reached the boarding house, we were soaked like drowned rats, our bags reeking of mud and the stench of knee-deep floodwater.

• “Leave your stuff there; I’ll sort it. Go shower first, then we’ll hit the spot where I work.”

I grabbed a random set of clothes and ducked into the bathroom. Then I noticed something—girl’s stuff in the room. I jolted and called out to my friend:

• “Hey, Duy, why’s there girl’s stuff in here?”

• “Oh, that’s my sister’s. Forgot to tell you—she’s staying here to study sewing for a while.”

• “Will it be okay for me to stay here?”

• “No worries, my sister’s easygoing. I already told her. Hurry up and shower—you’re running late.”

After washing up, Duy took me to the rice shop where he worked. The owner, a kind woman, treated her workers well. Most of the staff were students, helping with the business in exchange for free food, lodging, and a small stipend for school expenses. After a brief chat, she liked my demeanor and agreed to let me help out and stay temporarily until enrollment, since my university had multiple campuses and I wasn’t sure where I’d end up.

My first day serving rice was brutal. I ran around like crazy, packing meals, pouring soup into bags… Working there taught me a lot—how to neatly bag soup without burning my hands, how to tie sauce packets with practice, how to greet customers, calculate bills, and clear tables. The shop attracted all kinds of people, so I picked up skills in observation and conversation that’d help me later in life. It was tiring, but I enjoyed it—mostly for the learning, not the money.

That evening, I returned to the boarding house, my body aching. Duy went to shower, and I lay there massaging my arms and legs. Footsteps approached the door, and a girl walked in—I figured she must be Duy’s sister. She wasn’t stunning, but I froze for a second (to compose myself) because her outfit was way too revealing. Later, I learned she liked short clothes because Sai Gon gets insanely hot.

• “You’re M, right?” Lan smiled brightly, sitting in front of me.

• “Y-yes, you’re Lan, right?” I stammered, a bit flustered. She sat too close, and her feminine scent was making me warm.

• “When did you get here? Where’s Duy? Have you eaten?”

• “He’s showering. I ate at the shop earlier—Mrs. Suong’s place.”

• “Oh, Mrs. Suong’s shop?” she asked, opening a white bag she’d been holding.

• “Yeah…”

• “Grab a couple of glasses from the table. I got two Thai desserts—eat with me for fun. I meant to buy for me and Duy, but since you’re here, let him skip out, and we’ll share.”

Duy, hearing his portion was cut, yelled from the bathroom like a pig being slaughtered:

• “Hey, that’s unfair!”

• “Hush, you! We’ve got a guest today—tough it out!” Lan laughed heartily.

• “You favor looks over family!” he grumbled.

But she ended up pouring the dessert into three glasses for all of us. We ate, watched TV, and listened to her and Duy chat about random stuff—none of which I understood, like a newbie at a market without a duck to join in. Soon, her boyfriend dropped by with a bag of plums and guavas, turning the room into another market scene. I sat quietly, watching TV, occasionally accepting a piece of fruit from Lan or answering casual questions from her and Toan, her boyfriend. Everyone was warm and friendly. Later, Toan and I bonded over soccer—late-night MU matches became our thing, dragging each other to cafes to cheer.

When Toan left, we prepared for bed. Duy tossed a pillow at my face and arranged the sleeping spots:

• “I’ll take the inside, you sleep in the middle and share the blanket with her, okay?”

• “What? Me in the middle?” I yelped, surprised. I’d assumed, as a stranger, Duy should sleep between us since she was a girl.

• “Yeah, I’m used to the inside. Just sleep in the middle, don’t be shy.”

• “But… I…” I pretended to hesitate.

• “She won’t eat you, don’t worry,” Lan said with a laugh, stepping out of the bathroom.