Page 12 of A Banh Mi for Two
A notebook.
I pick it up and flip through the pages. Whoever wrote this scribbled out most of it, the black ink practically bleeding through the paper. A line catches my attention.
This park sells the best Cá Viên Chiên! The stuffed fish balls are sweet, spicy, and explode with roe when you chew. It’s best to enjoy the delicious snack while watching the sunset with someone! The owner is a working mom with the cutest daughter. Whenever you get the chance to come to this park, do support them!
The very caption from the photo A Bánh Mì for Two posted on Instagram. Today. Hours ago. My heart pounds wildly in my chest. They were here—are they still here? A million thoughts are racing through my head. Where are they? Out of all these strangers, whose face belongs to the person that wrote the blog that made me want to come to Sài Gòn? I have to tell Cindy.
My feet pivot, and for the umpteenth time today, my body collides into someone.
Chapter SevenLAN
My body meets something soft, a mixture of jasmine blossoms and citrus overwhelming my nose. Pain flares up in my ankles and I hiss. Blinking, my eyes adjust to the girl in front of me. High cheekbones, inky-black hair reflecting the glow of streetlights, and dimples. Dimples that move with every expression. Like right now, when her eyebrows crease and her eyes brighten as she looks at me.
“Tr?i oi! I’m so sorry!” she exclaims in Vietnamese, her American accent coming through.
Again—what’s with foreigners speaking to me in Vietnamese, then immediately following up with English? Just pick a damn language to butcher.
“I’m so sorry,” she says again. A Vietnamese girl. Wait, the Vietnamese American girl from earlier. No wonder her Vietnamese sounded better than that white couple’s.
“Are you okay?” She offers a hand.
Rubbing my bruised backside, I drag myself up and open my mouth to say something, when my eyes zero in on the notebook at her side.
Scrambling, I snatch it back, gripping the leather binder against my chest and feeling its familiar weight as my heart pounds. “Where did you get this?” I ask in English.
She blinks. “It was on the ground…” She reaches for the notebook again, but I shove it behind my back. “Is it yours? If not, I’m returning it to its owner.”
I sigh exaggeratedly. Great. “Of course it’s mine! It’s my handwriting and my notebook.”
She chews on her bottom lip, crossing her arms. “Recite something you wrote, then.”
I narrow my eyes. “You’re kidding.”
“I’m not. Prove to me that it’s yours.”
Huffing, I tap my feet. “I could run right now. I have the notebook.” I should definitely run.
“I used to run in high school,” she points out. I resist the urge to roll my eyes. What does an American brat have on me? “And I could scream that you stole it.”
I gape at her, throwing my arms up defensively. It’s my notebook. She’s the one that stole it. “Fine. I wrote about coming to this park earlier and eating cá viên chiên. Is that enough?”
“Shit.” Her eyes bulge, flickering up and down my body as the realization appears on her face and a huge smile blooms. “You are the blogger of A Bánh Mì for Two. I’ve been a big follower of the blog and I just can’t believe I’m actually seeing you in person. I’ve read every single post and even have my notifications turned on for when you post and how come you haven’t written in months—”
“No,” I cut her off. “I’m not.”
There’s no harm in a stranger finding out, but at the same time, I’m not ready. Maybe I shouldn’t have panicked and lied, but knowing that one of my readers is right here and in front of me is overwhelming. I’m scared. What if she’s disappointed in me? What if I can’t give her an answer on the whys and oh-but-when-will-you-start-writing-agains of my hiatus? Especially if the girl in front of me is Evermore13, who is supposedly in Vi?t Nam right now. I don’t want to disappoint her—to have her know that I’m just a regular girl who was prettier in her head and not a have-it-all-together blogger with an idealized life.
I’ve already lied. There’s no turning back now.
She chews on her bottom lip. “But… the Instagram caption. What you just said. This specific park. Everything matches. It’s you. It’s fate,” she whispers.
Fate? I sigh in disbelief. “It’s not me, okay?” I exhale deeply, raising my pitch. “Leave me alone.”
“Wait—”
I turn on my heel, ready to run back to the tiny house with the mango trees.
The girl tugs at my arm instead, and I flinch at the skin-to-skin contact, goose bumps lining my arm while her gaze meets mine, unwavering. “I came to Sài Gòn because of you—your blog. You helped me understand how Vi?t Nam actually is, and your words convinced me to see my homeland for the first time. I don’t know why you haven’t written in so long, but I hope you know that your words have impacted so many people. And I’m one of them.”
