Page 22 of A Banh Mi for Two
I step out and continue down Nguy?n Van Bình Street, glancing at the city-goers alongside me. There are at least twenty bookstores on this street, each one unique and vibrant. I choose a bookstore next to a hoa phu?ng tree and peek inside. The sun glows against the pastel-colored walls. A couple canvases are displayed outside, showcasing paintings bursting with colors.
I marvel at the space, a tiny and cozy lounge with free assortments of mooncakes and tea. I grab a thriller novel before settling into a wooden chair. There are small private spaces separated by partitions on both sides, almost like library cubicles. The partitions can’t drown out the furious typing from the person to my right, though. I try to concentrate, tracing the words with my index finger, but the smacking sound of fingers against the keyboard continues, relentless.
I inhale deeply, opening my mouth, then closing it immediately at the sight of the familiar braid. Her.
A dark green blazer hugs her body, and a faint blush paints her cheeks. No food-stained clothes. No worn sandals. This is a different Lan.
Her eyebrows scrunch, her eyes engrossed in the document she has open. Holding my breath, I arch farther back, straining my body to peek at the computer screen. My heart stops.
Southeast Asia Travel Magazine Open Call Submission.
She left the private message on read, so I had assumed she didn’t want to write. But if she’s typing… she has to be entering the competition. My heart pounds faster. She’s writing again. But for every sentence she puts down, she hits backspace right away. I crane my body farther, inch the divider between the cubicles back to reveal more of Lan. Not realizing the distance thinning between us, I accidentally swipe my elbow against hers, the friction sending goose bumps up my skin. She yelps and jolts up immediately, sending my chair tipping to the ground and me crashing along with it. I brace for the fall and a potential concussion.
But it doesn’t come. Instead, Lan grips my right arm as my head hovers slightly above the floor.
Eyes still closed, I clutch her forearm, flustered. “Thank you.”
Lan’s staring at me, and I can see red flaring across her face before she snatches her arm away, widening the distance between us again. “Um. Hi,” she says. “You can have the space—I was just leaving.”
Great. After all the progress I made after the notebook incident, I still look like a stalker she needs to run away from. “No, no, it’s okay.” Frantic, I say, “I was just leaving, anyway. You can finish up writing the open call submission—”
Shit.
Why did I say that?
Her eyes dart from her computer screen to me. “What about the open call submission…”
I stand up straighter. Maybe it is fate. Maybe something in the sky is conspiring for us to meet again and again—or maybe it’s only accidental—but somehow I ran into her while she was working on the submission post. Maybe I can help?
“I sent you that private message, about the call, and saw you working on it earlier.”
“You sent me the call?” she said, her eyes bulging. “You’re Evermore13? Why didn’t I put two and two together?”
“I want to help you write the story.”
“How?”
“I can…” I hesitate. What can I offer Lan? What do I know that she doesn’t? She’s the one living in this city, breathing in what Sài Gòn has to offer. But maybe, just maybe… I can help, too. “Help you write something new about Sài Gòn from a different perspective. I’m a big reader, fluent in English, got a five on my AP Language test—not that any of this is impressive—but all I’m saying is, I really want to help. Please let me help.”
She inhales deeply, eyes looking everywhere but at me. “Why do you want to help me? Are we going to split the prize—”
“No.” I shake my head. “You can keep the entire prize. But what I told you the other day was true. I don’t know why you haven’t written in so long, and I won’t ask, but I know that you run one of the best blogs out there.”
She doesn’t say anything, still staring at the words on her computer screen, lost in thought.
“You move people with your words, Lan. There’s no way anyone would win but you. The magazine would be lucky to have your post featured.”
I didn’t expect Lan to doubt herself, too. All this time, I imagined her as someone who always gets what she wants, someone who’s never afraid to speak her mind and carry herself with confidence—much like the conviction she exudes throughout her blog. But maybe she’s like me. A girl with just as many insecurities as anyone else.
She relaxes her temple, the corners of her lips curving upward. “Okay. We can try, but there’s no guarantee I can even write a blog post by the deadline.”
My breath quickens. She agrees. She wants my help. I’m helping her, I’m helping A Bánh Mì for Two. “We’ll take it slow—work at your pace.”
She sighs. “Well, I haven’t written anything at all.”
“That’s fine. You just need some inspiration, something to really kick your brain into gear.”
“So, where do we start?”
