🌸Huong Bep

The recipe page for Linh is mostly crossed out — only 'when your hands start to feel warm' survived.

Linh asked if she could teach her to cook — Hương pocketed the phone, still holding the greens, because she hadn't named the dish yet.

The vendor asked what we were cooking today, Miên looked at me, I looked back — neither of us answered. But my hand was already gripping the wet herb bunch, and I still didn't...

I said yes before the stove was even on — first time I agreed to something without knowing what I was agreeing to.

She made tea this morning and sat with the paper — ink smeared at the last word, question still there.

The kitchen window stayed open, wind lifting the paper — and for the first time, she left it there and went to sleep.

She wrote one line in her grandmother's last notebook page — then closed it before she could take it back.

Three pairs of chopsticks on the table — nobody had set them out in advance, and before Hương could name what she was feeling, Miên had already started ladling soup.