Returning to Nồi Rang Market

A few days ago, Mr. Old Man found his way back to Nồi Rang Market—a rural market bearing a simple, rustic name that has existed for centuries.

This time, he brought along a special gift.

A large, carefully framed photograph—of the bánh xèo lady, who, six years ago, had quietly stepped into his writing with an image so beautiful, so genuine.

On the way there, Mr. Old Man imagined a joyful reunion.
He would see her again, along with the mì Quảng vendor, the vegetable lady, the man selling old “alchemy” goods…
Familiar faces that seemed as though they would appear the moment he stepped into the market.

But life rarely follows a script.

Two old men, each pushing a folding bicycle, made their way through the market. People looked on with curiosity:

“Where did you cycle from?”
“From Da Nang.”
“That’s far!”
“Well, Quảng Nam and Đà Nẵng are one now—so not that far.”

That was just for fun.

In truth, this time Mr. Old Man had taken a bus, getting off near Cửa Đại Bridge before cycling the last stretch—saving himself the effort he used to take pride in.

The plan was simple: eat bánh xèo to his heart’s content, then surprise her with the gift.

But… the stall was empty that day.

He asked around. The women in the market were quick to help:

“Go out to the crossroads, near the post office. Ask for Thúy, the bánh xèo lady—everyone knows her.”

So the two of them went looking.

The market was still the same.
Still slow, still deeply rural.
Still selling things rarely seen elsewhere: molded cane sugar, clay stoves, little earthen braziers…

As if the past six years had only passed for him—while the market itself had remained untouched.

At a small noodle shop near the post office, Mr. Old Man asked again.

A young man smiled and pointed:

“That’s her, over there.”

The woman turned, slightly surprised—then recognized him.

Mr. Old Man, on the other hand… needed a few seconds.

The bánh xèo lady from years ago looked thinner now, a bit pale, and older.

But then again—
six years have passed.

Mr. Old Man spoke, partly to her, partly to the curious ears around them:

“I came back to Nồi Rang Market today with a small gift for you. I think you’ll like it.”

He opened his backpack and took out the photograph.

In it, a young woman in a white baseball cap was pouring bánh xèo—fresh, vibrant, and quietly confident.

Thúy held the photo, looking at it for a long moment.

“What a surprise… It’s beautiful. Thank you.”

No fuss.
Just a moment standing still—somewhere between past and present.

His friend took a few quick photos to mark an unexpected reunion.

Then they left, cycling toward the riverside.

They sat down, sipping tea and coffee they had brought along.

In front of them, a few boats rested quietly, poles anchored into the riverbed.

It suddenly felt as though time here did not pass in the way one usually imagines.

It simply flows—silently—leaving people changed, while the place remains.

They say that centuries ago, this was once a busy trading port.
Foreign ships came to buy clay stoves and local produce, then sailed away.

Now, what remains is just a rural market.

And a photograph… finally returned.

_________

Mr. Old Man