Happiness in the Heart of Saigon’s Rainy Day

The rain poured down in torrents, drenching the streets of Saigon and blurring the neon lights into a kaleidoscope of colors. The wind howled furiously, tearing through the narrow alleys and sending the occasional street vendor’s umbrella tumbling across the road. My coat was soaked through, clinging to me like a second skin as I made my way home once again, navigating the bustling streets I knew so well.

Saigon—a city crowded with people, space growing ever scarce. The buildings, once modest and humble, had sprouted into towering monoliths, casting long shadows over the streets below. The air buzzed with the cacophony of horns, shouts, and the hum of motorbikes, all moving in a chaotic dance that somehow made sense to those who lived within it.

I glanced around, noticing the faces of the people who shared the rain-soaked streets with me. Some hurried on with purpose, umbrellas angled against the wind, determined to reach their destination without delay. Others wandered aimlessly, their faces drawn and tired, as if the city itself had worn them down to nothing more than hollow shells.

I felt like a ghost among them, drifting along the streets that had once felt so familiar. The city had changed over the years, and so had I. There was a time when I had walked these streets with lightness in my step, a smile on my lips, and hope in my heart. But now, as I trudged through the rain, the weight of the past pressed down on me like a burden I couldn’t shake.

Yet, there was one thing that had remained constant. You. Through all the changes, all the years, you were always there, waiting for my return.

My pace quickened as I thought of you. The rain seemed less cold, the wind less biting, as I focused on the warmth of the thought of seeing you again. I turned down the familiar street, my heart beginning to race with anticipation. The small, weathered building that had been our home for so many years came into view, its windows glowing softly with the light from within.

I pushed open the gate, the creak of the hinges muffled by the storm, and hurried up the steps to the front door. My hand trembled as I reached for the key in my pocket, the cold metal slipping between my fingers as I fumbled to unlock the door. Finally, the lock clicked open, and I stepped inside, closing the door firmly behind me, shutting out the storm.

The warmth of the room enveloped me, the scent of jasmine tea and the soft crackle of the fireplace filling the air. And there you were, just as I had imagined, waiting for me.

You looked up from the book you were reading, a gentle smile playing on your lips. Your eyes, those same kind, deep eyes that had always seen straight through to my soul, met mine with a mixture of relief and love.

“Welcome home,” you said softly.

I walked over to you, the weight of the world falling away with each step. I sat down beside you, taking your hand in mine. The rain still pounded against the windows, the wind still howled outside, but none of it mattered. I was home. And you were there, as you always had been, waiting for my return.

In that moment, as I sat beside you, I realized that no matter how much the city changed, no matter how much time passed, there would always be a place for me here, with you. Saigon could grow and shift, the world could turn upside down, but you and I—we were unchanging, unbreakable. And that was enough.