Mai Linh’s feet pounded the cracked pavement as she wove through the chaotic streets of Saigon. The air hung heavy with exhaust fumes and the pungent aroma of fish sauce from nearby food stalls. A cacophony of honking horns and shouting vendors assaulted her ears as she dodged between sputtering scooters and precariously balanced bicycles.
“Coi chừng!” she called out, narrowly avoiding collision with an elderly woman balancing twin baskets of mangoes on a shoulder pole. The woman scowled but Mai Linh was already gone, darting around the corner onto Đồng Khởi Street.
She was late. Again. Mrs. Tran would not be pleased.
Mai Linh’s heart raced as she approached the weathered storefront of Tran’s Tailoring. She paused to smooth her ao dai and catch her breath before slipping inside. The familiar jingle of the door’s bell announced her arrival.
“You’re late.” Mrs. Tran’s stern voice carried from the back room. “That’s the third time this week.”
“I’m sorry,” Mai Linh said, bowing her head as she hurried to her workstation. “The streets were so crowded today. I’ll stay late to make up the time.”
Mrs. Tran emerged from behind a rack of half-finished dresses, her salt-and-pepper hair pulled back in a severe bun. She fixed Mai Linh with a look of disapproval. “See that you do. We have orders to fill.”
Mai Linh nodded, threading a needle with practiced ease. As she began stitching a delicate floral pattern onto silk, she couldn’t help but overhear the hushed conversation between Mrs. Tran and her husband near the front counter.
“…heard from my cousin in Huế,” Mr. Tran was saying. “The Việt Cộng are mobilizing. Could be planning something big.”
“Shh,” Mrs. Tran hissed. “Not so loud. You’ll scare the customers.”
Mai Linh’s fingers faltered, the needle pricking her thumb. A bead of blood welled up, stark against the pristine white silk. She sucked in a sharp breath, grabbing a scrap of fabric to dab at the stain before it could set.
The Trần’s whispered words echoed in her mind as she worked. Mobilizing. Planning something big. A shiver ran down her spine despite the oppressive heat.
She thought of her mother and little brother Bao at home in their tiny apartment. What would become of them if the fighting intensified? How much longer could they scrape by on her meager seamstress’s wages?
Mai Linh shook her head, forcing the dark thoughts away. She had to focus on her work. One careful stitch at a time.
The day passed in a blur of fabric and thread. By the time Mrs. Tran flipped the sign to “Closed,” Mai Linh’s fingers ached and her eyes strained in the fading light. She gathered her things quickly, eager to get home.
“Don’t be late again tomorrow,” Mrs. Tran called as Mai Linh slipped out the door.
The streets were marginally less crowded as Mai Linh made her way to the market. She needed to pick up a few things for dinner – some fish if she could afford it, maybe some fresh greens. Her stomach growled at the thought.
The market was a riot of color and sound. Stalls overflowed with vibrant produce and aromatic spices. Vendors called out their wares, haggling with customers over prices. Mai Linh wove through the crush of bodies, scanning for the best deals.
She was examining a pile of water spinach when a flash of movement caught her eye. A tall man with sandy hair and sun-bronzed skin was crouched nearby, peering through the viewfinder of an expensive-looking camera. His weathered clothing and out-of-place appearance marked him as a foreigner – probably American.
Mai Linh watched curiously as he snapped photos, capturing the vibrant chaos of the market. There was something in the way he framed his shots, finding beauty in the ordinary, that intrigued her.
The man lowered his camera, seeming to sense her gaze. Their eyes met and he offered a hesitant smile.
“Xin chào,” he said, his accent clumsy but earnest.
“Hello,” Mai Linh replied in English, surprising herself. She rarely had occasion to use the language she’d learned in school.
The man’s eyebrows rose. “You speak English? That’s great. I’m Thomas. Thomas Baker.” He stuck out his hand.
Mai Linh shook it tentatively. “Mai Linh,” she said. “Are you a tourist?”
Thomas shook his head. “Photojournalist. I’m here covering the war for an American magazine.” His expression grew somber. “Though I prefer capturing moments like this – everyday life, you know? There’s so much more to Vietnam than just the fighting.”
Mai Linh nodded, oddly touched by his words. “It’s true. We are more than just a war.”
They chatted for a few minutes, Thomas asking about her life in Saigon. Mai Linh found herself opening up more than she’d intended, describing her work as a seamstress and her family.
A commotion nearby startled them both – two women arguing loudly over the price of fish. Mai Linh glanced at the setting sun and gasped.
“I’m sorry, I have to go,” she said hurriedly. “My mother will worry.”
Thomas looked disappointed but nodded in understanding. “It was nice meeting you, Mai Linh. Maybe I’ll see you around the market again sometime.”
Mai Linh offered a small smile before melting into the crowd. Her heart was beating faster than usual as she hurried home, and she told herself it was just from the brisk walk.
The apartment was stifling when Mai Linh arrived, the lone electric fan doing little to dispel the heat. Her mother stood at the tiny stove, stirring a pot of fragrant broth.
“You’re late,” Mrs. Nguyen said without turning around. “I was getting worried.”
“I’m sorry, Mẹ,” Mai Linh replied, setting down her bag of vegetables. “The market was very crowded.”
Her mother made a noncommittal sound. “Well, wash up and set the table. Dinner is almost ready.”
Mai Linh did as she was told, the routine comfortingly familiar. As she laid out the chipped bowls and tarnished chopsticks, her little brother Bao burst through the door.
“Mai!” he cried, flinging himself at her. “Look what I drew today!”
Mai Linh laughed, ruffling his hair. “Let me see, little artist.”
Bao proudly held up a sheet of paper covered in colorful crayon drawings. Mai Linh’s breath caught as she took in the scenes – a busy street market, women in ao dai, children flying kites. Despite the crude renderings, there was a vibrancy and life to the images that tugged at her heart.
“It’s wonderful, Bao,” she said softly. “You have a real talent.”
Mrs. Nguyen glanced over, her stern expression softening slightly. “Yes, he does. Though I wish he’d spend more time on his schoolwork.”
“I do both, Mẹ!” Bao protested. “My teachers say I’m doing well.”
Their mother just shook her head, ladling out steaming bowls of phở. “Eat up, both of you. You’re too skinny.”
As they ate, Mai Linh couldn’t help but notice the worry lines etched around her mother’s eyes, the way her gaze kept drifting to the window.
“Is everything alright, Mẹ?” she asked hesitantly.
Mrs. Nguyen sighed. “I heard rumors at the market today. Talk of increased fighting, maybe even here in Saigon.” She shook her head. “I worry for you two. These are dangerous times.”
Mai Linh reached out to squeeze her mother’s hand. “We’ll be alright, Mẹ. We always have been.”
But as she lay in bed that night, listening to the distant rumble of artillery fire, Mai Linh wasn’t so sure. She thought of Thomas and his camera, capturing moments of beauty amid the chaos. She wished she could see the world through his lens, find hope in the midst of uncertainty.
With that thought, she drifted into an uneasy sleep.
The next few weeks passed in a blur of long workdays and sleepless nights. Tension hung over Saigon like a gathering storm. More soldiers appeared on the streets, their faces grim. Mai Linh tried to lose herself in her work, in the precise dance of needle and thread, but anxiety gnawed at her constantly.
She found herself looking for Thomas whenever she visited the market, though she told herself it was foolish. He was just a stranger, an American who would eventually go home and forget all about Vietnam and its people.
And yet, when she finally spotted him again one sweltering afternoon, her heart leapt.
He was leaning against a wall, camera in hand, observing the ebb and flow of market life. When he saw her, a wide smile broke across his face.
“Mai Linh!” he called, waving her over. “I was hoping I’d run into you again.”
She approached hesitantly, suddenly shy. “Hello, Thomas. Still taking pictures?”
He nodded enthusiastically. “Always. In fact, I was wondering if you’d like to see some of them? I developed a bunch of photos from around the city.”
Mai Linh hesitated. She should get home, help her mother with dinner. But curiosity won out. “Alright,” she said. “Just for a little while.”
Thomas led her to a small café tucked away on a side street. The owner greeted him by name, suggesting he was a regular. They settled at a corner table and Thomas pulled out a stack of photos.
Mai Linh gasped softly as she flipped through them. Thomas had an incredible eye, capturing moments of startling beauty and humanity. Children laughing as they splashed in puddles after a rainstorm. An old couple sharing tea on their balcony. A group of monks in vibrant saffron robes.
“These are amazing,” she breathed. “You really see the soul of Saigon.”
Thomas ducked his head, looking pleased. “I’m glad you like them. I try to show the real Vietnam, not just what people back home expect to see.”
They talked for hours, the afternoon slipping away unnoticed. Thomas told her about growing up in a small town in Ohio, how he’d always dreamed of seeing the world. Mai Linh found herself opening up about her own hopes and fears – her desire to someday open her own dress shop, her worries about the future.
“I just want peace,” she said softly. “For my family to be safe. Is that too much to ask?”
Thomas reached out, hesitating before gently squeezing her hand. “It’s not too much at all. I hope you get it, Mai Linh. I really do.”
The touch sent a jolt through her. Mai Linh pulled away, suddenly flustered. “I should go,” she said, standing abruptly. “My mother will worry.”
Thomas looked disappointed but nodded. “Of course. Thank you for spending time with me today. I hope we can do it again sometime.”
Mai Linh hurried home, her thoughts in turmoil. She couldn’t afford to develop feelings for an American, especially not now. He would leave eventually, and she would be left behind with a broken heart.
But as she helped her mother prepare dinner that night, she couldn’t stop thinking about the warmth of Thomas’s hand on hers, the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled. For the first time in months, she felt a flutter of hope in her chest.
The next morning, Mai Linh arrived at work to find the shop in an uproar. Mrs. Tran was arguing loudly with a group of soldiers while her husband tried to calm her down.
“What’s going on?” Mai Linh asked one of the other seamstresses.
The woman shook her head grimly. “They’re closing down the street. Say it’s not safe anymore. We won’t be able to work for who knows how long.”
Mai Linh’s stomach dropped. How would she support her family without her wages? She thought of the meager savings hidden beneath a loose floorboard in their apartment. It wouldn’t last long.
As she left the shop, feeling dazed, a familiar voice called out to her.
“Mai Linh! Are you alright?”
She turned to see Thomas jogging towards her, camera bouncing against his chest. The sight of a friendly face nearly undid her composure.
“My work,” she said, voice thick. “They’re closing it down. I don’t know what I’ll do.”
Thomas’s expression softened with sympathy. He hesitated for a moment before speaking. “Listen, I have an idea. It’s a long shot, but… how would you feel about working with me? As a translator and guide?”
Mai Linh blinked in surprise. “Me? But I’m just a seamstress. I don’t know anything about journalism.”
“You know Saigon,” Thomas said earnestly. “You speak the language, understand the culture. That’s invaluable to me. And your English is excellent. I can pay you – probably more than you made at the shop.”
It was tempting. So tempting. But Mai Linh hesitated. “I don’t know… my mother wouldn’t approve of me working alone with an American man.”
Thomas nodded in understanding. “What if we met somewhere public to work? A café, maybe? And you can bring your brother along sometimes if you’d like. I’d love to see more of his artwork.”
Mai Linh considered for a long moment. It wasn’t ideal, but with the shop closed, what choice did she have? “Alright,” she said finally. “I’ll try it. But only for a little while, until I can find other work.”
Thomas beamed. “Wonderful! Shall we start tomorrow? Say, 9 AM at the café near the market?”
Mai Linh nodded, a mix of anxiety and excitement fluttering in her chest. “I’ll be there.”
That night, she broke the news to her mother. As expected, Mrs. Nguyen was less than thrilled.
“An American? Mai Linh, what are you thinking? It’s not proper.”
“It’s just work, Mẹ,” Mai Linh insisted. “And we need the money. What else can I do?”
Her mother’s shoulders sagged in defeat. “Fine. But be careful. Don’t trust him too much. These Americans, they come and go. They don’t understand our ways.”
Mai Linh nodded, throat tight. “I know, Mẹ. I’ll be careful.”
But as she lay in bed that night, Mai Linh couldn’t help but feel a thrill of anticipation for what the next day might bring.
Working with Thomas opened up a whole new side of Saigon to Mai Linh. They explored hidden temples and bustling markets, quiet neighborhoods and raucous nightclubs. Thomas had an uncanny ability to find beauty in the most unexpected places, and Mai Linh found herself seeing her city through new eyes.
She also found herself growing closer to Thomas in ways that both thrilled and terrified her. He was kind, funny, and genuinely interested in her life and culture. When he looked at her, Mai Linh felt truly seen in a way she never had before.
But always, in the back of her mind, was the knowledge that this couldn’t last. Thomas would leave eventually, return to his life in America. Mai Linh couldn’t afford to let her heart get involved.
One sweltering afternoon, they were exploring a neighborhood Mai Linh had never visited before. Thomas was photographing a group of children playing with homemade kites when a commotion erupted nearby.
“Việt Cộng!” someone shouted. “They’re coming!”
Panic rippled through the crowd. People began running, scooping up children and belongings. Mai Linh felt frozen in place, heart pounding.
Thomas grabbed her hand. “Come on,” he said urgently. “We need to get out of here.”
They ran through winding alleys, the sounds of shouting and gunfire growing closer. Mai Linh’s lungs burned as she struggled to keep up with Thomas’s longer strides.
Finally, they ducked into a narrow doorway, pressing themselves against the wall. Thomas’s arm came around Mai Linh protectively as they waited for the danger to pass.
In that moment, with adrenaline coursing through her veins and Thomas’s warmth against her side, Mai Linh realized with startling clarity that she was falling in love with him.
The thought terrified her.
When they finally made it back to Mai Linh’s neighborhood, Thomas insisted on walking her to her door.
“Are you sure you’re alright?” he asked for the dozenth time. “That was a close call.”
Mai Linh nodded, trying to slow her still-racing heart. “I’m fine. Thank you for getting us out of there.”
Thomas reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. The gentle touch sent shivers down Mai Linh’s spine. “I’m just glad you’re safe,” he said softly.
For a moment, Mai Linh thought he might kiss her. Part of her desperately wanted him to. But then the moment passed, and Thomas stepped back.
“I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asked.
Mai Linh nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She watched him walk away, feeling as though her world had shifted on its axis.
That night, as Mai Linh helped her mother with dinner, she couldn’t stop thinking about Thomas. She was so distracted that she nearly sliced her finger while chopping vegetables.
“Mai Linh,” her mother scolded. “Where is your head today? You need to be more careful.”
“I’m sorry, Mẹ,” Mai Linh said, setting down the knife. “I guess I’m just tired.”
Mrs. Nguyen’s expression softened. “You’ve been working very hard lately. Perhaps you should take a day off?”
Mai Linh shook her head. “We need the money. I’m fine, really.”
Her mother studied her for a long moment. “This American… Thomas. You’re not getting too attached, are you?”
“Of course not,” Mai Linh said quickly. Too quickly. “It’s just work.”
Mrs. Nguyen sighed. “Be careful, my daughter. Men like him, they don’t stay. They have their own lives to return to.”
“I know, Mẹ,” Mai Linh said softly. “You don’t need to worry.”
But as she lay in bed that night, Mai Linh couldn’t help but dream of a future where Thomas did stay, where they built a life together in Saigon. It was a dangerous fantasy, she knew. But she couldn’t quite bring herself to let it go.
The next few weeks passed in a blur of work and increasing tension. The streets of Saigon grew more dangerous by the day. Mai Linh and Thomas had to be more careful about where they went, always on alert for signs of trouble.
Despite the danger – or perhaps because of it – Mai Linh found herself growing even closer to Thomas. They spent long hours talking about their hopes and fears, sharing stories of their childhoods and dreams for the future.
One evening, as they sat in their favorite café going over the day’s photos, Thomas suddenly grew serious.
“Mai Linh,” he said, setting down his camera. “I need to tell you something.”
Her heart clenched. This was it – he was leaving. She braced herself for the blow.
“I’ve been offered a big assignment,” Thomas continued. “Covering the frontlines up north. It’s dangerous, but it could be a huge break for my career.”
Mai Linh nodded, trying to keep her expression neutral. “That’s wonderful,” she said, proud of how steady her voice sounded. “When do you leave?”
Thomas hesitated. “That’s the thing. I… I’m not sure I want to go.”
Mai Linh blinked in surprise. “What? But you said it was a great opportunity.”
“It is,” Thomas agreed. “But I’ve been thinking a lot lately about what’s really important. And I’m not sure chasing the next big story is it anymore.”
He reached across the table, taking her hand. “Mai Linh, I… I think I’m falling in love with you.”
The words hit her like a physical blow. Everything she’d been trying so hard not to feel came rushing to the surface.
“Thomas,” she said, voice barely above a whisper. “You can’t. You’ll have to leave eventually. Go back to America.”
He shook his head. “What if I didn’t? What if I stayed here, in Saigon? With you?”
For a moment, Mai Linh let herself imagine it. A life with Thomas, building something beautiful together amid the chaos of war. But reality came crashing back all too quickly.
“You don’t know what you’re saying,” she said, pulling her hand away. “This isn’t your home. You don’t understand what it’s like to live here, really live here. The danger, the uncertainty.”
“Then help me understand,” Thomas pleaded. “I want to learn, Mai Linh. I want to be part of your world.”
Mai Linh stood abruptly, gathering her things. “I’m sorry, Thomas. I can’t… I need to go.”
She hurried out of the café, ignoring Thomas calling after her. Tears blurred her vision as she made her way home, her heart breaking with every step.
When she arrived at the apartment, Mai Linh found her mother and Bao huddled around the radio, expressions grim.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, dread settling in her stomach.
“Fighting in Huế,” her mother said quietly. “It’s spreading. They say it might reach Saigon soon.”
Mai Linh sank into a chair, the weight of everything crashing down on her. The war, her feelings for Thomas, the uncertain future – it was all too much.
“Mai?” Bao’s small voice broke through her spiraling thoughts. “Are you okay?”
She managed a weak smile for her brother’s sake. “I’m fine, little one. Just tired.”
But as she lay in bed that night, sleep eluding her, Mai Linh knew that nothing was fine. And she had no idea how to fix it.
The next morning dawned gray and oppressive, as if the very sky sensed the tension gripping Saigon. Mai Linh went through the motions of her morning routine, mind still whirling from the events of the previous day.
She had just finished helping her mother prepare breakfast when a commotion outside caught their attention. Shouts and the sound of running feet echoed through the narrow streets.
Mai Linh rushed to the window, heart pounding. What she saw made her blood run cold.
People were fleeing in panic, carrying whatever possessions they could grab. In the distance, she could hear the unmistakable sound of gunfire.
“Mẹ,” she called urgently. “We need to go. Now.”
Her mother appeared beside her, face pale. “Where? Where can we go that’s safe?”
Before Mai Linh could answer, there was a frantic pounding at their door. She opened it to find their elderly neighbor, Mrs. Phan, looking terrified.
“Please,” the old woman begged. “Let us shelter with you. Our home isn’t safe.”
Mai Linh ushered her inside without hesitation. Within minutes, their tiny apartment was crowded with neighbors seeking refuge.
As the sounds of fighting grew closer, Mai Linh’s thoughts turned to Thomas. Was he safe? Had he already left for his assignment up north?
She pushed the worry aside, focusing on helping her mother tend to the frightened people crammed into their home. There was nothing she could do for Thomas now. She had to concentrate on keeping her family safe.
Hours passed in a haze of fear and uncertainty. The gunfire outside grew more intense, punctuated by the occasional explosion that shook the building’s foundation.
As night fell, Mai Linh found herself huddled in a corner with Bao, trying to comfort her terrified brother.
“It’s okay,” she murmured, stroking his hair. “We’ll be alright. I promise.”
But as another explosion rocked the neighborhood, Mai Linh wasn’t sure she believed her own words.
The fighting raged for days. Food and water grew scarce as they remained trapped in the apartment. Mai Linh did her best to ration what little they had, but hunger and thirst took their toll.
On the third day, Bao developed a fever. He tossed and turned on his thin mat, muttering incoherently. Mai Linh pressed a damp cloth to his forehead, feeling helpless.
“He needs medicine,” she told her mother. “I have to try to find some.”
Mrs. Nguyen grabbed her arm. “No! It’s too dangerous out there.”
“We can’t just let him suffer,” Mai Linh argued. “I’ll be careful. I promise.”
Before her mother could protest further, Mai Linh slipped out of the apartment. The streets were eerily quiet, littered with debris and abandoned possessions. She moved cautiously, every sense on high alert.
As she neared the market area, the sound of gunfire erupted nearby. Mai Linh ducked into an alley, heart pounding. She was about to turn back when a familiar voice caught her attention.
“Mai Linh?”
She peered around the corner to see Thomas, camera in hand, crouched behind an overturned vendor’s cart.
“Thomas!” she gasped. “What are you doing here?”
He gestured for her to join him in his makeshift shelter. “Covering the fighting,” he said grimly. “But it’s worse than anyone expected. What are you doing out here? It’s not safe.”
Mai Linh quickly explained about Bao’s illness. Thomas’s expression grew concerned.
“I know where we might be able to find medicine,” he said. “But it’s risky. Are you sure you want to try?”
Mai Linh nodded without hesitation. “I have to. For Bao.”
Thomas took her hand, squeezing it gently. “Alright. Stay close to me.”
They made their way through the war-torn streets, dodging patrols and ducking for cover whenever the fighting grew too close. Finally, they reached a small clinic that had been converted into a makeshift field hospital.
Thomas flashed his press credentials, explaining their situation to a harried-looking nurse. After what felt like an eternity, they emerged with a precious vial of antibiotics.
The journey back was even more harrowing. At one point, they found themselves caught in the crossfire between two groups of soldiers. Thomas shielded Mai Linh with his body as they scrambled for safety.
When they finally reached Mai Linh’s apartment building, both were breathless and shaking with adrenaline.
“Thank you,” Mai Linh said fervently. “I don’t know how to repay you.”
Thomas shook his head. “No need. I’m just glad I could help.” He hesitated, then pulled her into a fierce hug. “Be safe, Mai Linh. Please.”
She clung to him for a moment, allowing herself to draw strength from his embrace. Then she pulled away, clutching the medicine to her chest.
“You too,” she said softly. “Be careful out there.”
With a final lingering look, Mai Linh hurried inside to tend to her brother.
The next few days passed in a blur of anxiety and cautious hope. Bao’s fever finally broke, much to everyone’s relief. But the fighting showed no signs of abating.
Mai Linh found her thoughts constantly drifting to Thomas. Had he made it out safely? Was he still out there, risking his life to document the chaos?
On the fifth day of the offensive, a lull in the fighting allowed some of their neighbors to return to their own homes. Mai Linh’s family finally had a moment to breathe, to take stock of their situation.
As she helped her mother clean up the apartment, Mai Linh broached the subject that had been weighing on her mind.
“Mẹ,” she said hesitantly. “I’ve been thinking. Maybe… maybe we should try to leave Saigon. Go somewhere safer.”
Mrs. Nguyen paused in her sweeping, leaning heavily on the broom. “And go where? This is our home, Mai Linh. Where else would we go?”
“I don’t know,” Mai Linh admitted. “But it’s so dangerous here now. What if next time, we’re not so lucky?”
Her mother was quiet for a long moment. “You’re thinking of going with him, aren’t you? The American?”
Mai Linh flushed. “No, I… that’s not what I meant.”
Mrs. Nguyen sighed, setting aside the broom and taking Mai Linh’s hands in hers. “My daughter. I see the way you look at him. I know you care for him.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Mai Linh said, blinking back tears. “He’ll have to leave eventually. Go back to America.”
“Perhaps,” her mother said softly. “But perhaps not. The heart wants what it wants, Mai Linh. Sometimes we must take risks for love.”
Mai Linh stared at her mother in shock. “Are you saying… you think I should go with him?”
Mrs. Nguyen shook her head. “I’m saying you should follow your heart. Whatever that means. Your father and I, we stayed here through so much hardship because we believed in building a future for our children. But maybe your future lies elsewhere.”
Tears spilled down Mai Linh’s cheeks as she embraced her mother. “Thank you, Mẹ,” she whispered.
But before Mai Linh could sort out her tumultuous emotions, fate intervened once again.
The next morning, she awoke to the sound of frantic pounding on their door. She opened it to find a breathless young boy from down the street.
“The American,” he gasped. “The one with the camera. He’s hurt. They took him to the hospital.”
Mai Linh’s world tilted on its axis. “Which hospital?” she demanded. “Take me there. Now.”
She barely paused to tell her mother where she was going before racing after the boy. The streets were still dangerous, but Mai Linh barely noticed, her entire being focused on reaching Thomas.
When they arrived at the overcrowded hospital, chaos reigned. Mai Linh pushed her way through the throngs of injured and dying, desperately searching for a familiar face.
Finally, she spotted him. Thomas lay on a cot in a corner, his shirt stained with blood. A bandage was wrapped haphazardly around his midsection.
“Thomas,” she cried, rushing to his side. “Oh god, Thomas.”
His eyes fluttered open, focusing on her with effort. “Mai Linh?” he mumbled. “You’re here. You’re safe.”
She took his hand, squeezing it tightly. “I’m here. What happened? Are you alright?”
Thomas managed a weak smile. “Got too close to the action, I guess. Caught some shrapnel. But I’ll be okay.”
A harried-looking doctor appeared, checking Thomas’s bandages. “He’ll live,” he told Mai Linh gruffly. “But he needs rest and proper care. Can you take him somewhere safe?”
Mai Linh nodded without hesitation. “Yes. I’ll take care of him.”
With the help of a kind nurse, she managed to get Thomas back to her family’s apartment. Her mother’s eyes widened at the sight of the injured American but she quickly sprang into action, helping Mai Linh settle him on a makeshift bed.
For the next few days, Mai Linh barely left Thomas’s side. She tended his wounds, coaxed him to eat and drink, and held his hand through feverish nightmares.
As Thomas slowly regained his strength, Mai Linh found her feelings for him crystallizing into something undeniable. She loved him. Deeply, irrevocably.
But still, the question remained – what future could they possibly have together?
Finally, after nearly a week of recovery, Thomas was well enough to sit up and talk. Mai Linh perched on the edge of his makeshift bed, heart pounding.
“Mai Linh,” he said softly. “I need to tell you something.”
She braced herself for the worst. He was leaving. Going back to America. She should have known better than to hope.
“I got a letter,” Thomas continued. “From my editor back home. They… they want me to come back. Say it’s too dangerous here now.”
Mai Linh nodded, throat tight. “Of course. You should go. Be safe.”
Thomas reached out, taking her hand. “The thing is… I don’t want to go. Not without you.”
She stared at him in shock. “What?”
“I love you, Mai Linh,” he said simply. “I know it’s crazy. We come from different worlds. But I’ve never felt about anyone the way I feel about you. I want a life with you. Whether that’s here in Saigon or back in the States or somewhere else entirely.”
Mai Linh’s heart soared even as doubt crept in. “Thomas… you don’t know what you’re saying. You don’t understand what it would mean to stay here.”
“Then help me understand,” he pleaded. “Teach me. I want to learn, Mai Linh. I want to be part of your world.”
She hesitated, torn between hope and fear. “And what about my family? I can’t just leave them.”
“We’ll figure it out,” Thomas said. “Together. If you want to stay here, we’ll stay. If you want to try for a new life