She grinned wide beneath the paper lanterns—Hà, maybe twenty-six, cheeks flushed from the sun and the sugary rush of her drink. In one hand: a tall plastic cup of nước sâm or maybe trà quế, the cinnamon stick bobbing like a flagpole of flavor. In the other: a peace sign flashed without hesitation, two fingers lifted, the universal language of lighthearted youth.
She posed for the photo, then burst into laughter—head tilted back, shoulders shaking, the cinnamon stick still poking out like a bamboo straw from a too-sweet dream.
“Làm ơn chụp đẹp nha!” she shouted playfully. Make me look good!
A breeze lifted her shirt slightly. Lanterns swayed. The ice clinked. Somewhere nearby, someone was frying bánh chuối.
She didn’t care about the shot.
She cared about the moment.
And for that brief, golden second on a Hội An corner,
she was all joy,
all laughter,
all peace—
with cinnamon in her hand and sunlight on her smile.