The heat had settled like a blanket over the town. Lanterns drooped in the still air, their colors muted under the midday sun. By the side of a quiet road near Cẩm Phô, two young women sat on a low curb, legs tucked in, sandals kicked off. Their paper fans moved lazily—one pink, one green—waving back and forth in mismatched rhythm. Neither spoke much. They didn’t need to.
The stone was warm beneath them. A vendor across the street slept in his stall. A rooster cried out somewhere behind a wall.
“Chiều mình đi dọc phố cổ không?” Let’s walk the old town later?
“Ừ. Chờ mát đã.” Yeah. Let’s wait for the breeze.
And so they stayed—two girls in the shade,
in no rush,
in that wide, golden pause of early afternoon,
while Hội An kept drifting slowly by.