The door opened, both stood still, her mother still recognized me immediately, even though her hair was already gray.
I also recognized the girl who used to study Sociology in the same year, who used to sit behind my bicycle walking along the streets of Hanoi in the late 1990s. The girl was graceful and gentle, with a delicate and understanding face.
In those days, we were in love but our families did not accept it. I was a country boy, just graduated, with nothing in hand. She was the only daughter of a director of a large state-owned enterprise. One autumn morning in Hanoi, we broke up in silence, without arguing, without blaming.
After that, she stayed in Hanoi and went to work in her father's company. And I packed my suitcase and went to a mountainous district in the North to apply for a job. I started as a specialist, then deputy head of department, head of department and finally up to higher levels, considered a successful man.
Before that, because I had not forgotten my ex-lover, and then focused on work, at nearly 50 years old, I was still not married. Still young, stylish, and elegant like any successful single man.
In the office, there is an office worker named An (22 years old) who is very intelligent, calm and understanding. And An has a saintly, very gentle face, a face that always makes me feel like it's true or false, I don't know where I've ever seen it, I don't know.
In just a few months, we fell in love with each other and were very compatible in both work and trivial matters, as if there was no age gap.
Until today, surprisingly.
The meal took place awkwardly, socially. Only An's mother and I understood that between the two people sitting opposite is a lifetime that no one mentions.
When An went out to the alley to buy more fruit, the woman in front of her was still surprised and gently said to me "don't let her know".
She said that her husband passed away many years ago, and she raised An alone. I told her about the years in the mountains and the times she intended to get married and then stopped.
She doesn't know anything," she said. "But we know, so I don't want my daughter to enter a marriage that has had too much silence from the beginning...".
A week later, I broke up with An because the age gap and circumstances made it impossible for the relationship to progress. Not long after, I also applied to transfer to work in the South.
Later, every time I think about An and her mother, I still find it a predestined relationship that is hard to name. Friends said maybe my women's tastes are inherently gentle and calm; but the two mothers and daughters are strangely similar. Maybe it's just that simple.
But there are also times when I ask myself: Do I love An because she has the appearance of my mother in her youth - the first girl I loved and have never really forgotten?
I have given An a lot of love, but in the end, I still don't know if I love the girl of the present or just holding onto a figure from the past. It's ironic for me, isn't it?
