Chapter 3: The Scent of Tea and Gentle Days
Early in the morning, when the sunlight was still lazily resting on the grass tips, Thien Lam had already awakened. She no longer needed an alarm clock, nor was there a pressing schedule awaiting her. Life here was as gentle as the breeze drifting through the window, carrying the scent of grass and the lingering coolness of last night’s rain.
Wrapping herself in a soft wool shawl, she stepped onto the porch. The sky was still early, and a thin mist veiled the field, turning the scenery before her into a dreamlike painting. Dew-kissed wildflowers sparkled like tiny crystals, reflecting the tender morning light.
Thien Lam took a deep breath, quietly embracing the tranquility that surrounded her. This was everything she had ever wished for—a life without haste, without noise, only nature and peaceful moments stretching endlessly.
She turned back inside, lighting the fire in the small wooden stove and placing a kettle over the heat. While waiting for the water to boil, she reached for a tea box from a wooden shelf in the corner of the kitchen. It was a box of dried chrysanthemum flowers she had bought at a small village market—delicate golden petals exuding a sweet, soothing fragrance.
As the water boiled, she carefully dropped a handful of dried flowers into a teacup. Slowly, the petals unfurled in the warm liquid, creating a golden hue as pure as morning sunlight. She placed the cup on a small table by the window, sat down, and quietly let the tea’s delicate scent fill the air.
Outside, birds began leaving their nests, their cheerful chirping blending harmoniously with the rustling wind. The breeze carried across the fields, making the flowers sway gently, as if dancing to their own rhythm.
Taking a sip of tea, warmth spread through her chest, carrying the subtle sweetness of chrysanthemum. How long had it been since she last enjoyed a morning like this? No rush, no worries—just sitting here, letting time slow down with a warm cup of tea.
After a simple breakfast of toasted bread with homemade strawberry jam, Thien Lam decided to spend the day tending to her garden.
She put on a wide-brimmed fabric hat, slipped on gardening gloves, and stepped into the small backyard. The vegetable sprouts she had planted a few days ago had started to emerge—tiny green leaves stretching toward the sunlight. Kneeling down, she gently scooped up a handful of soil, feeling its cool, soft texture beneath her fingers.
Each stroke of the hoe was steady and careful. Each seed she planted carried with it a little hope for the new life she was cultivating.
Along the wooden fence, wild rose bushes grew abundantly, their branches swaying in the breeze. A few blossoms had already bloomed, their soft pink petals emitting a delicate, sweet fragrance.
Standing up, Thien Lam took a deep breath, wiping away beads of sweat on her forehead. She glanced around at her little garden with a quiet smile. Everything was changing—not just the garden, but herself as well.
In the afternoon, when the sun’s heat had softened, she brought a book onto the porch, settling into an old wooden chair. The pages unfolded another world before her, but there was no rush. She turned each page slowly, listening to the whispering wind through the leaves, savoring every unhurried moment.
Suddenly, a gust of wind swept through, carrying delicate lavender petals into the air before they gently landed at her feet. She picked one up, pressing it between the pages of her book—a keepsake from this peaceful afternoon.
The sunset gradually painted the sky in warm hues of orange and gold. In the distance, birds were flying back to their nests, their silhouettes stretching across the boundless fields.
Closing her book, Thien Lam gazed up at the sky.
Another day had passed—slowly, gently, yet full of meaning.
(End of Chapter 3)
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