The sky gradually darkened, the streets began to light up, the restaurants were shining with golden light. The skinny boy, holding the remaining lottery tickets in his arms, slowly walked to the pho restaurant at the corner of the market. His hungry stomach kept his eyes from the hot bowls of pho in the customers’ hands. But he did not dare to sit at the table, just stood outside the door, his two black feet covered with dust. The owner of the restaurant, about fifty years old, with a kind face, glanced at him and softly called: “Come in, let me pour you a bowl of rice to eat.”

The boy timidly walked in, holding a plastic box of cold rice he had brought with him. The owner smiled gently, took it, and gave it to her husband: “Please add more soup for him, or he will choke if he doesn’t eat it.” The owner nodded, scooped up a bowl of clear, sweet soup, intentionally “accidentally” adding a few slices of beef and a quail egg. The boy saw it but didn’t dare say anything, just bowed his head and mumbled thanks. The aroma wafted up, making his eyes well up, the spoonful of rice with pho broth was sweeter than any meal.

“Eat, don’t be shy,” the owner said softly. The boy nodded, swallowing quickly to hide the emotion that was stuck in his throat. The owner stood by, occasionally waving her hand when customers complained about the boy eating for free. “Never mind, everyone has suffered,” she said, her eyes following the boy’s hunched figure on the chair. In their hearts, they loved him like a distant grandchild.

Every night, after selling lottery tickets, he would stop by. Sometimes there was only half a box of cold rice, sometimes nothing, but the owners would still pour him a full bowl of pho. The boy hesitantly asked, “Do you mind if I keep eating?” The owner laughed, “I’m just afraid you’ll starve.” Those words were engraved in his mind, like a warm fire that dispelled the cold of the night street.

One time, the crowd was packed, the aroma of beef made his stomach growl loudly. The owner turned around, winked: “Wait a moment, I’ll pour it for you.” The boy pursed his lips, carefully sat in a corner, his heart filled with indescribable gratitude. When the bowl of rice was placed in front of him, with more beef than usual, he couldn’t hold back his tears. The owner pretended to turn away, not wanting anyone to see him secretly pitying a strange boy.

As time passed, the boy grew up, went to school and did odd jobs to earn a living. The meals with pho soup became precious memories, the motivation for him not to give up. In his heart, he promised: if he had the chance, he would definitely come back to repay this kindness. The boss never thought about it, just considered it a small thing, helping people get through the day. But to him, it was a whole sky of love.

Many years later, the old street was still noisy, but now there were many new buildings. The young man in a neat suit stepped out of the car, his eyes stopping at the old pho sign. The sign was worn, peeling in some places, and the customers were gradually thinning out. He was silent, his childhood memories came flooding back clearly. His steps were trembling, like he was bringing a child back to his beloved home.

The old lady, her hair white, sat fanning the coals by the stove. The owner was still standing at the counter, but his hands were shaking, his eyes were tired. “What would you like to eat?” he asked hoarsely when he saw the elegant guest. The young man was speechless, only smiling: “I’ll have a bowl of pho, like the old days.” The statement made both the owners look at each other, bewildered.

He picked up the bowl of pho, the familiar smell rushed into his nose, making his heart flutter. He ate each spoonful, as if swallowing the memories of a time of hardship. Putting down his chopsticks, he looked up: “Uncle, aunt… do you remember the little boy who brought cold rice every night to ask for pho broth?” The two old eyes lit up, surprised to the point of silence. The owner stammered: “You… which boy are you?”

Tears welled up in his eyes, he nodded, his hands gripping the edge of the table tightly. “Thanks to you, uncle and aunt, I had the strength to survive those days of hunger. I will never forget this favor.” The owner was moved, her hand trembling as she took his: “Oh my god… so this is you.” The owner gently wiped his eyes, his voice faltering: “That’s great, you’ve become a man.” The small pho restaurant was suddenly filled with warmth.

He looked around, saw the few customers, the old tables and chairs, and his heart suddenly tightened. “Are you planning to renovate the shop? It looks so rundown.” The owner sighed: “There are few customers now, and we’re getting old, so we’ll probably close the shop soon.” He was stunned, his childhood memories rising like waves. He knew he couldn’t let this place disappear.

“Uncle and aunt, I have an idea,” he hesitated, his eyes lighting up. “I want to buy back the restaurant, keep the original flavor, and open a chain of stores under your name.” The owners gasped, thinking they had misheard. “Are you serious?” The owner’s voice trembled. He nodded firmly: “That’s my way of repaying the favor from the past.”

The air was silent for a few seconds, only the sound of the charcoal fan crackling could be heard. The boss laughed, but his laughter was mixed with sobs: “You’re wasting your time doing that.” He shook his head: “Nothing is more precious than human love, money is just a tool.” The boss wiped away her tears, gently touched his shoulder: “You really are… worth our love.” His heart was filled with peace, as if he had just completed a mission.

On the opening day of the first pho restaurant in the chain, the owner and his wife sat in the front row, their eyes shining. The sign bore his name, but the design was brand new and bright. He stood on stage and introduced: “This is not just a pho restaurant, but also a place to preserve love.” The guests applauded, and the owner and his wife shed tears of joy. They never thought that a bowl of cold rice soup would one day blossom into such a big dream.

After the ceremony, he sat down with his grandparents in their private room. “From now on, you don’t need to worry about anything anymore. I’ve arranged everything. Just live a peaceful life.” The boss said softly, “We didn’t do anything big, we just fed the hungry boy.” He shook his head, his eyes filled with emotion, “That ‘just’ saved my life.” The boss hugged him and whispered, “You will always be our child.”

In the following days, the pho chain quickly became famous for its traditional flavor. He often visited and sat with his grandparents to tell old stories. Sometimes he asked: “Do you ever regret helping me?” The owner burst out laughing: “If you regretted, we wouldn’t have had this day.” The owner smiled: “Seeing you happy makes us happy.”

In his heart, each bowl of pho is now not just a dish, but a symbol of priceless love. He wants to spread that story, so that everyone who comes to eat can feel the warmth of the old days. There are nights when he sits quietly, remembering the image of the boy hunched over holding a cold lunch box, his heart aches. Then he smiles, because the painful past has turned into motivation. Life sometimes only needs a small heart, but it is enough to change the fate of an entire person.