On the first day Su Xiao moved into the old residential compound, the aroma of scallion pancakes from the breakfast stall downstairs stopped her in her tracks. The stall owner, Lu Zhe, wore a faded apron and flipped the pancakes with nimble wrists. Sunlight fell on his flour-dusted fingertips, making them seem warmer than the morning soy milk.
From then on, Su Xiao had a morning ritual: at ten past seven, she would stand in front of the stall and say, “An egg scallion pancake, and a hot soy milk, please.” Lu Zhe always added an extra spoonful of sweet bean sauce, and sometimes saved a freshly baked sugar cake for her, saying, “Just made it. Eat it while it’s hot.”
There were no dramatic turns of events, only the oil-paper umbrella he held out to her on rainy days, the hot porridge he saved for her when she came home late from overtime, and their occasional chats while waiting in line in the morning. Two people making their way in the city let the warmth and bustle of the breakfast stall turn their distance as strangers into a familiar routine. They made ordinary mornings into little moments of happiness filled with quiet tenderness. It turned out the most moving encounters were often hidden in the morning light, where the scent of pancakes drifted up from downstairs.
