The bread was still warm—soft, golden, comforting in my hands as we wandered through Tam Coc’s morning market. Here, nobody called out prices or tried aggressively selling anything. Instead, the vendors simply smiled warmly, pointing quietly toward their fresh produce as we passed. Everything—fruit, vegetables, tofu, freshly cut meat, and bread rolls for banh mi—arrived at sunrise, perfectly fresh. Over those fifteen days, we grew so accustomed to the morning market's rhythm that eventually, Hari and I could simply glance at the fruits and …
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