He knew, with a certainty that silenced all doubt, that this was where he truly belonged.
They said the place lacked conveniences. But what more could he want beyond a cozy café downstairs, where cheerful waitresses brought steaming cups of coffee and warm, crusty bread straight to his table? There was a modest little supermarket, too – small, yes, but stocked with everything one could possibly need. Rain never touched his face there, nor did the sun scorch his head, and that alone was luxury enough. Each morning, each evening, the elevators carried a parade of bright young faces, and he felt life around him pulse with quiet beauty.
They complained the apartments were cramped, airless, without balconies. But he had no love for chaos or clamor. And while there was no balcony, he possessed a bedroom window worth a fortune – one that framed the perfect circle of the moon, pouring its silver light into his nights.
They grumbled that the building was old. New towers may have risen like mushrooms after the rain, but what mattered here was care. The lobby gleamed with the elegance of a five-star hotel: receptionists tall and graceful like flight attendants, glass doors polished so perfectly that more than one person had mistaken them for air and walked headfirst into them, Admiring the paintings of Vietnamese women in their graceful áo dài brings a sense of relaxation to those waiting – and a chandelier, custom-designed, hung like a jewel from the ceiling, its quiet grandeur unlike anything else in the city. Security was unyielding, round the clock, as if every resident lived within an embassy. From elevator to driveway, attendants bowed with gentle courtesy, and guards would rush to open car doors so no hand need touch the handle. One could not help but feel – here, at last – the guest was truly king.
And then there was the old custodian, endlessly guiding his floor polisher back and forth, left and right, until the lobby gleamed so brightly that footsteps rang sharp against the shine. He had known the man back when his hair was only peppered with gray; after the long years and the pandemic, it was white as snow. Yet still he worked, day after day, as devoted to the floor as a painter to his canvas. If there were ever a title for the world’s greatest polisher of marble and stone, he would have bestowed it upon that man with all his heart. For over a decade the custodian had remained, as faithful as the building itself.
By morning, the cleaning women bent low to scrub at the smallest cracks in the doors, the tiniest corners hidden from view. Outside, their colleagues swept tirelessly, whisking away fallen leaves before they had time to rest, smoothing every branch and tender leaf as though tending to beloved children. In the gardens below, countless shrubs and trees breathed under their gentle hands. And so the place shone – immaculate, tended, alive.
Fresh flowers bloomed in vases, changed each day. Soft lounge music drifted through the lobby, soothing those who waited. The floral arrangements were crafted like art, the air carrying a quiet sense of grace. Staff greeted you with warmth, neighbors with a smile.
Elsewhere, there might be newer towers, richer amenities, grander names. But to him, this place was a kingdom, a sanctuary, a world unto itself. It was his youth, his present, and – he hoped – his future.
He loved its classy beauty: not only the architecture, but the way the garden paths curved, the way the fronds of areca palms swayed in the breeze, the simple poetry of blossoms and leaves. Here was a tenderness, a romance, a nearness to the heart he had never found elsewhere.
This place had seeped into him, not just a dwelling, but a part of his very soul.
Excerpt – The Dream Residence – Ha Kim
