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@.y.vui.nhng.flop: Dậy tập đi còn đón hè nào các nàng 🤣 #xuhuong #tapcardio

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لَقَدْ كَانَ خَيْرُ الْخَلْقِ أَبْهَرَ طَلْعَـةً مِنَ الْبَدْرِ بَلْ مِنْ شَمْسِهِ هُوَّ الْهَبُ جَمِيلُ الْمُحَيَّا أَزْهَرُ اللَّـوْنِ أَبْلَـجٌ بَهِيٌّ بَهِيجُ الْوَجْهِ أَبْيَضُ مُشْـَربُ أَشَـمُّ أَزَجُّ الْحَاجِبَـيْـنِ مُفَـلَّـجٌ كَحِيلُ الْجُفُونِ أَدْعَجُ الْعَيْنِ أَهْدَب ُ مُـدَوَّرُ وَجْـهٍ أَنْـوَرٌ مُتجَردًا كَأَنَّ الْمَهَا فِي وَجْهِه لَيْستَ تَغْـرُبُ أَسِيلُ خُدُودٍ أَنْجَـلٌ كَـثُّ لِحْيَـةٍ طَوِيلُ بَنَانٍ وَاسِعُ الصَّدْرِ أَشْنَـبُ جَلِيلُ الْمُشَـاشِ بَـادِنٌ مُتَمَاسِـكٌ ضَلِيعُ فَمٍ ضَخْمُ الْكَرَادِيـسِ قُلَّـبُ بَعِيدَ الَّذِى بَيْنَ الْمَنَاكِـبِ وَاسِـعٌ جَبِينًا طَلِيقُ الْوَجْهِ لَيْـسَ يُقَطَّـب ُ مُرَجَّلُ شَعْرٍ جَعْدُهُ رَحْبُ رَاحَـةٍ سَوَاءُ الْحَشَا وَالصَّدْرِ عَذْبٌ مُؤَدَّبُ إِذَا افْتَرَّ رِيئَ النُّورُ مِنْ فِيهِ خَارِجًا كَـأَنَّ ثَنَايَـاهُ بُــرُوقٌ تَلَـهَّـبُ حَكَى ثَغْرُهُ حَبَّ الْغَمَـامِ إِذَا بَـدَا ذَكِيُّ الْحِجَا سَبْطُ الْعِظَـامِ مُطَيَّـب ُقَوِيمُ قَنَـاةٍ لَـمْ يَكُـنْ مُتَـرَدِّدًا قَصِيرًا وَلاَ هُوَّ الطَّوِيلُ الْمُشَـذَّب ُ وَلَكِنْ وَسِيطًا رَبْعَةَ الْقَـدِّ طَائِـل مُمَاشِيَّهُ وَلَوْ إِلَى الطُّولِ يُنْسَـبُ طَوِيلُ سُكُوتٍ سَالِمٌ صَـدْرُهُ دَقِيـ ـقُ مَسْرُبَةٍ أَقْنَـى وَجِيهٌ مُرَحَّـب ُ وَقَدْ وَسِعَ الأَقْوَامَ حِلْمًا وَبَسْطَـةً وَصَارُوا سَوَاءً فِيهِ وَهُوَ لَهُـمْ أَبُ مَهِيـبٌ إِذَا لاَقَيْتَـهُ عَـنْ بَدِيهَـةٍ وَمَهْمَا تُخَالِطْـهُ فَخُلْـقٌ مُحَـبَّـب ُ أَشَدُّ مِنَ الْعَذْرَا حَيَـاءً بِخِدْرِهَـا كَرِيـمُ السَّجَايَـا لِلرَّدِي مُتَجَنِّـب ُ يَـزُولُ تَقَلُّعًـا وَيَخْطُـو تَكَفُّـؤًا وَيَمْشِي الْهُوَيْنَا دَائِمُ الْبِشْرِ طَيِّبُ فَدُونَكَ مِنْ أَوْصَافِهِ الْغُـرِّجُمْلَـةً تَضَمَّنَهَا نَظْمٌ بِهَا الـدَّهْرَ أَعْـذَب ُ أَأَحْمَـدُ هَـذَا أَحْمَـدٌ مُتَـوَسِّـلاً بِمَدْحِكَ وَالأَجْوَادُ بِالْمَدْحِ تُطْلَـبُ مَدَحْتُكَ يَا خَيْرَ الأَنَامِ وَلَـمْ تَكُـنْ لِمَدْحِي فَقِيرًا بَلْ أَنَـا الْمُتَكَسِّـبُ لَئِنْ كُنْتُ مِمَّنْ يُحْسِنُ الْمَدْحَ ثُمَّ لَمْ أَقُلْ فِيـكَ مَدْحًا إِنَّنِـي لَمُخَـيَّـبُ فَمَدْحُكَ بِالنَّظْمِ الْمُجَـوَّدِ حَوْكُـهُ زَكَاةٌ عَلَى أَهْلِ الْقَصَائِـدِ تُوجَـب ُ عَلَيْـكَ صَـلاَةُ اللهِ ثُـمَّ سَلاَمُـهُ مَعَ الآلِ وَالأَصْحَابِ مَا ذَرَّ كَوْكَبُ
لَقَدْ كَانَ خَيْرُ الْخَلْقِ أَبْهَرَ طَلْعَـةً مِنَ الْبَدْرِ بَلْ مِنْ شَمْسِهِ هُوَّ الْهَبُ جَمِيلُ الْمُحَيَّا أَزْهَرُ اللَّـوْنِ أَبْلَـجٌ بَهِيٌّ بَهِيجُ الْوَجْهِ أَبْيَضُ مُشْـَربُ أَشَـمُّ أَزَجُّ الْحَاجِبَـيْـنِ مُفَـلَّـجٌ كَحِيلُ الْجُفُونِ أَدْعَجُ الْعَيْنِ أَهْدَب ُ مُـدَوَّرُ وَجْـهٍ أَنْـوَرٌ مُتجَردًا كَأَنَّ الْمَهَا فِي وَجْهِه لَيْستَ تَغْـرُبُ أَسِيلُ خُدُودٍ أَنْجَـلٌ كَـثُّ لِحْيَـةٍ طَوِيلُ بَنَانٍ وَاسِعُ الصَّدْرِ أَشْنَـبُ جَلِيلُ الْمُشَـاشِ بَـادِنٌ مُتَمَاسِـكٌ ضَلِيعُ فَمٍ ضَخْمُ الْكَرَادِيـسِ قُلَّـبُ بَعِيدَ الَّذِى بَيْنَ الْمَنَاكِـبِ وَاسِـعٌ جَبِينًا طَلِيقُ الْوَجْهِ لَيْـسَ يُقَطَّـب ُ مُرَجَّلُ شَعْرٍ جَعْدُهُ رَحْبُ رَاحَـةٍ سَوَاءُ الْحَشَا وَالصَّدْرِ عَذْبٌ مُؤَدَّبُ إِذَا افْتَرَّ رِيئَ النُّورُ مِنْ فِيهِ خَارِجًا كَـأَنَّ ثَنَايَـاهُ بُــرُوقٌ تَلَـهَّـبُ حَكَى ثَغْرُهُ حَبَّ الْغَمَـامِ إِذَا بَـدَا ذَكِيُّ الْحِجَا سَبْطُ الْعِظَـامِ مُطَيَّـب ُقَوِيمُ قَنَـاةٍ لَـمْ يَكُـنْ مُتَـرَدِّدًا قَصِيرًا وَلاَ هُوَّ الطَّوِيلُ الْمُشَـذَّب ُ وَلَكِنْ وَسِيطًا رَبْعَةَ الْقَـدِّ طَائِـل مُمَاشِيَّهُ وَلَوْ إِلَى الطُّولِ يُنْسَـبُ طَوِيلُ سُكُوتٍ سَالِمٌ صَـدْرُهُ دَقِيـ ـقُ مَسْرُبَةٍ أَقْنَـى وَجِيهٌ مُرَحَّـب ُ وَقَدْ وَسِعَ الأَقْوَامَ حِلْمًا وَبَسْطَـةً وَصَارُوا سَوَاءً فِيهِ وَهُوَ لَهُـمْ أَبُ مَهِيـبٌ إِذَا لاَقَيْتَـهُ عَـنْ بَدِيهَـةٍ وَمَهْمَا تُخَالِطْـهُ فَخُلْـقٌ مُحَـبَّـب ُ أَشَدُّ مِنَ الْعَذْرَا حَيَـاءً بِخِدْرِهَـا كَرِيـمُ السَّجَايَـا لِلرَّدِي مُتَجَنِّـب ُ يَـزُولُ تَقَلُّعًـا وَيَخْطُـو تَكَفُّـؤًا وَيَمْشِي الْهُوَيْنَا دَائِمُ الْبِشْرِ طَيِّبُ فَدُونَكَ مِنْ أَوْصَافِهِ الْغُـرِّجُمْلَـةً تَضَمَّنَهَا نَظْمٌ بِهَا الـدَّهْرَ أَعْـذَب ُ أَأَحْمَـدُ هَـذَا أَحْمَـدٌ مُتَـوَسِّـلاً بِمَدْحِكَ وَالأَجْوَادُ بِالْمَدْحِ تُطْلَـبُ مَدَحْتُكَ يَا خَيْرَ الأَنَامِ وَلَـمْ تَكُـنْ لِمَدْحِي فَقِيرًا بَلْ أَنَـا الْمُتَكَسِّـبُ لَئِنْ كُنْتُ مِمَّنْ يُحْسِنُ الْمَدْحَ ثُمَّ لَمْ أَقُلْ فِيـكَ مَدْحًا إِنَّنِـي لَمُخَـيَّـبُ فَمَدْحُكَ بِالنَّظْمِ الْمُجَـوَّدِ حَوْكُـهُ زَكَاةٌ عَلَى أَهْلِ الْقَصَائِـدِ تُوجَـب ُ عَلَيْـكَ صَـلاَةُ اللهِ ثُـمَّ سَلاَمُـهُ مَعَ الآلِ وَالأَصْحَابِ مَا ذَرَّ كَوْكَبُ
The accident happened on a rain-slicked road just after midnight. Engfa had been driving home from her friend's house, mind still half-lost in the usual quiet ache, when another car skidded through a red light. By the time the ambulance reached the hospital she was already unconscious, the doctors speaking in careful, measured tones about swelling and time and the long uncertainty of a coma. A mutual friend called Charlotte in London that same afternoon. Engfa was in a Bangkok hospital and had not woken up. Charlotte stood still in her flat, the phone pressed to her ear. Three years of distance fell away in an instant. She had never stopped loving Engfa. She had only forced the breakup because staying would have meant giving up the scholarship and the life she had worked for. When Engfa flew to England twice, Charlotte had hidden. She was afraid that if she opened the door she would leave everything behind and go back without finishing what she started. She had followed every quiet update about Waraha Café from a distance. She knew the café had become both a success and a monument to what they had lost. Now the monument was empty, and the woman who built it was lying still in a hospital bed. Charlotte booked the first flight she could find. When she arrived in Bangkok the city felt both familiar and impossibly distant. She went straight to the hospital. Engfa was still in the coma. Charlotte sat down beside the bed, took the cool, unmoving hand in both of hers, and began to speak. She apologized for everything. For the way she had left. For the silence. For the fear that had kept her from opening the door in London. She told the quiet room that she had never stopped loving her. That she only wanted Engfa to open her eyes. Three months passed. Charlotte barely left the room. Nurses grew used to the woman who slept in the chair and whispered the same words every night. The café continued under temporary staff. Charlotte stayed. One quiet morning Engfa’s fingers moved. Her eyes opened. The first thing she saw was Charlotte’s face, tired and wet with tears. Engfa stared. She thought she was still dreaming. She closed her eyes, heart racing with the old fear of waking alone. When she opened them again Charlotte was still there. “Charlotte?” Her voice was rough. “How?” Charlotte smiled through her tears. “Sorry that it took me this long to come back.” They talked for a long time once the doctors finished. Charlotte explained everything—the way Engfa’s honest confession three years ago had cut so deep, the fear of losing her own dream if she stayed, the quiet way she had watched from a distance and never stopped loving her. Engfa listened, holding her hand tightly. When Engfa was discharged, Charlotte took her home. She helped her up the stairs above the café, cooked the soft meals the doctors recommended, and sat with her through the slow days of recovery. They found their way back together in the ordinary moments—shared coffee at dawn, Charlotte’s steady hand on Engfa’s arm, the first night Engfa fell asleep against her shoulder without dreaming of loss. Together they returned to Waraha Café. Charlotte learned the machines. Engfa taught her how the regulars liked their drinks. The place that had felt empty for so long began to feel alive again. One evening after closing, Engfa locked the front door. Charlotte was wiping down the counter, hair tied back the same way it had been in the dream Engfa once believed she would never escape. Engfa reached into her pocket, walked across the quiet floor, and sank to one knee. “Charlotte,” she said, “instead of just running this café with me… will you let me hire you as my wife?” Charlotte’s tears came freely this time. She nodded and whispered, “Yes.” Engfa stood. The ring slid onto Charlotte’s finger. They kissed in the middle of the empty café—slow and certain. Outside the city kept moving. Inside, the dream and the waking world finally met, and neither of them had to close their eyes again. #au #englot
The accident happened on a rain-slicked road just after midnight. Engfa had been driving home from her friend's house, mind still half-lost in the usual quiet ache, when another car skidded through a red light. By the time the ambulance reached the hospital she was already unconscious, the doctors speaking in careful, measured tones about swelling and time and the long uncertainty of a coma. A mutual friend called Charlotte in London that same afternoon. Engfa was in a Bangkok hospital and had not woken up. Charlotte stood still in her flat, the phone pressed to her ear. Three years of distance fell away in an instant. She had never stopped loving Engfa. She had only forced the breakup because staying would have meant giving up the scholarship and the life she had worked for. When Engfa flew to England twice, Charlotte had hidden. She was afraid that if she opened the door she would leave everything behind and go back without finishing what she started. She had followed every quiet update about Waraha Café from a distance. She knew the café had become both a success and a monument to what they had lost. Now the monument was empty, and the woman who built it was lying still in a hospital bed. Charlotte booked the first flight she could find. When she arrived in Bangkok the city felt both familiar and impossibly distant. She went straight to the hospital. Engfa was still in the coma. Charlotte sat down beside the bed, took the cool, unmoving hand in both of hers, and began to speak. She apologized for everything. For the way she had left. For the silence. For the fear that had kept her from opening the door in London. She told the quiet room that she had never stopped loving her. That she only wanted Engfa to open her eyes. Three months passed. Charlotte barely left the room. Nurses grew used to the woman who slept in the chair and whispered the same words every night. The café continued under temporary staff. Charlotte stayed. One quiet morning Engfa’s fingers moved. Her eyes opened. The first thing she saw was Charlotte’s face, tired and wet with tears. Engfa stared. She thought she was still dreaming. She closed her eyes, heart racing with the old fear of waking alone. When she opened them again Charlotte was still there. “Charlotte?” Her voice was rough. “How?” Charlotte smiled through her tears. “Sorry that it took me this long to come back.” They talked for a long time once the doctors finished. Charlotte explained everything—the way Engfa’s honest confession three years ago had cut so deep, the fear of losing her own dream if she stayed, the quiet way she had watched from a distance and never stopped loving her. Engfa listened, holding her hand tightly. When Engfa was discharged, Charlotte took her home. She helped her up the stairs above the café, cooked the soft meals the doctors recommended, and sat with her through the slow days of recovery. They found their way back together in the ordinary moments—shared coffee at dawn, Charlotte’s steady hand on Engfa’s arm, the first night Engfa fell asleep against her shoulder without dreaming of loss. Together they returned to Waraha Café. Charlotte learned the machines. Engfa taught her how the regulars liked their drinks. The place that had felt empty for so long began to feel alive again. One evening after closing, Engfa locked the front door. Charlotte was wiping down the counter, hair tied back the same way it had been in the dream Engfa once believed she would never escape. Engfa reached into her pocket, walked across the quiet floor, and sank to one knee. “Charlotte,” she said, “instead of just running this café with me… will you let me hire you as my wife?” Charlotte’s tears came freely this time. She nodded and whispered, “Yes.” Engfa stood. The ring slid onto Charlotte’s finger. They kissed in the middle of the empty café—slow and certain. Outside the city kept moving. Inside, the dream and the waking world finally met, and neither of them had to close their eyes again. #au #englot

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