@mbi53: #explore #pov #شعب_الصيني_ماله_حل😂😂 #winter #uae

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Monday 26 October 2026 21:24:18 GMT

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Th. :

فديتهاا💜💜💜💜

2026-10-27 09:06:48

1

Y 4 :

المنتزي واقطع

2026-10-27 10:58:36

0

عمــار العـامري :

متى

2026-10-27 09:45:43

0

ᴿᴬᴷ🇦🇪 :

الله

2026-10-27 08:18:38

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Ma‘Alhamimi :

2026-10-27 05:44:18

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Fa❤️ :

حبيييت

2026-10-27 04:39:29

0

عاشر من تعاشر فإنك مفارقه ❤️‍ :

2026-10-27 08:23:27

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غاغوغا :

Ai

2026-10-27 08:59:25

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SBH :

🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

2026-10-26 21:27:37

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محمد بن عبدالله :

❤️❤️❤️❤️

2026-10-27 05:09:04

0

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Woosan short AU —After Eighty Years— The nursing home was quiet in the late afternoon. Soft sunlight slipped through the windows, catching the dust that floated lazily in the air. In a small corner of the garden, Jung Wooyoung sat on a wooden bench, his back slightly hunched, his wrinkled hands wrapped around a cup of tea that had long gone cold. Slow footsteps approached. Choi San appeared, guided by a young nurse. His hair was completely white, his eyes a little hazy, but his smile was still the same.. gentle, just like before. Wooyoung turned. His old, slow heart seemed to stop for a moment. “San…” he whispered, barely audible. San paused. He looked at Wooyoung with a polite, empty gaze, then gave a small nod. “Excuse me,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I’m… looking for someone. His name… I forgot. Maybe you know him? They said he used to be here a lot.” Wooyoung couldn’t answer. His throat closed up. San sat down on the bench beside him without being asked, as if some old habit still lived in his body even though his memory was gone. He stared at the same garden, the same trees. “It’s nice here,” he said softly. “The air… feels familiar. I don’t know why.” Wooyoung swallowed. His right hand trembled, almost reaching for San’s hand resting on his lap. But he stopped himself. “Yeah,” he finally answered, voice low. “Familiar.” San turned to him, offering a polite smile. “Do you come here often?” “Every day,” Wooyoung said. “For… a very long time.” San nodded slowly, then looked back at the garden. A long silence stretched between them. The wind moved gently, carrying the scent of grass and cold tea. “I… used to love someone,” San said suddenly, almost as if speaking to himself. “But I forgot his face. Forgot his name. I only remember… he always laughed. And his hands were warm.” Wooyoung closed his eyes for a second. Tears, which rarely came anymore, gathered at the corners of his eyes. “Maybe he’s still here,” he whispered, almost inaudibly. “Still waiting.” San didn’t hear him. Or maybe he heard, but didn’t understand. He only smiled, gazing toward the sun as it began to sink. “Then… I hope he hasn’t been waiting too long.” The nurse called from a distance. San stood slowly and nodded once more toward Wooyoung. “Thank you for keeping me company, sir.” Then he left. Wooyoung stayed seated, his wrinkled hands still holding the cup that had gone completely cold. Inside his chest, something that had lived for eighty years kept beating quietly.. still remembering, still waiting, even though the one he waited for no longer knew who he was. And beyond the nursing home window, San walked away without looking back. #fyp #woosan

Woosan short AU —After Eighty Years— The nursing home was quiet in the late afternoon. Soft sunlight slipped through the windows, catching the dust that floated lazily in the air. In a small corner of the garden, Jung Wooyoung sat on a wooden bench, his back slightly hunched, his wrinkled hands wrapped around a cup of tea that had long gone cold. Slow footsteps approached. Choi San appeared, guided by a young nurse. His hair was completely white, his eyes a little hazy, but his smile was still the same.. gentle, just like before. Wooyoung turned. His old, slow heart seemed to stop for a moment. “San…” he whispered, barely audible. San paused. He looked at Wooyoung with a polite, empty gaze, then gave a small nod. “Excuse me,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I’m… looking for someone. His name… I forgot. Maybe you know him? They said he used to be here a lot.” Wooyoung couldn’t answer. His throat closed up. San sat down on the bench beside him without being asked, as if some old habit still lived in his body even though his memory was gone. He stared at the same garden, the same trees. “It’s nice here,” he said softly. “The air… feels familiar. I don’t know why.” Wooyoung swallowed. His right hand trembled, almost reaching for San’s hand resting on his lap. But he stopped himself. “Yeah,” he finally answered, voice low. “Familiar.” San turned to him, offering a polite smile. “Do you come here often?” “Every day,” Wooyoung said. “For… a very long time.” San nodded slowly, then looked back at the garden. A long silence stretched between them. The wind moved gently, carrying the scent of grass and cold tea. “I… used to love someone,” San said suddenly, almost as if speaking to himself. “But I forgot his face. Forgot his name. I only remember… he always laughed. And his hands were warm.” Wooyoung closed his eyes for a second. Tears, which rarely came anymore, gathered at the corners of his eyes. “Maybe he’s still here,” he whispered, almost inaudibly. “Still waiting.” San didn’t hear him. Or maybe he heard, but didn’t understand. He only smiled, gazing toward the sun as it began to sink. “Then… I hope he hasn’t been waiting too long.” The nurse called from a distance. San stood slowly and nodded once more toward Wooyoung. “Thank you for keeping me company, sir.” Then he left. Wooyoung stayed seated, his wrinkled hands still holding the cup that had gone completely cold. Inside his chest, something that had lived for eighty years kept beating quietly.. still remembering, still waiting, even though the one he waited for no longer knew who he was. And beyond the nursing home window, San walked away without looking back. #fyp #woosan

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