When does aging catch up with us?
Is it when we can no longer leap two steps at a time up the stairs? Or when the past is quietly forgotten and the number of white bottles in the cabinet keeps growing?
Or is it when time finally erodes the promise of our childhood dreams, and we are forced to leave them behind?
Brian: Ms. Winnifred ... cough, cough ... don't you think my stubbornness is meaningless?
Winnifred: Not in the least, Mr. Brian.
Winnifred: Because you've found something that isn't eroded by time, haven't you?
Winnifred: To this day, time hasn't changed your ideals. You still hold them tightly, unwilling to let go.
Winnifred: I admire your conviction.
Brian: ...!
Brian: Hahaha ... cough, cough Hah!
The old man perks up as if he'd just been given a dose of adrenaline.
Brian: I suppose I'll achieve the ultimate victory soon, then ...
Brian: How wonderful, Ms. Winnifred.
Remembering something, he strains to lift his head again.
Brian: Then, will you still accept a copy of my film?
A soft sigh falls upon his ears.
Winnifred: I'm sorry, I can't accept it.
Brian: Yes, I understand. It's not good enough. It's much too insignificant among your exquisite and unique collection.
Winnifred: No, Mr. Brian, it's because it's too precious for me to endure its eventual loss.
Winnifred: How long will this roll of film last—thirty, fifty years? Maybe a little longer?
Brian: ...
Winnifred: It's cruel to make someone so old see something so precious fade away. She has to watch as it's worn by time, witness its shape warp and curl.
Winnifred: Just as she has countless times before.
Brian smiles helplessly.
Brian: Yes, you're right. Now I can fully understand what you're saying. Besides, I can't run away in a huff like I did when I was young anymore.
Winnifred: I have a gift for you, too.
Brian: Please don't, Ms. Winnifred.
Brian: I'm so old now. I can't repay you with anything of value. Are you trying to return that same pain to me?
Winnifred doesn't answer. Instead, she stands up and slowly approaches the bed.
The cool sea breeze seems to draw nearer.
A few drops of warm liquid fall on his face, like soft rain, or like a voice that has long been absent.
Winnifred: Mr. Brian, I remember those eyes from long ago. Green, timid, puerile ...
Winnifred: But also filled with immense courage and passion.
Brian: I ... I can see ...
Warmth rushes through every inch of his body, like an athlete finally returning to a familiar track.
Strength gradually returns to his body. He breathes deeply, his lungs filling with fresh air.
His vision clears, and the hands before him, still youthful and unscathed by bullet marks, clasp together in disbelief.
The sound of the tide becomes clearer in his ears.
It is the earnest echo of that time, more than sixty years ago.
Brian: Are they all alive?
The tables, chairs, and books swim in this boundless blue sea, tacitly dancing that same dance he saw all those years ago.
Brian: I remember this dance. They danced so well, so joyfully, that it made me forget all my pain.
His memories awaken.
Brian: Yes, this is it. This is the house from my dreams.
Brian: cough, cough I've returned.
Brian: Ms. Winnifred, was it you? Have you given me this dream?
Winnifred: Mr. Brian, what a pleasure it is to see you again.
She reaches out her hand, as if greeting an old friend after many years.
Brian: It's ... really you ...
Brian: It's always been you, hasn't it?
He reaches out a trembling hand, as if trying to touch that dream from his childhood.
Winnifred: Yes, it's me, my friend.
Time flows forward.
The water rises, then silently falls back to its origin.
Robin: Dr. David, please hurry. Dad's just in there.
Brian: They open the door.
Illia: Dad ...
Brian: The room has returned to its original state, indistinguishable from when they left.
Brian: The old man on the bed no longer stirs. His mouth is curved into a slight smile, as though he has drifted away into a sweet and peaceful dream.
Brian: The notebook lies on his chest.
Brian: No longer clutched in his hands, it has fallen open like a silent tombstone.
Brian: A new page is presented. One bearing elegant handwriting in still-wet ink.
Winnifred: "Thus, he lived a life fulfilled."
Winnifred: "He never owed anything to anyone, be they colleagues, lovers, children, or friends."
Winnifred: "And not for a single moment did he ever abandon his ideals."
Winnifred: "In memory of a brave old friend who steadfastly held to himself amid the raging rapids of time."