Gray Hair, Young heart.

We start the frame with an aged woman who looks very luxurious, sitting at a round table with white drapings, surrounded by other large round tables. She sits with her chair pulled out toward the ballroom, both hands resting on her wooden cane. In the same frame, we see couples waltzing around—only we see them as shadows in motion. The aged woman stares blankly while tapping one finger on her cane to the waltz music.

Her appearance is old, with short gray pixie-cut hair and slightly sagging skin, but her body remains upright and agile—unlike your average 70-year-old.

She then notices a couple dancing on the floor, as if they just teleported into the ballroom out of thin air. Mesmerized by the waltz, the woman watches as the lead dips his partner, extending her in an almost inhumanly elegant way. Unfazed by the move, the dipped woman—now fully extended—gives a smile that could only be called pure joy.

The aged woman, mouth shut and eyes wide, sees a shadow behind the two dancers—it is her and her husband in the same position when they were young, carrying almost the same amount of pleasure as the woman before her.

As the dancing couple finishes their dip, the man brings his partner back up and waltzes further into the ballroom until they vanish.

We then see an aged man, from a distant frame, hand the elderly woman a drink with an olive in it. A close-up shows her looking at him as she says, “When did we get so old?”

Startled by his wife’s question, he asks, “Where did that come from all of a sudden?”

His wife, now gazing out onto the ballroom, replies as the words still linger in the air, “Look at them—so young and full of life, waltzing away.”

The husband quietly listens to her with a peaceful face, sipping his cocktail. At that same moment, his wife makes a fist and gently but firmly slams it on the table, making the fine glassware rattle. In a distant frame, we see her husband startled by the gesture.

“I’ve had it,” she says. “I can’t just sit here while these young'uns have all the fun.”

Taken by her sudden declaration, her aged husband pauses and says with an amused face, “ Then what do you propose we do about it?”

With a childlike but determined face, the wife replies, “We dance.”

Amused by her boldness, he says, “Well, if you’re up for it, I am.” He sets his glass down and extends his hand.

As she stands, her back cracks audibly, and she mutters, “I’m beginning to think I might have been a bit too hasty with that declaration.”

He replies, “You’ll just have to lean on me if you feel like you’re about to fall.”

She gives him a dry look, unimpressed by his smooth words. He says, “Have I ever let you drop?”

“Not yet,” she replies, pointing her finger in the air to make her point. “But,” she says, “there’s always a first.”

He gives an old man laugh as they make their way onto the ballroom. At that moment, eyes turn, people pause, and whispers ripple through the room.

“Isn’t that Mr. and Mrs. Ito?”

“I didn’t know they still came to these balls.”

Hand in hand, the couple takes their first position and exchange a look of determination. They move into the second form, then the next. They slip a little but quickly regain their rhythm. More people pause to witness the surprisingly energetic and graceful waltz.

As they prepare for the dip, the wife says to her husband in a playfully threatening tone, “You better not drop me.”

After her husband gives her a cat-like, mischievous look, she puts on her best stage smile, reflecting the look on the dancer’s face from earlier. Now successfully dipped, he pulls her back up. Breathless, they exchange warm smiles—seeing each other with the faces of their youth, then back to their old faces.

Most of the dancers stopped and began clapping at the beautiful waltz.

From a distant frame, we see a small group of guests making their way from the outer corner of the hall toward the entrance of the room. In this group are Minato and Aoi, who came from the balcony—her arm in his. She says, “I wonder who they’re clapping for.”

He looks over and sees his breathless grandfather, his face bright and full of life. Having caught the tail end of the dance while exiting the balcony, Minato says, “That’s my grandparents.” As he says this, Minato gives his grandfather a thumbs-up. The old man nods and gives a cheeky wink.

Aoi gives a surprised, acknowledging look and continues walking with Minato into the private photo room reserved for selected guests.

We return to the grandparents, who do a small bow—still breathless, with wide stage smiles.

Leaning toward her husband, the grandmother says in a calm but tense tone, “We’re never doing this again.”

The husband says, “Agreed. Agreed.”

They begin waving at the guests casually in thanks.

But in their heads we see the grandfather holding his leg in agony and the grandmother holding her back also in pain hiding it with poise

The frame pulls back, further and further, until we see the whole ballroom from above—Minato leading Aoi into the dark photo room, people mingling, laughing, sitting, standing, and watching—until it drifts out through the balcony and into the clouds, gone forever.

The end.

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