Bang Chan

It was the Civil War, 1918, a warm and sunny spring. Everything would have been fine if not for the bomb explosions and gunfire far from the village. Fear permeated my entire body; I had to hold on during this difficult time. Every day felt like my last, but I just had to smile and enjoy every moment spent with my loved ones.
One fine spring morning, when everything around you was filled with cheerfulness and freshness, you stepped out of your small but cozy hut. The wooden door creaked slightly as you pushed it open. Stepping outside, you smiled happily and yawned, enjoying the view of the peach-colored sunrise spreading across the sky.
Taking a basket from the porch, the young girl headed to the end of her plot, where dense grape bushes grew. As she approached, she saw bright, almost red grapes, exuding a sweet and tart aroma. Inhaling the scent of the berries, she began picking, humming a song under her breath. Meanwhile, the curly, blond-haired Chan strolled along the village paths. He enjoyed the birdsong and admired the surrounding houses and gardens. Adjusting his general's cap, Chan continued on his way, delightedly examining the glittering badges that shimmered and jingled in the rays of the morning sun. Reaching the edge of the village, he took a deep breath of the fresh, mild air. Turning onto a path that led along the fences of the houses, he folded his hands behind his back and walked confidently and leisurely, as if proud of his graceful gait. As the young man approached the fence of another house, he paused, inhaling the sweet and sour aroma emanating from the grape vines. Approaching the lush, green plants, Chan plucked a bunch of grapes and, carefully bringing them to his lips, took a tentative bite. A satisfied smile appeared on his face, and he closed his eyes. With a soft sigh, Chan walked around the fence. Stopping next to it, he saw a girl humming as she picked the fragrant grapes.
“Hello, beautiful stranger!” said the young man, waving his large hand.