It was a morning veiled in fog and farewells. Little [Tuân](TPJT6KDK), only 4 years old, held tightly to his mother's hand. Around them, the Saigon port buzzed with cries, suitcases, and tears. [Tuân](TPJT6KDK)’s mother was boarding the ship 'Le Viêt Nam' to escape the war. [Tuân](TPJT6KDK)’s father, remaining on the dock, waved silently. It was the last time [Tuân](TPJT6KDK) would see his face.

The ship cut through the waves, carrying [Tuân](TPJT6KDK) far from his roots. His mother wept, but he didn’t yet understand. All he knew was that Dad wasn’t there. What he remembered of his father? A gentle voice singing love songs to lull him to sleep. A tender gaze. A world shattered too soon.

Upon arriving in France, [Tuân](TPJT6KDK) became Paul. He grew up in a modest neighborhood, learned French, went to school. But deep inside, one question remained: 'Where is my father?' Paul often asked his mother, but she stayed silent, her gaze distant.

As an adult, Paul began to search. He wrote letters, made calls, contacted Vietnamese associations. But no one knew of his missing father. One day, he received an email. An attached photo showed an old man sitting in the sun, with tired features but eyes that looked so familiar.

The email read: 'He now lives in Los Angeles. He never stopped thinking about you.' Paul booked a flight. Arriving at Los Angeles International Airport, his heart raced and hands trembled. There, in the middle of the crowd, an elderly man waited. Eyes filled with tears. It was him.

They embraced as if time had frozen. 'Dad... is it really you?' 'My son... I’ve searched for you my whole life.' Bystanders stopped. The world fell silent. Only love remained—unchanged despite the years.

Paul stayed a few weeks with his father. They talked, laughed, shared wounds and memories. It wasn’t the end of a story, but the beginning of a new chapter. Because even after sixty years, it's never too late to find lost love.

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