"What about your middle-aged love?" I asked in an almost naughty tone. My mother was stunned at first, but when she saw my expectant eyes, her face turned slightly red for a while, and then she thought deeply, saying, "The love of middle-aged people is light, just like jasmine." I'm surprised. "Like jasmine?" This answer seems too common and too profound, which is really intriguing.

One day, my mother fell ill and was taken to the hospital. So my father gave up his busy work and went to the hospital to take care of his mother. One Sunday morning, I went to the hospital to visit my mother. When I opened the door of the ward, I was shocked by what I saw: my mother slept peacefully in the bed, and my father sat in the chair in front of the bed, with one hand over his hand, leaning against the bed and falling asleep. The morning sun shines in, and there is a bottle of jasmine on the table.