A Love That Never Faded
Every evening, an elderly man sat by the window of my café, ordering dinner for two. But no one ever came.
For months, I watched as he traced the edge of his napkin, his gaze fixed on the empty chair across from him. He barely touched his food and never stayed long after finishing his tea.
One rainy evening, curiosity got the best of me. “Sir, if you don’t mind me asking… who are you waiting for?”
He looked up, his weathered eyes a mix of hope and sorrow. “Her name was Susan. A year ago, she stopped coming.”
A Love Story Left Unfinished
His voice was steady, but I could hear the ache beneath it.
“We met here, in this very café. I was always early, and she was always late. She’d rush in, laughing about some adventure—a lost scarf, a playful dog, or a conversation with a stranger. She made life feel like a story unfolding.”
He smiled, though it quickly faded. “A year ago, on my birthday, I asked her to meet me here. I was going to propose.”
Reaching into his coat pocket, he pulled out a small velvet box. His fingers brushed over it as if holding onto a memory.
“I sat here for hours, waiting. She never came. No calls, no messages. Just… gone.”
My heart clenched. “And you never found out what happened?”
He shook his head. “I searched, but it was like she had vanished.”
Something in me refused to accept that ending.
“Do you have a picture?” I asked.
He hesitated before sliding a worn photograph from his wallet.
I studied her face—the warm eyes, the mischievous smile. There was too much life in that image for her to simply disappear.
“Come back Monday,” I said, handing it back. “I think I can help.”
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