She watched the old couple from the countertop she was wiping.
They came every Thursday morning, right at opening. They ordered two black coffees and a chocolate croissant to share. They sat at the table facing the window and watched people go by on their way to work.
But they had made her sad at first.
They were a handsome couple, despite their age. She could tell they had been incredibly attractive in their day. They didn't say much to each other and it made her sad. It was as if they had nothing left to talk about.
But she had been wrong.
As she watched them over the year she'd worked in the café, she began to notice the subtle ways they communicated. His hand on her back. The sparkle in her eye. The small smile that graced his scarred face.
As she polished the pastry cases, she watched them.
They didn't speak.
They didn't need to.
They knew each other too well for words.
He reached across the table and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She smiled at him as if he had painted the sunrise. The silence between them proclaimed something more. Something deeper. A love that had spanned decades and heartache. A love battered, bruised, and beautiful.
True love wasn't found in those rom-coms she binge-watched on Friday nights.
It was found here.
In the old couple.
In the silence.