I was told that love was merely something that would come and go, it didn't really exist. Love was just a whispered daydream, a young person's fantasy.
The morning is cool and clear, the sky overhead darkening with grey clouds. I sit in a corner coffee shop, sipping at a latte and watching her brown eyes.
They seem to laugh and dance, showing a different world from the one I'm living in. It's hard to hear what she's saying to that stuck-up celebrity and his dirt-poor sidekick munching on bagels and donuts.
Now the rain has started to fall, the steady pitter-patter on the tin roof.
The brown eyes slow their dancing and shift to a warm smile. I wish they'd smile at me.
The bagels and donuts are soon nothing but crumbs and the mugs of steaming coffee are emptied.
I'm watching them leave and wondering if it is possible for the heart to sink. I think it is.
Those brown eyes are going too, but the smile hasn't left yet.
The rain is drumming on the roof and those eyes, those beautiful eyes, somehow meet mine.
For some reason, a dull boom echoes near me until I realize it's the beating of my heart.
Those eyes are shining with something I don't recognize, but I have the feeling that mine show it too.
She waves off her friends and comes over to sit down and I'm afraid if my heart beats much louder, she'll hear it.
We talk about everything and nothing, just watching the other's eyes dance. I have forgotten the difference in blood lines, the rivalry with her friends, they don't matter. Not as much as she does.
My latte is long gone but I don't notice until my hand goes around the mug and it's cold.
Her hand isn't.
The rain has stopped, something I don't realize. Sunshine floods through the windows and door, lighting up her face.
We get up to leave. A last smile, a soft kiss, and she's gone until the next latte. Only the tinkling of the bell on the door is left and I remember something from an old movie;
Every time a bell rings, an angel gets his wings.
I don't think I'm an angel, but I'm flying right now.
Watching her brown eyes, I can still feel the warmth of her hand in mine and I decide that love really does exist.
The End
Author's Note: The old movie is It's A Wonderful Life with Jimmy Stewart and Donna Reed. Nothing is mine except for the coffee shop, it's all Ms. Rowling. Oh, and the plot, of course.
I've thought about doing a sequel, I've had several requests, but I'm not really sure. If you do want one, let me know.