They sat once more in that little café on the corner of the old quarter—Clara and Edward.
She was tall, elegant, with unruly strands of dark hair that never obeyed, always escaping from pins or ties, as if reminding the world she was alive, real. He was a sturdy man with tired yet warm eyes, creased at the corners from laughter that came easy and true. Silver threaded his temples, but it only lent him dignity.
Across from each other they sat, as if time held its breath. He stirred sugar into her coffee—two spoonfuls exactly, as he knew she liked. She, as ever, folded a paper napkin between her fingers, rolling it tightly into a small, neat cylinder.
They looked natural together, as if they had never parted. But I knew—those glances hid a lifetime of choices, pain, uncertainty… and love.
*Clara, how did you two meet?* I once asked, unable to resist.
She glanced at Edward, as if asking permission. He nodded.
*I’d just started at the bank then,* she began, lowering her eyes. *Everything was new, frightening… And he…* She gave a wry smile.
*And I was the insufferable department head,* Edward cut in, amused.
Clara shook her head. *Impossible. All the girls went quiet when he walked in. Fitted waistcoat, straight back, that look… But he only ever noticed me.*
*In that blue waistcoat,* he added softly. *You laughed like the room was lit by it.*
Clara smiled, fingers brushing her cheek absently.
*And then… then he asked me to dinner. Drank too much. Told me he was married.*
Silence fell, heavy with memory. Edward’s grip tightened on his cup. Clara stared somewhere far beyond the present.
*I decided then—no future in it. I wouldn’t be *that* woman. But he didn’t stop. Flowers, books, trips… He took me to the theatre for the first time, the opera… I felt alive.*
*Why didn’t it work?* I ventured carefully.
*He offered to leave her. I said no. Because I was afraid. Afraid he’d regret it. That I wouldn’t be who he imagined. That his family would reject me. I was afraid of love.*
*And I wasn’t ready to tear it all apart. The children, the home… I was afraid of the weight of it,* Edward admitted.
Clara drew a slow breath.
*Then I met someone else. Engagements, wedding plans… I ran. Didn’t even say goodbye.*
*I’d have asked you to stay,* Edward murmured, barely audible. *But not then. I understood too late.*
*Years later, we met here by chance. I was divorcing. He said he was happy for me. I lied. He knew.*
Edward’s fingers brushed her hand.
*You always lift your shoulders when you lie,* he whispered.
They sat, wordless. Eyes locked. All of it there—the years, the unsaid, the lost.
*Now we’re friends,* Clara smiled. *Or nearly.*
*We just know how to love. In our own way. Without demands or promises,* Edward said.
And I thought—the miracle isn’t meeting. It’s keeping the warmth inside, even when it doesn’t work. Holding someone in your life, despite everything.
An ordinary miracle. And yet—the truest kind.
