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I sat in a café the other week and watch a man get his heart broken. The Café was small and bright, the over-head lights beamed off the yellow. The type of place you didn’t want to be if you had a headache. The couple were sat at one of the center tables, I sat a few meters behind them. Close enough to see but far enough to have my own space. I watched as she told him “it just wasn’t working”, he said nothing. He sat and stared down at the white coffee cup in front of him. I could tell his body was tense and his eyes were pushing back emotion.
I wasn’t the only stranger to notice, other visitors were sitting and watching. She noticed before he did, asking if they could leave. He refused, he glanced down once more as if he didn’t trust his legs to carry him after the news. They continued to talk, at least she did, he listened. She spoke now in a whisper but you could see it on his face. He did not agree with what she was saying, despite that he nodded. Soon she got mad at his silence and decided to leave. She left in a rush and without looking back. He watched her go, his eyes beginning too red as his breath got faster. He looked once more at the table, I wanted to comfort him, ask him how I could help, making him feel better; but like him, I had no words. I could not heal him. He ordered another coffee in a weak voice, avoiding the stares of strangers who all knew what had happened. The cafĂ© was soon back in full swing with chatter and laughter. He stayed still. I wondered if he didn’t want to leave because he still didn’t trust his legs, or if he was staying still because he didn’t want to let her go. This was the last place they were one, the last moment before she left. A while later he left, stuffing his hands into his pockets and keeping his gaze on the floor. Unlike her, as he left he took a glance back at the table, then like her; he was gone.  Â
