I stood there longer than I should have, pretending to check my phone while actually watching two people who didn’t even know they were teaching me something, because they walked slowly, not because their bodies demanded it, but because they had nowhere urgent to be, no notifications to chase, no deadlines to fear, just each other and the simple comfort of shared silence.
Their hands were locked, not tightly like young love, but gently, the way you hold something you trust won’t leave, the way you hold something you’ve carried through storms, arguments, laughter, sickness, celebrations, and all those invisible moments no one ever posts online.
I always thought love had to be loud, dramatic, cinematic, full of grand gestures and perfectly timed words, but standing there, watching them move one small step at a time, I realized real love doesn’t perform, it just exists, quietly, patiently, without asking for applause.
He carried the bag like it was nothing special, like it had always been his role, and she set the pace without even trying, and neither of them seemed to notice how naturally they moved together, like two sentences that only make sense when they’re in the same paragraph.
And that’s when it hit me, that forever isn’t a promise you make once, it’s a decision you repeat every single day, even when your knees hurt, even when the world feels too fast, even when your conversations become shorter but your understanding becomes deeper.
When I’m a loner, I can’t help but wonder if I’ll ever find such a partner in life, someone whose presence is quiet yet constant, someone whose hand I can hold without thinking, someone who walks beside me even when the world rushes past — and yet watching them, I also realize that patience and hope are part of the journey, and maybe one day, I’ll understand what this kind of love truly feels like.
If I’m being honest, I don’t want fireworks anymore, I don’t want movie-style romance that burns bright and disappears fast, I want this, this slow walk, this silent agreement, this unspoken “I’m still here” that doesn’t need proof.
Because if love survives time, routines, wrinkles, and ordinary days, then that’s the kind of story I want to live, not just read about.
