Love in the Small Moments

They met in a coffee shop that always smelled like rain, even on sunny days.

She ordered the same drink every morning. He noticed because he was usually the one spilling sugar packets behind the counter. One day, he wrote her name a little crooked on the cup and drew a tiny heart next to it, pretending it was an accident.

She smiled. That was all it took.

Soon, mornings became their thing—shared glances, shy jokes, extra foam. They never rushed. Love didn’t arrive loudly; it tiptoed in, carrying two cups of coffee and a lot of patience.

Years later, they still go to that shop. The coffee tastes different now, but the feeling doesn’t. It’s still warm. Still gentle. Still choosing each other, one ordinary day at a time.