My boss isn’t around for days. I’m having a long lunch session today. My special friend called me in the morning requesting to meet me because he misses me, but I know he’s lying. He probably has a complaint about something.
I’m in this small, cozy restaurant that I probably can’t afford anything past juice, tea, or coffee.
The restaurant is three-quarters full. I’m sitting at my favorite spot — the window. I’m rating people’s fashion, watching their pace, guessing where they’re going, and wondering what’s on their minds.
A couple walks in. The man is in a neat, well-pressed white shirt with navy blue trousers. The lady is in a white dress with high heels and a black purse. The man seems like he’s from the office because he only has a phone in his hand.
They are seated at the table facing mine. I can tell things are not okay between them. They’re not talking to each other; the husband is engrossed in his phone while the lady is staring at him.
A waiter comes to take their order.
“Salad only,” the lady says.
“Grilled chicken, fries on the side, and a cold Coke,” orders the man.
The waiter comes back balancing their orders. He hands them their meals, smiles, and leaves.
The man starts digging in without saying a word. The woman looks at him without touching her salad. She seems upset or disappointed — I can’t tell.
“Do you remember our first date? You ordered grilled chicken. You said you hate fish,” the woman says calmly.
“Yes. We were at a hotel by the beach. I still hate fish,” he replies while taking his soda.
The lady goes silent for a few seconds.
“You don’t listen to me. You stopped loving me,” she complains softly.
“Let’s not do this now, Cynthia. Let’s enjoy our meal and talk about it in the evening. We’ve gone through this several times, but you still don’t understand,” he says.
“Not now. Later. Tomorrow. In the evening. This is all you keep saying. You keep postponing all the important talks without caring about my feelings. We’re talking about it now!” the lady commands.
“Please. I don’t want to have a bad afternoon. I have a meeting with my managers and the sales team in the afternoon, and I don’t want any distractions. Let’s talk about it in the evening,” he says while pushing his plate away.
“No. We’re talking about it now. You no longer laugh. You don’t even take me on dates. Your work is to give me money, thinking money is everything. I’m a lady, and I want affection too. A weekend getaway won’t hurt,” she says softly.
“I’m a man. I should provide. I should cushion my family financially. What do you want our children to inherit? A good name only? Come on… I spend every evening and weekend with you. What more time do you want? What do you want me to laugh at randomly when you’re not telling me anything funny?” he asks, trying not to sound offended.
“See? You’ve never admitted you’re wrong. It’s all about money. You don’t care about my feelings. You’ve been hurting me for months, and you’re unapologetic. I thought this meeting would change my mind,” she says, annoyed.
“Change your mind on what? I love you, and you know it. A man who doesn’t love you won’t provide the way I do. You’re comfortable. The children are happy. You have something in your account. You have more than enough, and you still have me every evening. What more do you want?” The man is clearly annoyed.
The lady hasn’t touched her salad. The man is now taking Coke only. I can’t tell whether he’s full or too annoyed to eat. His plate is barely half done.
“I did what I’ve been telling you that I would for months, and you never listened. I’ve signed the divorce papers. We’re done,” she says while reaching into her handbag for an envelope. She hands it over to him.
“Sign them, please. I’ve thought about it, and I’m sure this is what I want,” she says, looking away.
The man is shocked — speechless. He takes the papers and looks at them.
“Really? You’re serious? Have you found someone else? Why do this? What are the grounds for the divorce?” he asks, shocked.
“Just sign the papers. My lawyer will communicate further.” She stands and walks away without a goodbye.
They didn’t notice me watching, of course. I was just another lonely figure by the window — the kind you overlook.
The man is still shocked. He pushes away his food, places his hands on his chin, and stares at the floor. I can see pain on his face. He stays like that for a few seconds. The waiter goes to clear his table and asks if there’s anything more he’ll need. He shakes his head and pays his bill. The waiter comes later to bring his balance, but the man signals him to have it.
He stands and walks away, feeling dejected.
And somewhere inside this restaurant, beneath the hum of everyday life, another love story has just ended softly — like the last note of a fading song.