Sunday. The day has just begun. I leave the house and head to the neighborhood café for my morning coffee.

On the street, I see a couple in their eighties walking toward the café. The woman is holding his hand, guiding each step he takes. They sit at the table next to mine. The man is blind. I didn’t realize this right away. I noticed when she adjusted his chair before he sat, when he asked for the time and she checked her watch before telling him. She straightened his shirt collar, added sugar to his coffee, and handed it to him with a sweet, “Drink, it's ready.” She guided his hand to the cup, then prepared her own coffee.

For a few minutes, they sit in silence, enjoying each other’s presence. Though he cannot see her, he feels her in every gesture. After a while, she breaks the silence, asking, “What should we cook for lunch?”

I watch them with admiration, especially for the elderly woman who cares so lovingly for the man she’s spent her life with.

Just then, my phone rings. I had been expecting the call, as I was about to meet a friend, but the interruption annoyed me a little, breaking the spell of my admiration for this lovely couple.

I hung up, paid, and left to meet my friend elsewhere.

Post Scriptum – I never found out what the elderly couple decided to cook, but I know that the woman’s care on that autumn Sunday, in a quiet café in my sleepy town, was an expression of pure love.