The coffee shop was quiet at 8 a.m., the kind of quiet that made everything feel suspended—like the world hadn’t fully woken up yet. The air smelled of freshly ground beans and warm pastries, blending with something softer: his cologne, my perfume.
We arrived together.
He held the door open without thinking, the way he always did. His white t-shirt fit effortlessly, the sleeves pushed up just enough to reveal the bracelet he never took off, and the watch he adjusted absentmindedly. His dark hair was slightly unkempt, as if he’d only run his fingers through it before leaving. He carried a book in one hand, his black Loro Piana shoes soundless against the wooden floor. Sunglasses hid his eyes, but I didn’t need to see them to know he was already looking at me.
I wore black—a satin shirt, soft against my skin, paired with jeans and heels that gave me just enough height to meet him differently. Red lipstick, a tumbler in my hand, jewelry catching the morning light. My perfume lingered between us, familiar and unspoken.
We reached our usual table, and as expected, he slid into the seat beside me—not across. Never across.
“The usual?” I asked.
His lips curled slightly. “You already know.”
So I ordered his matcha—warm, thick, less sugar. My coffee arrived shortly after, along with breakfast we barely acknowledged.
For a while, there was only quiet. Not the awkward kind. The kind that felt earned.
Then, as he stirred his drink, he finally spoke.
“You never really told me.”
I glanced at him. “Told you what?”
His voice was calm and steady, but something about it carried the weight of unasked questions. “Why did you choose to come back to me?”
I set my coffee down, the heat pressing into my fingers.
“Because I never really left.”
His fingers stilled on his cup, but he didn’t interrupt.
“I thought I could,” I continued, voice even. “I thought moving on meant finding someone new. Filling the space. But you were always there. In the way I’d hear a song and think, ‘He’d like this one.’ In the way I’d have a bad day and instinctively reach for my phone, only to stop myself—because I wasn’t supposed to call you anymore.”
He didn’t look away, didn’t blink.
“But it wasn’t just that,” I said, softer now. “It was the way you never let go. The way you stood in front of my father’s grave, speaking to him like he could still answer. The way you asked for me—not just from my mother, but from both of my parents, even the one who wasn’t there to give his blessing. And I thought... for what? What else am I searching for when the answer is already here?”
Silence. Then he exhaled, shaking his head slightly. “You don’t know how many times I thought about that day.”
“Why?”
“Because I was afraid it still wasn’t enough.” His fingers traced the rim of his cup, thoughtful. “You stood there, listening, but you didn’t say anything. You didn’t cry. You didn’t even look at me much. I wondered if I had lost you in ways I couldn’t fix.”
I looked down at my hands, turning my ring absently. “I wasn’t sure what to feel. I spent so long convincing myself that loving you wasn’t the right choice. And yet there you were, standing at my father’s grave, doing the one thing no one else ever did—acknowledging the parts of me that aren’t easy to carry.”
His jaw tensed slightly. “You’ve never been hard to love.”
I gave him a small, knowing smile. “Not everyone would agree.”
He sighed, rubbing his temple. “That’s the thing. They didn’t have to. I did.”
A pause.
“Did you ever wonder what it would’ve been like if we had never broken up?” I asked, voice quieter.
He leaned back slightly, tilting his head. “All the time.”
“And?”
“And I think we still would’ve ended up here. Maybe not in this coffee shop, maybe not in this exact way, but somehow, we would’ve found our way back.”
I considered that. “What makes you so sure?”
His eyes met mine, no hesitation in his answer. “Because no matter where we go or what happens, you and I have never really been unfinished. Just interrupted.”
I breathed out a quiet laugh, shaking my head. “Maybe.”
He turned slightly, resting his forehead against the side of my temple for just a moment—brief, unspoken, but enough.
Then, with a smirk, he murmured, “Amor vincit omnia.”
I narrowed my eyes. “What?”
His lips twitched. “Love conquers all.”
I rolled my eyes, but my smile gave me away. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Ah, but you love me for it.”
I huffed, shaking my head as I finished my coffee.
As we stepped outside, the early sunlight traced gold along the edges of his face. He walked ahead slightly, unlocking the car, but before I could reach for the handle, I felt it—his gaze.
I turned. “What?”
He didn’t say anything. He just looked at me, steady and unhurried, like he was seeing something I couldn’t.
I frowned. “Heiiiii.”
A slow smile played on his lips. “You look more beautiful today.”
I rolled my eyes, but the warmth in my chest betrayed me. “You always say that.”
“Because it’s always true.”
I huffed. “You’re just saying that.”
He tilted his head, amused. “You think I stare at just anyone like this?”
I faltered. “I — ”
He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “I only look at you like this.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but nothing came out.
And he knew he’d won.
He laughed under his breath, opening the car door for me. “Come on. Let’s go.”
As he started the engine, a familiar song played on the radio. I recognized it immediately.
I shot him a look. “Did you do this on purpose?”
He grinned, keeping his eyes on the road. “Maybe.”
I sighed, shaking my head. “You know this reminds me of..."
“I know.” His tone was lighter now, teasing. “Your ex used to love this song.”
I groaned. “Can we not?”
He chuckled, tapping his fingers on the wheel. “Relax. I’m just saying, I play it better.”
I shot him a glare. “You’re insufferable.”
“And yet,” he mused, stealing a quick glance at me, “you still chose me.”
I bit back a smile, looking out the window as the city faded behind us, the road stretching toward Bandung.
Maybe love wasn’t about finding someone who made things easy.
Maybe it was about choosing the one person who made every hardship worth it.
“At the end of the day,” he murmured, “it’s always been you. It’s always been us.”
Some loves are meant to last, not because they are perfect, but because they endure.
