Walking down the familiar cobbled street to the quaint coffee shop were we first met, still brings tears to my eyes. It has been over a year since the tragic accident, yet it still seems like yesterday.
Our first meeting was by chance, when I dashed in there one night to get out of the cold, pouring rain. On entering the coffee shop I spotted an empty table near the fire. Without checking that it may be occupied I made my way over to it, and dropped my weary frame into one of the over-stuffed comfortable chairs.
The room was warm and snug. The roar of the fire was a pleasant change from the organised chaos on the city roads outside. Old stagecoach lamps hung from the walls, throwing pools of dim light over the tables. Large oil paintings of winter scenes in old London adorned the walls, like windows into the past.
My exhaustion caught up with me and I fell asleep in this warm and comfortable environment. I woke slowly to the gentle touch of your hand. Opening my eyes I saw your radiant smile for the very first time. You were sitting in the chair opposite me. Only then did I see your handbag on the table and realised that I was an uninvited guest at your table.
Apologising for the intrusion I stood up and looked around for another empty table. You just smiled, touched my hand briefly, and asked me to sit down and share your table. I looked down at this beautiful young woman, smiled and sat down immediately. The rented video I planned to watch that evening, suddenly became unimportant.
We sat next to the fire until the early morning hours talking and laughing like old friends. This was a dream come true for both of us. It was as if fate had guided us to the coffee shop. Little did we suspect the heartache that lay ahead for both of us.
This chance meeting changed both our lives forever.