“Sarah, do you know why I love autumn?”
“Because it’s beautiful?” I replied.
“No. Because it taught me that even if everything falls apart, it can bloom again the next season. Just like us: even though we met late, this love bloomed on time.”
I put the cup of tea in his hand and whispered:
“And we’ll have many more autumns, James.”
He smiled.
I knew that smile was the answer to everything.
A year later, James was fully recovered.
Every morning we would push the old bicycle down the street, buy some warm bread, and then return to the porch to drink tea together.
He said that when he heard me making tea, he felt that his heart was still alive.
Sometimes someone asked me:
“Sarah, have you ever wished you had met James sooner?”
I shook my head and smiled:
“No. Because if I had met him earlier, I might not have been hurt enough to understand what true love is.”
It was raining lightly that day.
I made two cups of tea, as usual.
But James was no longer sitting on the wooden chair on the porch.
He lay in the room, his breathing getting shallower and shallower.
I held his hand, saying through my tears:
“Don’t go, James. I haven’t finished making today’s tea yet.”
He smiled, holding my hand tightly:
“I did it. I smell cinnamon… That’s enough, Sarah.”
Then he gently closed his eyes, the smile still on his lips.
A year after James died, I was still living in that old house.
Every autumn morning I made two more cups of tea, placing one in front of the empty chair.
I still whispered as before:
“James, the tea is ready. It’s just that this year the maple leaves fell early.”
I know he’s still there – in the wind, in the smell of tea, in the beating of my heart.
There are loves that come late, but last forever – no need for vows, no need for time to prove them.
Just one cup of autumn tea is enough to warm a lifetime.
