I'm Not Too Old!

Nora adjusted the silk scarf around her neck and looked at her reflection in the café window. Sixty-two. Twice divorced. A mother. A grandmother. Now, she was sitting at a small round table at Café Valencia, waiting for a man she hadn’t seen in forty years.

It all began with a message on Facebook. Simple. Polite. "Are you the same Nora I used to share bus rides with after school?" The message was from Emeka, the boy who made her laugh with silly songs and crooked smiles. The boy who once held her hand under the mango tree behind the library.

At first, she replied cautiously, but soon it became easy. Their conversations became regular. Safe. Familiar. One afternoon, Emeka wrote, "Let me take you to coffee. If we’re too old for first dates, let’s call it a reunion."

Now, as she sat with her fingers tightly around her cup, her heart raced as if she were seventeen again.

"Nora?" a warm voice called from behind.

She turned. He was taller, of course. Grayer, certainly. But the smile was the same — wide, genuine, and a bit shy. Emeka.

"You came," she said, standing up.

"Did you think I wouldn’t?" he grinned.

"I wasn’t sure. It’s been a long time."

They sat down, and the conversation flowed as if time had stopped just for them. They reminisced about old teachers, missed opportunities, and the lives they had lived separately — the children, the heartbreaks, the dreams they had given up and the ones they still cherished.

"I always thought about you," Emeka confessed, his eyes softening. "I thought maybe I missed my chance."

"So did I," Nora replied.

A pause settled between them. Outside, the city buzzed, but inside the little café, it was just the two of them, two hearts reconnecting, recognizing something that never truly faded away.

"You know," she said with a smile, "people think romance is just for the young. All fireworks and foolishness. But I believe it’s sweeter now. Calmer. Deeper."

Emeka reached for her hand across the table. "So, you don’t...

She chuckled, a sound that made him grin even more. "No, Emeka. I’m not too old. And you’re not either."

As they walked out into the evening, the sun hung low, casting a golden light over the calm street. Emeka extended his arm, and she accepted it without a second thought.

This wasn’t the start of a youthful, reckless romance. It was something softer. More genuine.

And for the first time in a long time, Nora understood — love doesn’t have a shelf life. It simply waits, patiently, for the heart to be ready once more.

Do you really think so? Does love wait or you have to run after it? And what do you think about romance?