The air smelled of fresh rain and blooming hibiscus as Elena walked down Calle Sol, the cobblestone street glistening under the faint glow of the early morning sun. It was Valentine’s Day, but she didn’t feel the usual flutter of hearts and red roses. She felt… hollow.

A year ago, this day had been a celebration of love. Antonio had taken her to her favorite café, whispered promises of forever, and left her believing she’d found her other half. That was before she found the text messages, the long nights he’d explained away, the lies that unraveled the fabric of their relationship.

Now, the only thing left of that day was her favorite coffee shop, El Amor del Café.

She pushed open the wooden door, the familiar chime greeting her like an old friend. The rich aroma of coffee beans mingled with cinnamon and chocolate as she stepped inside. A chalkboard above the counter advertised the Valentine’s Day special: “Espresso Amore – Because love needs a little caffeine.”

Elena sighed, finding her usual spot by the window. The café was bustling with couples exchanging shy smiles and lovers leaning into private conversations. It was enough to make her stomach churn, but something in the air—maybe the comforting hum of the espresso machine or the warm, amber lighting—kept her rooted.

“Back again, Elena?” Sofia, the owner, appeared with a kind smile. She was a stout woman with curly black hair and hands that always smelled faintly of vanilla.

“You know me. I’m a glutton for punishment,” Elena said with a half-smile, gesturing to the lovebirds around her.

Sofia chuckled and set down a steaming mug. “Here, on the house. Try the special. It might surprise you.”

Elena took a hesitant sip. The rich bitterness of espresso was softened by hints of vanilla and orange—sweet and bold, like a reminder that life could be more than just heartbreak.

“You’ve been coming here every week for months,” Sofia said, sliding into the seat across from her. “But you don’t seem like yourself anymore.”

Elena looked up, startled by the directness. “I’m… fine,” she lied.

Sofia shook her head. “When you first came here, you’d bring your sketchbook. You’d sit for hours, drawing, dreaming. Where’s that Elena?”

The question pierced her. She hadn’t touched her sketchbook in months. Antonio had always dismissed her art as a hobby, a childish distraction from “real life.” Somewhere along the way, she’d started believing him.

“I don’t know who I am anymore,” Elena admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Then maybe it’s time to find out,” Sofia said, standing and patting her shoulder. “Start small. Find one thing that brings you joy and do it—just for you.”

That night, Elena dusted off her old sketchbook. She hesitated before flipping it open, afraid of the emptiness that might greet her. But the first page wasn’t empty. It was a sketch of the café—El Amor del Café.

The memory made her smile. She grabbed a pencil and started to draw. At first, her strokes were tentative, but as the hours passed, her hand moved with a confidence she hadn’t felt in years.

Over the next few weeks, Elena returned to the café, sketchbook in hand. She started sketching everything—the coffee mugs, the pastries in the display case, even Sofia’s kind smile. She rediscovered her love for colors, textures, and the stories her art could tell.

One evening, Sofia noticed her drawings and gasped. “Elena, these are beautiful! You should display them here.”

“I couldn’t—” Elena started, but Sofia waved her off.

“Nonsense. Art belongs in places where people can feel it.”

Reluctantly, Elena agreed. On Valentine’s Day, exactly one year after her heartbreak, her sketches adorned the café walls. Couples admired her vibrant depictions of coffee cups and blooming flowers, the warmth of her art matching the café’s ambiance.

As she watched, something inside her shifted. For the first time in a long time, she felt whole.

“Elena,” a voice interrupted her thoughts.

She turned to see a man about her age holding a cup of the Valentine’s Day special. He had warm brown eyes and an easy smile. “I just wanted to say your art is incredible. It’s like I can feel the stories behind them.”

“Thank you,” she said, her cheeks flushing.

“I’m Marco, by the way.” He extended a hand, and she shook it.

“Elena.”

“I hope you don’t mind me saying this,” he said, “but your art… it feels like love.”

She smiled, feeling something stir—not the fleeting, desperate kind of love she’d once known, but the steady, enduring love she was rediscovering for herself.

And for the first time, Valentine’s Day didn’t feel so hollow. It felt like a beginning.

This was written by our contributing writer, Rachel Taulbee.