Love, she decided, was not what she thought it was. So many times she had been hurt, over and over. The initial rush, the heady anticipation, the passion and fireworks, and then, it faded, it ended, and she was left alone. She decided love was not for her, or perhaps it didn't exist.
Then, she saw it. An icy winter morning, dreading going out into the cold to clear off her car and get it started. Nursing her coffee and wondering if she could call in to work. She looked outside, and there he was. The old man, with his gouty legs, hobbling through the snow wearing pants that didn't even reach his ankles. Methodically cleaning off each car in turn, scraping and brushing with more care than anyone else. Someone approached, tried to hand him something; he held up a hand, smiled, nodded, and went back to cleaning. She wondered how many winters in Korea he had seen before moving here. She wondered what he had seen to make him want to do this for people who barely spoke to him.
Was…this love? Not heady romance, but…real love? To go out in the cold and snow and clean off cars without expecting anything in return?
Perhaps, just perhaps…she’d been looking for the wrong thing all along. She rose, suddenly filled with energy that had nothing to do with her coffee, dressed, made herself ready, then left her apartment. Before she went, she slid an envelope under the old man’s door.
If that didn't cover his doctor’s bills, she didn't know what would.
A/N: I know I told the real story last year, but I thought it'd make for good fiction.