Love at First Sight Is Real: The Art of Noticing Someone

Love at first sight is real, but it’s stranger than the movies make it seem. I walk into a chain bookstore’s coffee shop and notice a cute girl sitting within earshot. She’s reading something thin with more words than pictures. I assume it’s intellectual, which makes her more attractive.

This is what we do. We notice someone and immediately start constructing them.

The Story We Build

She takes a bite from her waffle. I make eye contact and attempt a smile. Confused, she looks back to her magazine. I know she’s wondering if I’m going to approach. I retreat into the Christian Inspiration section, a section I’ve never been in before.

I pick up a book called 3:16 and even though I know it refers to a scripture verse, I pick it up anyway because my name is Jon and I was born on March 16th. I open it, half expecting it will tell me what that coincidence means, but put it back before reading a single word.

We want things to mean something. We want the universe to be sending us messages through book titles in sections we’ve never visited.

The Performance of Being Noticed

I round up a pile of impressive books before sitting down. Just in case she notices what I’m reading. I place them on the table, spine end toward her, as if she might see the titles from twenty yards away.

I reconsider my selection. Ellis, Palahniuk, and Fitzgerald make me look more like a psychopath than an intellectual. Why did I think she’d be impressed by a series of well-articulated moral decline?

We curate ourselves for people who aren’t paying attention. We perform for audiences that don’t exist. And somehow this is normal.

The Tiny Clues

I notice an apron draped over her bag. Some patch I recognize. She’s standing now, throwing a backpack over her shoulder. Turning for the door.

When she’s gone, I walk over to her table and look at the magazine she left behind. Movie Maker Magazine.

With that, I’m in love.

What We’re Really Doing

There’s something both beautiful and absurd about this. We see a stranger for fifteen minutes, notice a handful of details, and construct an entire person from them. We fall for the story we’ve written, not the person who exists.

And yet. The noticing is real. The curiosity is real. The momentary connection across a coffee shop, even if imagined, creates something.

Maybe that’s what attraction actually is. Not knowing someone, but wanting to know them. Building a bridge out of tiny clues and hoping they’ll meet you in the middle.

Most of these stories end at the bookstore door. The person leaves. The bridge goes unfinished.

But every once in a while, someone walks over and says hello.