I teach a filmmaking class once a week at a university and I sometimes tell them this story to remind them that you don't need dialogue to make an emotional scene.

When I was in my early twenties I was at one of those awful, big, open-spaced Mexican restaurants long before I learned that the best Mexican food never has a waiter. I digress. I was with my girlfriend of the time, and because we were arguing I was feeling down and looking at the other couples around. There, in the center of the place was this man and a woman in their fifties. She was quite obviously dressed up; you could tell because her outfit was filled with bright colors but was a decade or more out of fashion so it looked like it didn't taken out very often. She had her hair done and little pearl earrings and some slight make up and kind of a cute soft white sweater over her shoulders. She was pretty heavy, but you could tell the outfit made her feel nice and she kept throwing shy smiles at the man across the table from her who, judging by their wedding rings was her husband. He was wearing a ratty polo and some slacks and old shoes and a windbreaker. He was also reading a paperback book. During the whole time I was watching them I never saw him meet her eyes, not when she put some of her food on his plate or when she would lean in and try to point something out. He was just staring at that book and not in a OMG-what-about-Hermione kind of way, just leaning back, feet spread, shoulders slouched. He would never even acknowledge her existence. It was so incredibly sad. The woman I was with eventually wanted to go and so we paid the bill and got up to leave. But not before the staff brought out the woman's birthday cake, set it on the table, and walked away. The man continued to read his book while the woman started cutting slices for both of them.