A young man and a young woman face each other, each holding out a cup. Between and above them floats a staff wound with two snakes, topped by a winged lion's head. A house sits on a hill behind them. They are about the same height, and so are their cups.
That sameness is the whole point of the Two of Cups. Nobody here is doing the other a favour; both are offering something of equal weight. Romance is the obvious reading, but it is not the only one. A business partner you click with, a friend you had drifted from and can suddenly talk to again, an interview where you can tell the interest is mutual. It is the moment you sense this will work before anything is signed.
Reversed, the scales tip. In one version, only one person ever calls and only one person ever adjusts. In the other, both still care, but small misunderstandings have piled up into a crack. The first calls for an honest look at whether you want to keep it this way. The second usually eases faster than you would think once someone says, even briefly, what stung.
Worth checking: in this connection, am I giving roughly what I get, and getting roughly what I give?
Reading it as 'the one' overshoots. The Two of Cups is a first promise, not an ending. It says the moment the cups meet is good. It does not cover what happens after, which is decided by what the two of you do on ordinary days.
With the Lovers, attraction is hardening into a choice and a commitment. Overlapping with the Three of Swords, look first for the hurt — or the third person — that has come between them.