A Night That Took an Unexpected Turn
I had pictured the evening for weeks—the kind you replay later with a quiet smile. I’d planned carefully, saved longer than I wanted to admit, and chosen a restaurant known for its understated charm. Soft lighting. Crisp tablecloths. The kind of place where conversations feel closer and time slows down.
When my girlfriend arrived, glowing and excited, I was sure everything was lining up perfectly.
At first, it did. We laughed over appetizers, reminisced about old memories, and toasted to how far we’d come together. For a while, nothing else existed. Just us, tucked into our corner of the room, the rest of the world politely fading out.
Then the tone shifted.
Our waiter seemed irritated from the beginning. Simple questions were met with clipped answers. Small requests felt like inconveniences. Halfway through the meal, we were abruptly asked to move tables due to a “mix-up” no one explained. The interruption snapped the rhythm of the night, leaving us feeling oddly out of place—like guests who had overstayed a welcome they never understood.
I tried to let it go. No evening is flawless. But each dismissive glance chipped away at the mood. My girlfriend noticed too. She reached for my hand under the table, grounding the moment, reminding me that the setting mattered far less than who I was sitting with.
When the bill arrived—$180—I paid without comment. I just wanted to leave with dignity.
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