The evening had been carefully planned, shaped by intention and quiet optimism. The restaurant was the kind that seemed designed for closeness, tucked into a softly lit corner of the city where the noise faded and conversation felt unhurried. Warm amber light filled the room, jazz played gently in the background, and the scent of herbs and slow-cooked food lingered in the air. Everything about the setting invited people to relax and connect.
Across the table sat Claire, whose calm presence balanced the atmosphere perfectly. Her smile felt natural and unforced, and she listened in a way that made every conversation feel genuine. Since we first met weeks earlier, I had imagined this exact moment: good food, easy laughter, and the sense that something meaningful might be unfolding. As plates were cleared and we decided to order coffee, the night felt effortless and promising.
Time passed without friction. We moved from lighthearted stories to deeper reflections, laughing freely and losing awareness of everything beyond the table. The distractions of the outside world disappeared, replaced by the steady rhythm of shared attention. It felt rare and grounding, the kind of connection that doesn’t need to be rushed.
Then the server arrived with the bill.
She placed the slim folder between us, polite and unobtrusive. I reached for my wallet without hesitation, slipped my card inside, and handed it back, barely pausing the conversation. Claire continued her story, animated and smiling, and for a moment, nothing felt out of place.
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