They say not everything written is true. Turns out, that includes restaurant reviews.
The glowing praises I had read about this place. Just a well-crafted publicity stunt. The food was average at best, and the crowd made it impossible to even hear my own thoughts, let alone have a meaningful moment.
This wasn't the place. I couldn't propose to her here - not in the middle of clinking plates, loud chatter, and waiters rushing past.
So, I made a quick decision.
Somewhere quieter. Somewhere better. Somewhere worthy of this moment.
I paid the bill, stood up, and reached for her hand. "Come on," I said with a smile. "I know a better place."
She raised an eyebrow, curious but amused. "Oh? Are we just hopping from one bad restaurant to another today?"
I laughed, squeezing her hand. "Trust me on this one. And I will be driving this time." Can't pray to God to save me each time.
After driving for quite a while, we finally reached our destination. I should have chosen this place from the start.
It wasn't fancy. It wasn't the kind of place that made it into magazines or food blogs. But it was familiar - somewhere I used to come with my father. A quiet, open-air restaurant tucked away from the city's chaos, where the air always carried the scent of grilled food and fresh earth after a breeze.
At first, I thought it wouldn't be good enough for her. The food was average, the décor simple - nothing extravagant, nothing grand. But now, standing here with her, I realized that this was exactly the kind of place she would appreciate.
She stepped out of the car, looking around, her expression softening. "This is nice," she murmured, turning to me with a small smile.
And just like that, I knew - this was the perfect place.
The place where I would ask her to be mine forever.
"Mira, did you know I used to come here all the time with my dad? That was before we moved back to the city."
"Oh really?" She lowered the menu just enough for her mischievous eyes to peek over the top, a teasing smile playing on her lips. "Your dad clearly had great taste in places. Unlike a certain someone."
I sighed, shaking my head. "Hey, that was an honest mistake. Who would've thought a famous magazine would lie that badly?"
"Any normal person would." She chuckled, the sound light and effortless. Then, flipping the menu shut, she leaned in. "Never mind that. You know this place - tell me what to try?"
"Well, I'm not sure if they still have the same menu," I admitted, glancing around the familiar yet slightly changed surroundings. "I only found out last week that this place was still here."
I had been frequenting this spot with my dad - but that was ten years ago. A lifetime ago.
Just then, the waiter arrived, placing an additional menu on the table with a polite smile.
"You'll find all our classic dishes here," he said warmly. "We've revised our menu over the years, but we still keep the old favorites for our long-time customers."
I ran my fingers over the cover, something about it grounding me in nostalgia. Mira leaned in, resting her chin on her hand, eyes curious.
"Well," she said, grinning. "Looks like you're in luck. Now, tell me - what's the real best dish here?"
Somehow, everything felt special today. The soft hum of conversations, the dim glow of the overhead lights, the way the evening breeze carried the scent of freshly baked bread - it all felt right.
A smile crept onto my face without me realizing it. Maybe it was the place. Maybe it was her.
Mira tapped a finger against the menu, pulling me out of my thoughts. "Alright, Mr. Regular - what's the best thing here?"
I chuckled, scanning the menu. "If they still make it the same way, you have to try their signature pasta."
"Sounds promising," she mused, then turned to the waiter. "I'll take that. And for him…" she glanced at me expectantly.
"I'll have the same," I said with a nod. Then, glancing at the menu again, I added, "And let's get some sandwiches to share. They used to make the best ones."
The waiter jotted it down, giving a polite nod before heading off. Mira leaned back in her chair, stretching slightly. "Alright, let's see if this place truly lives up to your nostalgia."
I laughed. "No pressure, right?"
She grinned. "Oh, all the pressure."
And just like that, the night felt even more perfect.
"So, were you done with your chores yesterday?" I asked, trying to keep my tone light, but curiosity gnawed at me. She hadn't texted me until late at night, which wasn't like her.
The question barely left my lips before I saw it - her smile wavered. Just for a second. A flicker of something unreadable passed through her eyes, like a shadow cutting across the sun.
But in the blink of an eye, she masked it. That same teasing smile was back, as if nothing had happened.
"Nothing special," she said, voice light, almost too casual. "You know how family functions get - hectic, exhausting." She let out a small sigh, still avoiding my gaze. "I'm not really a fan of those."
Her fingers fidgeted with the edge of the menu, her eyes scanning it like she was looking for an escape.
I knew her well enough to tell - something was off. But I also knew pushing her for answers wouldn't get me anywhere. If she wanted to tell me, she would.
So, I let it go.
For now.
The food arrived soon after, filling the air with the scent of freshly made pasta and toasted sandwiches. Mira, as always, found something to joke about, teasing me over my portion size and laughing at my overdramatic reaction to the extra chili in my pasta.
For a while, it felt normal. Easy.
But I kept catching those fleeting moments - pauses between her laughter, the way her fingers tapped against the table when she thought I wasn't looking. Like she was somewhere else, even while sitting right in front of me.
And I hated that distance.
As the plates were cleared and the warm glow of the restaurant lights flickered above us, I knew I couldn't hold it in anymore.
I had planned this differently. Thought about a grand moment, something memorable. But in the end, looking at her across the table, it hit me - this was enough. Just her. Just us.
I took a deep breath, my fingers tightening around the small velvet box in my pocket.
"Mira." My voice was steady, but my heart wasn't.
She looked up, her eyes meeting mine, curiosity dancing in them.
"I need to tell you something."
Her smile softened. "What's with the serious face?"
I exhaled, feeling my chest tighten. "I - "