Two days before our return date, we decided to go out for dinner. Nothing fancy planned, just one last proper night out before reality came knocking again. We had spent the day lazily, packing a little, unpacking again, arguing over what deserved space in the suitcase and what did not. By evening, we were hungry, restless, and in the mood to sit somewhere nice and eat.
The restaurant was warm and softly lit, the kind of place that made you feel relaxed the moment you stepped in. Conversations floated gently around the room, glasses clinked, and cutlery scraped lightly against plates. We were shown to a table near the center. It was comfortable, and visible, but not exposed.
As soon as we sat down, I noticed the waitress.
She was young, pretty, and confident in that slightly exaggerated
