The waiter returned again, placing two elegant plates in front of us. RoughCoin's plate looked like it belonged in a food magazine, perfectly plated and intimidatingly fancy.
Mine... well, it looked the same. Unfortunately.
I stared at the utensils the waiter set down. Fork? Spoon? Knife? Which one was I supposed to use? Why couldn’t they just serve basmati? Or something I am conversant with.
"Enjoy your meal..". The waiter said, bowing slightly before retreating.
The moment the waiter was gone, the tension at the table thickened again. I kept my eyes on the plate, trying to figure out how to even begin eating. The utensils looked like weapons of etiquette I wasn’t trained to wield.
“Eat,” Faizal said, his voice low but firm, breaking the silence.
Then he leaned back in his chair,
