The evening was supposed to be special—the kind of night you plan carefully and look forward to for days.
I had set money aside, picked my words in advance, and reserved a table at a restaurant known for its refined atmosphere. Everything about the place suggested it was built for meaningful occasions: warm lighting, spotless tableware, and the promise of an experience worth remembering. When my girlfriend arrived, her excitement matched mine, and for a moment, it felt like the night would unfold exactly as I had imagined.

We started easily, sharing appetizers and stories, laughing about our journey together. But slowly, something shifted. The waiter’s demeanor was off—short answers, an edge of impatience, and an odd insistence that we relocate due to a vague “error” that was never clarified. What should have been smooth and romantic began to feel awkward, as though the evening kept stumbling over itself.