As she sat in the sushi bar and listen to staff call out to guests in a language she didn’t understand, she wished he was there.
She’d glance at the door each time it opened with the chime of bells. Deep down she knew it wouldn’t be him, but it didn’t stop the swell of hope in her gut.
She crumpled her napkin to a ball and tore at the edges. A neglectful stain of wasabi slide across her forefinger. Without hesitation, she licked it off. Her eyes stung and mouth puckered.
With a groan, she shoved her platter away and waved off staff. She reminisced about their first date here and how he used chopsticks as props. Her smile was weak as her stomach clenched, remembering how she laughed.
That moment. How she wished to go back. She would relive it all differently, the moment she walked out the restaurant.