That evening was meant to be meaningful rather than impressive—the kind of night planned with care because you want it to speak quietly for you. I had saved for weeks, rehearsing the details in my mind, believing that enough preparation could guarantee the right atmosphere. The restaurant was chosen for its calm elegance: soft lighting, white linens, polished glassware. It promised intimacy, a space where time would slow. When my girlfriend arrived, smiling with her familiar warmth, I felt certain the night would unfold as imagined. At first, it did. We shared food and laughter, revisiting the road that had...
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