The Bistro

Walking into the restaurant cum bistro, I enquired about a free table for four. As they were arranging for a table, I stood there; my eyes caught by a group of people at a round table. They occupied a cozy, velvet-dark alcove of the bistro, where the air conditioning hung heavy and still. The dim light pooled on their round table, leaving the rest of the corner in shadow. Currently, I was alone as my friends would join me later.

This group was certainly different from the rest (who were either indulged in eating or gossiping), their uncontrollable laughter snapped into a silence so profound, it seemed to absorb the bistro's low hum, leaving behind only the distinct clink of cutlery. A waiter stood right in front of me, obstructing my view. I tried adjusting my head, tilting towards the right then left. Hardly did I realize that the waiter had come to show me a table for my group and myself.

I followed the waiter, my eyes glued to the round table, only realising I'd stopped when my elbow nudged the plush back of a chair. I was seated close enough to hear their breathing, granted a sudden, intimate clarity of every gesture and shadow- I relished it. Getting a closer view of every member of the group, I was bemused to find that what seemed like a scarf to me earlier was actually the girl's two-toned hair!

The green-lilac color combination of her hair against her chestnut skin tone was accentuated by her striking white teeth, which were barely concealed by her wine-colored lips—she was Lianna. The green-lilac combination wasn't merely a colour; it was a vibrant stain against her chestnut skin, flowing like a silken, two-toned waterfall over her shoulder. She was not only being scrutinized by me but also by a guy sitting opposite her at the round table, his gaze-two polished stones set deep beneath heavy brows. He had a mocha skin tone with a goatee beard; notably, he wore a solitaire in his left ear which shone brighter than his black-beetle eyes.

As he sipped a greenish-purple cocktail, the glass frosted white with condensation, promising a sharp sugary bite, another youngster (whose name was Rogers) called him, "Latte," distinctly louder than the rest of his inaudible sentence. Roger possessed a deep-set baritone voice, a voice that didn't just speak, but seemed to vibrate the heavy air around the table, lending weight to every syllable-which was indeed most frequently heard by me among the group. His friend, Rosemary, was unlike him as she sat more quietly and spoke the least. Her name adequately described her rosy cheeks—she wore a minty fresh scent.

In the meanwhile, I ordered myself a mojito, my mind barely registering the choice, impressed instead by the almost untouched, vivid display of dishes laid on the table I had been closely observing. There were delectable Mexican cheese balls with a golden, crispy cover, a bowl of Caesar salad, a long-awaiting pot of mac-n-cheese, its cheesy crust shrunk in the cold, airy draft, a deep dish carefully held the spinach-ricotta centered lasagna, as if denying the forks any entry. Not only were the ordered dishes barely tasted, but also the pristine, almost sacramental quality of the leather-bound menu lying ignored in front of Rosemary on the table- a heavy prop in a drama driven by conversation, not appetite.

Once again, my attention was caught by Lianna, who spoke with uncontained velocity, her sturdy arms slicing the air between them in wide, reckless arcs while conversing with Rogers. She didn't even realize how frequently her gestures nearly crossed the face of a girl named Jane who sat beside her. Her willowy frame and linear structure almost too fragile for the sturdy bistro chair- further heightened my anxiety that she could be terribly hurt. She slowly, attentively looked at each of her pals while munching on tortilla chips, the crisp, salted shards shattering loudly between her teeth yet muffled by cantankerous Lianna.

After about fifteen minutes, my friends called me to ask why I hadn't arrived yet; only then did I realize I had entered the wrong bistro! Just as I was leaving, I took a final glance at Jane as she had joined the conversation with Rosemary—oh what a soothing honeydew voice she had! Her unforgettable voice accompanied me throughout the day!