The Golden Rose stood like a jewel box on the corner of Fifth Street, its windows glowing warmly, its entrance framed by well-dressed couples. Sophia took a breath and stepped inside.
The moment she entered, she felt the weight of attention. Other diners, dressed in expensive fabrics and glittering jewelry, seemed to assess her instantly and find her lacking.
A waiter approached with a professional smile that did not quite reach his eyes. She told him she was meeting someone, and he led her to a table by the window overlooking the city lights. The table was set for 2 with white linen, gleaming silverware, and a single rose in a crystal vase.
Sophia sat carefully, trying to remember the etiquette rules Carmen had rushed through that afternoon.
8:00 came and went.
She checked her phone again and again, hoping for a message explaining the delay. The waiter returned twice to ask if she wanted to order, and each time she said she was still waiting.
By 8:30, the truth was beginning to settle in.
Ryan was not coming.
Her throat tightened. She felt her eyes burn. She had been foolish to believe that someone would actually choose her. Foolish to think she belonged in a place like this.
At 8:45, her phone buzzed.
With trembling hands, she opened the message.
Sorry, but I don’t think this will work out. You’re not really what I’m looking for. Good luck.
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