NO REASON

Chapter 6: Dinner with his past

When I walked into the restaurant, I felt a pang of self-consciousness. The place was cozy but casual, and here I was, dressed up in a slim-fit dress and styled hair. I had expected something fancier, with white tablecloths and candles, but instead, it was a small, no-frills Italian spot with the strong scent of garlic and tomatoes.

Sitting alone, I felt exposed. The stares from other diners made me feel small and awkward. I overheard some teenagers at a nearby table laughing and commenting about my dress, their remarks cutting into my confidence.

“Wow, look at what she’s wearing!” one girl said, and the laughter that followed stung. “Her dress makes her look like she’s got no shape.”

I wanted to disappear. The judgment from the people around me was overwhelming.

Just when I thought I couldn't take it anymore, I heard Abel’s voice.

“Good evening, Monique.”

I turned to see Abel standing there. Relief washed over me. “Abel,” I said, managing a weak smile. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

As Abel approached, his charming smile seemed to melt the tension. His arrival drew approving murmurs from the diners and even caught the attention of the high school girls who had been staring. They whispered in amazement, clearly taken aback by Abel’s presence.

“Is that her date?” one of them whispered. “How did she land someone like him?”

Abel looked effortlessly stylish in a button-down shirt and jeans. His tousled hair and easy smile made me feel proud and a little giddy.

When he sat down, he looked at me with genuine admiration. “You look stunning,” he said warmly.

I blushed and shrugged. “I might have overdressed a bit,” I said, feeling self-conscious.

Abel reached across the table and took my hand gently. “You look gorgeous. Don’t worry about it.”

His touch and words made me feel better, easing the insecurity that had plagued me.

As we started eating, I noticed Abel carefully picking out each tiny sliver of basil from his pasta. I couldn’t help but tease him. “Most people eat the basil,” I said playfully.

Abel blushed a bit but laughed. “Yeah, I’m not a fan of basil,” he admitted. “When I was a kid, my mom made pasta with basil from her garden. It was her special recipe, something she always made on Sundays.”

His eyes grew distant as he continued. “She passed away when I was young. After that, I couldn’t stand the taste of basil. It just reminded me too much of her.”

Empathy washed over me, and I placed a comforting hand on his arm. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

Abel offered a sad smile. “It’s okay. Some wounds never fully heal, but it’s the memories that keep us going.”

As we talked more, Abel opened up about his past. He told me how his mother’s death had cast a shadow over his childhood. He spent long days alone, as his father was frequently absent. One day, his father simply never came back. Abel had to fend for himself, navigating a world that felt increasingly cold and indifferent.

“It was tough,” he said with a sigh, his gaze distant. “But I managed to get by.”

When he spoke about his distant uncle, who eventually took him in, I saw discomfort cross his face. It was clear that the relationship was strained, and the mention of his uncle seemed to stir up painful memories.

Despite his calm exterior, I noticed a small detail: Abel kept rubbing his thumb against his index finger, a nervous tic that revealed his inner turmoil.

As the evening continued, I found myself drawn into Abel’s world, each story deepening our connection. The more he shared, the more I felt a profound sense of understanding and empathy for him.