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I approached the table with a warm smile, tray in hand, and began to arrange the plates

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I approached the table with a warm smile, tray in hand, and began to arrange the plates. "Here is your order. Enjoy your meal, and I hope you like it."

The lady, seated across from her boyfriend or fiancé, returned my smile with gratitude. "Thank you so much."

They made a lovely couple, and I couldn't help but feel a pang of wistfulness. What a wonderful experience it must be to share a romantic dinner with someone special. I wondered when I'd have the chance to experience that myself.

As I walked away, I exchanged smiles and nods with the other customers, basking in the warm atmosphere. But my pleasant reverie was disrupted when I collided with someone. This time, it wasn't the familiar chest of Mr. Raichand, but a woman who stood before me, her gaze fixed on mine. I rolled my eyes, unenthused about engaging with her.

Her hair was parted in two, falling just above her collarbone, and her goggles perched atop her head. The dark red lipstick seemed almost vampiric, as if she'd feasted on someone's blood. Clad in a red shirt and white pants, she smirked at me, her eyes glinting with amusement.

I had no interest in exchanging pleasantries with her, so I sidestepped her and continued on my way, eager to escape the encounter.

But my escape was thwarted when Ayesha Bedi blocked my path, a sly grin spreading across her face. "Ah, where are you off to? Pretending not to recognize me, I presume?" Her voice dripped with sarcasm, and I couldn't help but chuckle, shaking my head.

"Oh please, Miss Bedi, who could forget you? You're always here, our not-so-special guest... right?" I taunted, flashing her a bright, mocking smile. Ayesha's eyes narrowed, her teeth clenched in irritation, before she forced a smile onto her face.

With a fluid motion, she pulled out a chair from a nearby table, sat down, and crossed one leg over the other, her designer bag slung carelessly over the backrest. "Get me a plate of pasta with red sauce," she ordered, her tone imperious.

I flipped my hair, gave her a look that said "I'm not impressed," and sauntered off, humming a random tune.

Ayesha's entitled attitude was nothing new; we'd been classmates in high school, where she'd always flaunted her wealth and looks, courtesy of her businessman father's deep pockets. I'd never been fond of her condescending nature, and it seemed some things never changed.

As I returned with a plate of pasta, I noticed her engaged in conversation with Krish. Our eyes met, and Krish shot me a peculiar glance, his expression laced with annoyance, clearly indicating his distaste for her. I shared his sentiment, not a single percent of me liked her.

I approached the table, placed the plate of pasta, and her words trailed off. She flashed me a smile, saying, "Thanks." I didn't want her gratitude; I just wanted her gone. Finish the plate and leave, I thought.

She turned to Krish, inquiring, "By the way, Krish, are you still friends? I thought you would have drifted apart since high school." Before Krish could respond, I intervened, my tone firm and assertive, "Correction, Miss Bedi. We are not just friends; we are best friends forever."

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