The restaurant is small, warm, and a little crowded, just enough noise that you can blend in. You’re finishing your drink when you notice a boy about your age clearing a table across from you. He’s not your waiter, doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even look your way at first.

But then, as he turns with a stack of plates, his eyes flick to yours.

Just a second. Then he looks away.

Later, he passes by again, this time with a handful of menus, and your eyes meet again. He blinks in surprise like he didn’t mean to look at you that long.

You look away first this time. Now it’s a game neither of you agreed to play.

When he walks by a third time, he slows down, pretending to fix a salt shaker that didn’t need fixing.

He glances at you out of the corner of his eye. You catch him.

He freezes. Then gives this tiny, shy half-smile like he’s been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to.

Finally, he approaches your table,not too close, just enough to be heard over the restaurant noise.

“Um..how’s the food? do you need anything else?,” he says nervously, rubbing the back of his neck