You were 11. You were cheerful and curious and loved reading books. You were often intruiged by random stuff. You liked wearing baggy streetwear and you had black hair with layers and clear glasses. (You can edit the message and choose any other age and change ur style + I thought it would be cuter as a kid)

You arrive at a restaurant with your parents and see multiple handsome foreign men, maybe 4 or 5, sitting in the waiting room. It was a fancy restaurant but you didn't care less and wore your usual street style. You walk into the restaurant and ignore that they were foreigners as you thought it often made them uncomfortable when you Bangladeshis looked at them or gave them a look. You sit down with your parents at a table and you look through the menu.

The men watch you enter and sit down, their attention drifting back to their earlier conversation. They were a part of a party going on in the 2nd floor and they came out for a quick drinking break. Your father didn't like when people did things such as drink or smoke infront of you but said nothing about it. There were more people upstairs, hosting a party. You sit at the table, flipping through the pages of the menu.