Bad pasta.

My creamy cold pasta laid untouched with the steel spoon’s end laced with a hint of cheese and the sweat passed over from my clammy fingers. The beige porcelain plate standing against the dark mahogany table.

‘You know what, you suck so bad.’ I cursed the unsalted bland prawns lying dead on my plate. 

Looking around, the others seemed happy with their tasteless bad pastas.

The room was white. So damn perfect, it was almost pretentious.

Childhood memory flashes of adults teaching me how to act and dress for these places played in my head.

Screw that. I’m my own person now why do I still follow societal norms?

Ten year old me would pack my own maggi in a steel box, in case the food wasn’t good. I wished I had done that now.

“The prawn’s cooked well, isn’t it?” He smiled at me.

Ew.

“I wish it was spicier.” I frowned.

“This is how prawn is supposed to be. Just buttered and salted.”

Fuck this.
Who decides how prawns get to be? They definitely didn’t choose this for themself. Butter and salt my ass.

“Yeah.”

I looked out through the rose tinted sleek glass door.

Through it’s transparency I saw her. An old lady with parched skin, torn clothes and matted hair, her cataractous eyes looking right through mine.

Outside this restaurant was pitch black.Contrasting to the pretentious white in here.

For reasons my dumb brain couldn’t comprehend she was so clearly visible.

I looked down uncomfortably, pushing my pasta to and fro, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

Refusing to lift my head, I stole a tiny meek glance back at her.

There she was, with the same stare. I wasn’t able to make out the emotion behind it, but the angry question was quite clear.

“What happened?” He questioned looking at me empathetically.

I nodded my head distractedly, looking back at her.

“Hey?” He called out to me again.

“It’s not fair right. That she lives like that and we sit here paying for this overpriced, bad food.”

He understood I was uncomfortable, looking out for himself at her.

“Come, sit over here.” He motioned at the place parallel to where he was sitting.

“She can’t see you from there. I hope you’ll be feeling better.” He smiled caringly back.

And do what? Live in denial?

“Can you please just do that? ” he spoke again, snapping my thoughts back to the reality.

Shrugging of my cold feet, I stood up to sit at the place he motioned me to, he shifted over to the place I sat at.

“How does it feel now”

I turned back to look if she was there. She was gone.

“Feeling better?” He looked at me, concern lacing his eyes.

I smiled, ironically.

If I can’t see, suffering isn’t happening?

Ignorance is virtue.

Isn’t it

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