Rafe
The menu at that place in West End... the one with the "Steamed Sorrow" dish. What happened after we left the table? The waiter looked like he'd seen a ghost when he brought the check. You seemed so quiet right after that.
Open by asking what happened after a specific point. Push off from this if it helps: a badly translated menu.
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voices Blunt
Lena
The check was heavy, Rafe. Or maybe it was just the way the light hit the tablecloth. I don't remember much of the walk back to the car, just that the air felt too thin to breathe. It's funny, though—everything was so much louder before the waiter walked over. He looked absolutely terrified.
Rafe
He wasn't terrified of the bill, Lena. It was because of the man in the grey suit sitting by the window. He was staring at us the whole time. Did you notice him? He didn't even touch his wine. He just watched.
Lena
He probably just thought we were making a scene. People stare; it's nothing. But I do remember the feeling of someone looking at the back of my neck when we stood up. It felt like... like we’d forgotten something important on the table. Is that why you're being so quiet? Like you're waiting for a punch to land?
Rafe
It wasn't a punch. It was the sound of the heavy doors swinging shut behind us. When we stepped out onto the pavement, everything felt shifted. Like the street wasn't where it was supposed to be. You didn't even look back once.
Lena
Looking back would have been a waste of energy. The street was always going to be there, regardless of how it felt. Besides, the sudden cold caught me off guard. Everything felt much too sharp. I think... well, does it matter if the pavement moved? We were still walking. Or were we?
Rafe
You were walking. But you were walking toward the car like you were in a trance. You didn't even notice the black sedan idling at the corner. It wasn't there when we arrived, was it? You just kept staring straight ahead.
Lena
It was there. It was always there, wasn't it? I just didn't want to acknowledge it. If you don't look at a thing, it can't really catch you. Besides, my head was still spinning from that conversation before the check arrived. The engine sounded different too. Like it was idling too low for a car that size.
Rafe
It was too low. It sounded like it was struggling, or maybe it was waiting. You weren't even listening to the engine, though. You were looking at the driver's side window, trying to see if the glass was tinted or if it was just the dark.
Lena
It was definitely tinted. You can’t tell with that sort of dark glass; it just swallows everything. I couldn't tell if someone was actually sitting behind it or if it was just an empty shell waiting for us to pass. It’s probably just the wine, Rafe. I’m much more interested in why you're acting so certain about everything.
Rafe
Certainty is a dangerous thing. But someone had to notice the driver didn't move when we approached. It wasn't the wine, Lena. You saw him, too. The way he gripped the steering wheel like he was bracing for an impact. Like he was waiting for us to get in.
Lena
He looked like he was holding his breath. That's the only way to describe it. If he was waiting for us, he was waiting with a strange kind of tension, as if the car might just roll away without a sound. Why does it matter? We didn't get in. The car is still there, somewhere, isn't it?
Rafe
It’s parked three blocks away, near the canal. But that's not the point. When you turned to the passenger side, you reached for your coat—the one with the silver clasp—and you realized the door was already unlatched. Someone had opened it for us before we even arrived.
Lena
The latch was loose. I remember the metal feeling cold against my fingers. It felt like someone had been waiting for the exact moment we stopped pretending to be alone. But the driver... he didn't even look up when the door clicked. He just kept staring at us through that dark glass. Like he was waiting for an invitation.