Yellow.

fourteen.

It is over the top. A high and classy restaurant, about twenty minutes away from central London and just around Kensington. Expensive looking and a bit too quiet from a simple place, where people just come, eat, have a good time and leave. Of course it is expected, Chad is a spoilt brat and his father owns one of the fastest growing businesses in the United Kingdom, he has to go over the top to prove a point to Iman.

A bit nervous and uncomfortable, Iman repeatedly squeezes her fingers and bites down her plump lips, mentally wishing it was a place as simple as the Milkshake bar or just a normal café, with people of her calibre.

As soon as Chad stepped in with his hand linked around hers, a swarm of desperate and over friendly waiters ran straight up his ass, keeping their heads comfortable in there and taking him as a demi god. He made reservations for a special area in the restaurant, and a particular waiter kept giving Iman a questioning stare, before asking Chad, once more, if they were together. Iman repeatedly pressed down her hair and tried to adjust her jacket, feeling the indirect racism ooze from that one waiter, and she wished she could kick him in the balls.

The reserved table for two is positioned upstairs, next to the wide windows and open space view, but due to the weather, they are sat indoors. It is a subtly magnificent view, giving an insight to the bright lights and bustling night life, on the other side of London. Iman does not hide her admiration, and immediately takes a few shots with her phone, sending it to Daya with excited emoji’s. There is no reply from the younger sister, and Iman shrugs it off, realising she might still be a bit emotional.

“You really should try it,” Chad urges, chuckling and giving a bright smile at her.

“I really don’t know, I am a bit sketchy with seafood and you know I already have full lips, I am scared of turning into SpongeBob’s teacher,” Iman giggles to herself, glancing at the menu and trying to find the cheapest meal. Everything is above thirty pounds, and they don’t even seem worth it.

The waiter rolls his eyes and gives a fake smile. “The cheapest thing on our menu is a bottle of water, we go for Evian or Fiji, it ranges. You probably have never tried caviar, so I recommend the shrimp sauce or…,”

“I love caviar, I just don’t take too much of seafood, and I am sorry, I don’t remember asking for the cheapest thing on your menu,” Iman speaks, firming her voice and focusing her eyes on the menu.

Chad clears his throat and drags his eyebrows together. “How about you bring us our starters first, and drinks?”

A nod is given in response by the waiter and he arrogantly saunters away.

“That was a bit rude, don’t you think?” Chad sighs, adjusting his suit and staring at her.

Iman sighs and looks at him. “If you haven’t noticed it, he has been giving me funny looks since I walked in with you, and I suspect he was trying to pass racist comments at me by directing me to the cheapest on the menu, which I already saw first, and saying I have probably never tried Caviar, it is not gold,”

“This is why I wanted you to straighten or you know hold your hair, it is too big and all up in our faces,” he tries to coat his tone by chuckling and making it come off as a joke, but Iman is not smiling.

“Chad, this place is too expensive and unnecessary, it is just a first date and it is too much. I didn’t plan for this,” she sighs, pushing the menu to the side of the table and looking around the area.

It is a wide space with dim golden lights, there is a variety of elusive music, ranging from Andrea Boccelli to John Legend playing the background. A clearly expensive chandelier is the main source of lighting, allowing its bright golden lights contrast with the dark walls, and produce a very warm feeling across the room. There are little scented candles placed on each tables, accompanied with slices of baguette bread and little archaic decors.