Romanza In Rome

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• Lilah's Fit •

• Taimoor •

The buildup was intense. The week had ticked by like a slow crawling turtle, it was nearly impossible for him to sit straight with the anticipation. It was not the first time he was dining with a woman, for reasons other than work, yet he had never felt this way. His stomach was tied in a knot, waves of pain radiated on his upper back — a result of the excessive work out he did to cut down his nervousness. He had asked her out for dinner on the whim, an absolutely unplanned moment. Yet, he was glad he did for the idea thrilled him and he was thankful to the fact that his company's lawyer had married her assistant.

Taimoor had planned and changed the date several times in the past week. Pages upon pages, his pen had curled over with full force, tension seizing his muscles as he scrolled through different websites. He had perhaps, read through all available research on women and their ideal first date. In fact he could recite the numerical statistics in one breath. Anytime he noted down a detail, he would notice it become too common and he would strike it off, with a neat straight line.

It was a simple dinner.  Was a simple dinner. A simple dinner. Simple dinner. Dinner. What was so hard about the idea? It was as common a breathing, especially in the world of the affluent, dinners were not an extraordinary occasion — Taimoor understood that much. However, the toe curling pleasure he felt on imagining the woman's grin if he went an extra mile, or the relief that flooded his features upon knowing she would approve of this took precedence over all.

Finally the week was over. A Saturday night, prime time for romantic dinners. Taimoor had checked through many review websites before finalizing on one restaurant. He wanted them to dine in a place that his father or mother did not own. Until they felt it going somewhere, he wanted to keep matters private. After all mother's had the tendency to over-plan and dream ideas that had no solid base just yet. The place served authentic Italian food, and was located on a rooftop over looking the Vatican. Views of the historical Roman architecture and their splendid finery ran for miles upon miles, and he was glad that the skies were clear so that nothing would obstruct their views.

Taimoor placed the jacket of his tailored fit suit on the arms of his chair. The iron wrought chair had hearts woven all along, a cream cushion with velveteen upholstery made the seat more comfortable. The rooftop had a thin metal frame on the sides, the sides were open, except for the two foot high walls to prevent any toppling over. Vines and thin fairy lights twirled around the metal frame and brushed his chair. He had booked a table in the farthest corner, the views were clearest here.

The round table was covered in a white linen cloth and small maroon square cloths upon which the cutlery was placed. A small candelabra with red candles sat in the centre, surrounded by a bouquet of fresh red roses. Fixing the sleeves of his dress shirt, he rested one of his legs on top of the other, answering mails as he waited for his companion to arrive. It was seven thirty six, she should be here in four minutes he reminded himself. Hoping that the night would not be a repeat of their first meeting — the last thing he wanted was to feel like he was stood up.