Sorell wanted to call the date off, but curiosity got the best of her even though anxiety knocked hard.

She didn't want to think it was an actual date while secretly wished it was. Correction, seventeen-year-old Sorell did like all the times before the man asked her out. Yes, that girl still had a mad crush on Ravan, and lately, she wished to break free. Sorell wasn't having it and kept repeating that time was gone. Ravan hoped to renew their friendship, nothing more, nothing less.

The date on valentine's day was a coincidence. Sorell doubted Ravan picked the day on purpose, for it would mean a whirlwind of things she wasn't sure of wanting. This included emotions channel 16 news anchor didn't desire.

And so Sorell left her car in her companies parking lot and went directly to the meeting point, which was a six-minute walk from the channel.

Chez Vous, the restaurant was new. When Sorell looked it up, all she saw was an under-construction message on its website.

The Google reviews spoke of vegan dishes and worldwide cuisine. She didn't care much about what they served but how she would work around not eating. Her stomach could not contain much, and Ravan was too attentive to what she did.

When he spoke to her, Ravan's focus on her was total. He seemed to scrutinize everything she said or did. Where many would die for such attention, Sorell wished the man would cut her some slack.

When did Ravan become such an intense person? Sorell thought.

The woman found herself replaying her conversations with Ravan. Something had changed. Of course, they were no longer teens. Ravan was a man, there was no doubt, but the trouble came from his behavior. The Ravan she knew was nice, but he didn't care that much about her thoughts and feelings.

What was he playing at?

The more she reflected, the more her mind conjured the wildest thoughts.

"Sorell, calm down, calm-," she muttered before her jaw dropped."

"Good evening, Sorell."

Ravan's had his hair slicked back for the occasion. He wore an immaculate white turtle neck with the infamous heart-branded brand that trended in Paris, black trousers and shoes. For a man who lived for sneakers seeing him in shoes met something was up. Ravan was the type of guy who wore shoes for a wedding, a funeral, and that was about it.

"Hi Ravan," Sorell held on to her last intake of breath.

What was this perfume?

Since when did the man wear some?

Whatever it was, her nose loved the fragrance. All Sorell wished to do was whiff his neck while purring like a cat.

"Sorell?"

"Ravan."

"Are you here?" The man asked.

"I'm with you."

Ravan smiled; he wished the words were their reality and that Sorell was truly with him. The man already had the irrepressible desire to hold her hand. They were on the starting block of their evening, and both wished for some sort of skinship.

"So this is the great place you wished to take me to?"

Ravan nodded while eyeing Sorell. The woman didn't want to go over the top with her outfit. She wore an Isabel Marant Bemaya dress, a black leather jacket, and Limza boots from the same designer.

Of course, Ravan didn't know anything about couture except Sorell looked superb, "shall we?"

They entered the restaurant. The first thing that caught Sorell's eye was the multiple counters slash kitchens.

"What on earth is this?"

"The principle is simple, we sit at a table order, and one of the counters prepares the order."

"Hey, Ravan," a man exclaimed when he saw them.

"Giuseppe, my man."

The men greeted with a handshake.

"You should have told me your friend was a celebrity."

"I see that I don't need to introduce her," Ravan said with a smile.

"Hi, I'm Giuseppe Rossi. Welcome to my restaurant."

"Sorell, the layout is impressive."

Giuseppe smiled, "my wife and I wanted customers to see how the chefs make everything. The chefs are comfortable with it."

"I love the concept."

"Let me take you to your table. You guys came to taste, right?"

Ravan nodded, and Giuseppe took them to a more remote part of the restaurant for privacy. Ravan had specified he wanted a discreet table. Giuseppe thought of the romantic aspect alone, now seeing Sorell, he understood why.

"Thank you," Sorell said when he pulled a seat out for her.

"It's my pleasure, I'll leave you guys to it," Giuseppe said and gave Ravan a wink making him roll eyes.

"What's wrong?" Sorell asked."

Ravan looked in Giuseppe's direction; the man lifted his hands to show he crossed fingers. The gesture had Ravan smiling, "it's nothing he's teasing me."

"About what?" Sorell asked and turned, but Giuseppe was already gone, and she missed the action.

"My future."

"And that's?"

"Ms. Chakrabarati."

Sorell blinked once, twice, "Is that so?" The woman wished for her curiosity to hit the snooze button in moments like this.

"They're all worried, but I know where I'm going."

Sorell blinked again, "Is that so?"

The woman's hands were a river. Sorell didn't drink and eat enough to have all her body's water seeping out. She immediately picked up the menu, only to put it back down and open it flat on the table. Her hands shook too much for her to hold the menu without Ravan seeing her tremble.

Within the minute, Ravan put pressure on her shoulders.

Could the man really like her?

"So, what are you having?"

"I don't know, a Manchow soup."

"Oh yeah, and what else?"

"I'm good with the soup," Sorell added.

The menu was rich. It contained Indian, Chinese, European but even African dishes and not the easiest. Senegalese Thiebe, Nigerian Jollof rice, Efo Riro, congolese Madesu and pondu.

Yep, the world was in the dishes.

"There's a wide variety of dishes," Ravan stopped forcing her wasn't the way to go about it.

Giuseppe returned, and Sorell ordered her soup while Ravan asked for five different dishes.

"Are you really going to eat all not?"

"Not me. We're going to eat it."

Again Sorell blinked. The food was vegan, but the calories were still there.

"You're out of your mind, Ravan."

"Wait for it, trust me. You'll want to eat it."

Sorell just wanted to bang her head on the wall. The man was right; everything smelt good. The woman began with what she ordered, but Ravan oohs and ahhs had her looking up from her soup.

Never in the history of dates had someone ordered a soup. Sorell imagined it was a no-no in the dating 101 for an evident reason there was nothing elegant or seductive when one ate soup. And that's when it happened, Ravan placed a fork, his fork in front of Sorell.

"Taste this; I swear it's the best Thieboudienne ever."

"Ravan Iㅡ."

"Come on, Sorell, please."

Sorell gulped; the hairs in her nose danced the wave. It had been a while since she smelled real food. The fact of seeing how the chefs prepared the food had already activated her senses.

Chez Vous wasn't a Michellin guide restaurant, but Ravan knew it was a type of place that could sway the woman's stomach.

Sorell took the food from Raven's fork. The explosion of savors was something else.

"so?" The man beamed.

"It's delicious," Sorell replied and got ready to eat her soup when another fork approached her lips.

"Ravan," Sorell whined half-heartedly.

"Sorell, this vegan Jambalaya will make you cry, say ahh."

Sorell slid her eyes to the side and opened her mouth. The woman couldn't imagine it was Ravan who cried in the back scenes of his mind, first because Sorell ate, secondly because she ate from his fork.

It was only after having eaten eight of Ravan's helping that the woman realized what she was doing and found herself blushing, "eh, hmm, can you stop feeding me now."

"Why? I was having so much fun," Ravan said sheepishly.

Sorell frowned, "I really don't know how I should take that."

"Why don't you take the statement as explained without trying to find a journalistic truth to it?"

At that moment, a street seller arrived with roses.

Sorell watched how he went from a table to another to sell them. It was common to see such sellers in french restaurants, especially on Valentine's. The man approached their table, and Sorell turned her stare away while wondering what Ravan would do.

"We're good, thank you," Ravan replied.

Sorell turned her gaze back to the table. She didn't even realize she released a sigh.

Ravan observed her. He had seen this expression before. On the day, he came up to Petra to ask her out. Sorell had the same disappointed face.

The meal carried on, and Sorell feigned smiles, but within, she beat herself up. How could she possibly think things had changed between them.

She waited for the waiter to come and take the dishes away to excuse herself to go to the toilet.

"You fool," she said and shook her head in front of the mirror. Sorell felt heavy, though she hadn't eaten much. Sorell hated making herself throw up, but she needed to empty herself and the negative thoughts that plagued her.

A woman came out of the toilets, "well, I'll be damned. You're the newswoman."

"Hmm, yes."

"Oh gosh, no one will believe me. Can I take a pic with you?"

Sorell looked about, "ahh, we're in toilets."

The woman shrugged, "yes, who cares?"

Who did?

The woman waited for someone else to come out to wash their hands to get them to take the cliché.

Ravan prepared his surprise during that time, "are you sure she'll like it?"

"Ravan, trust me, she will."

"You should have seen her face when I refused the flowers."

Giuseppe patted him on the shoulders, "don't worry, buddy, she'll forget the episode when she sees this."

Sorell left the toilets and came back to find Ravan hidden by a gigantic Interflora bouquet.

"Ravan, what's this?"

"Eh, sorry about earlier. I didn't want to buy a rose because I got you this."

Sorell placed a hand on her chest as her eyes shifted to the table and the heart-shaped dessert.

"What's this supposed to mean?"

Ravan smiled, "just take the statement as it is."