Zed walked back into Lemonade Restaurant with the kind of quiet confidence that only comes from a conversation that mattered. His steps were unhurried, his expression unreadable. But his eyes held a spark—something new, something alive.
The boys were still at the table, mid-debate, voices raised, hands gesturing wildly like politicians in a heated parliament session.
"I'm telling you," Joey insisted, "she looked at me first. I saw it. There was eye contact. That's a universal sign."
Wayne rolled his eyes. "You were adjusting your belt. She probably thought you were struggling with indigestion."
Brian snorted. "You guys are delusional. Zed walked up, talked to her, and you're here arguing over imaginary glances."
Joey slammed his hand on the table. "It's not imaginary! She turned her head. That's a 30-degree acknowledgment."
Wayne leaned back, arms crossed. "You sound like a traffic officer."
Zed reached the table and sat down without a word. He picked up his drink, took a slow sip, and placed it back on the coaster with deliberate calm.
The boys turned to him in unison.
"Well?" Joey demanded. "What happened?"
Zed looked at them, then leaned in slightly. "She's smart. Funny. Thoughtful."
Brian raised an eyebrow. "You got all that in five minutes?"
Zed nodded. "Ten, actually. We talked. Walked. She writes poetry."
Wayne blinked. "Poetry? Like rhyming stuff?"
Zed smiled. "More like feeling stuff."
Joey groaned. "You're already quoting her, aren't you?"
Zed shrugged. "She's worth quoting."
The table fell silent. For once, the boys didn't have a comeback. They looked at each other, then at Zed, then back at each other again.
Brian broke the silence. "So… you like her?"
Zed didn't answer immediately. He stared out at the street, watching the headlights blur into streaks of light. Then he nodded.
"I think I do."
Joey leaned forward. "You just met her."
Zed turned to him. "And yet, I feel like I've known her longer than some people I've known for years."
Wayne whistled. "That's deep."
Brian smirked. "Or dangerous."
Zed smiled. "Maybe both."
Joey folded his arms. "So what now? You going to chase her? Write her poems? Send her flowers?"
Zed shook his head. "I'm going to listen. See where it goes."
Wayne raised his glass. "To Zed. The romantic."
They clinked glasses, laughter returning to the table. But beneath the jokes, there was a shift. The boys had seen Zed flirt before, charm his way through conversations, leave women smiling but untouched. This was different.
Brian leaned in. "You think she's the one?"
Zed didn't answer. He didn't need to. His silence said enough.
Joey sighed dramatically. "I still think she looked at me first."
Wayne laughed. "Let it go, man. Zed's already halfway to writing her a sonnet."
Zed smiled, but his mind was elsewhere. He was replaying the conversation, the way Joey had tilted her head when she was curious, the way her voice softened when she talked about poetry. He remembered the way she said his name—like it mattered.
The night wore on, but Zed was quiet. The boys joked, argued, teased, but he was somewhere else. Somewhere between memory and possibility.
Later, as they left the restaurant, Brian pulled Zed aside.
"You okay?"
Zed nodded. "More than okay."
Brian studied him. "Just be careful. Feelings can be tricky."
Zed smiled. "So can people."
Brian chuckled. "True. But you're not usually this… invested."
Zed looked up at the stars. "Maybe it's time I was."
Brian clapped him on the back. "Then go for it."
Zed watched his friends walk ahead, their laughter echoing down the street. He stayed behind for a moment, letting the night settle around him.
He thought about Joey. Her voice. Her eyes. Her silence.
And he knew—this wasn't just another girl.
This was the beginning of something.