Riya looked on as Daya scrambled to find the ring. Daya began to rub her temples, knowing that sooner or later, Riya would end up laughing at the entire situation. She kept digging as patrons of the esteemed restaurant rose their eyebrows, wondering what kind of grime had stumbled upon their elegant dinner. They, however, held their head high because even if the mere presence of the two was degrading the restaurant by the minute, they were the epitome of class.

Riya felt like giggling but held it in to spare Daya the embarrassment. Instead of laughing, Riya shoved her fist into her mouth, hoping it would muffle her giggles. Daya looked up, her hands smelling like tiramisu.

“Excuse me?” Daya said, giving up on ever finding the ring in the mess of tiramisu.

“Yes? Do you need something?” The waiter looked at the table and then at the two women, wondering what just happened.

“Well, for starters, I’d like to have a napkin,” Daya began to say as the waiter gawked, wondering if the one napkin was going to cut it.

“Okay, fine. Maybe five?” Daya added, tentatively looking at Riya for approval. Riya nodded, realizing that if they didn't clean up fast, they'd be thrown out of the restaurant for causing disruptions. This restaurant was known for its stingy policies. No one could come in here without impeccable formal wear or manners. The minute customers or employees don't follow the rules is the minute they get thrown out. They were pushing it.

The waiter hurriedly got the napkins and shoved them in Daya’s hands. “Here. Take them.” He seemed to be doing this so his boss wouldn't throw him out for aiding and abetting disruptions. “Clean up, I don't want to lose my job.”

Daya began to scrub at the mess, simultaneously looking for the ruby ring she had purchased. She wasn't going to pay for this fancy dinner, endure the pointed noses of the elitist, and not propose to Riya. Finally, all that was left of the smashed cake was only a faint brown stain on the white cloth. But she still hadn’t found the ring.

Suddenly the floor tipped. Daya lost her footing and almost dragged the food off the table. Riya had caught her wrist as she herself struggled to stay upright. Daya got to her feet and slid back into her chair-

“Diners! I’m the owner of this restaurant.” The black man ambled across the floor, his steps calculated. “Esteemed customers, please. Stay calm. I’m going to find out what has happened, alright? Please sit tight.”

Riya began to panic. She hated not doing anything. Her version of a nice evening, not that Daya had cared, was of an exhilarating night of fun followed by Indo-Chinese takeout. Instead, she was here, in this floating restaurant, trying not to gag at the snails on the plate next to her. Even now, the night seemed to go up in flames. She was done. She stood up, grabbed her bag, and left. She. Was. Done.

“Riya!”