The atmosphere in the restaurant grew quieter, but an undercurrent of tension was unmistakable, like a spark waiting to find dry tinder. Shaq, still calm and unflappable, seemed not only to be savoring the experience but also preparing for something far greater—something neither Emma nor the restaurant could possibly anticipate.
Emma turned her back, that mocking smile still lingering on her lips. She strode directly to the service counter, leaned in, and whispered to her colleague Jake, who was busy checking the reservation list.
“He’ll leave as soon as he sees the bill. People like him just pretend to be fancy. Look at this. He ordered the most expensive dish and doesn’t even seem to know what he’s doing. I bet he won’t even make it to dessert.”
Jake, a young man with a kind face, looked slightly uneasy. He glanced briefly over at Shaq, who was still seated in the far corner, calm as a mountain amidst the curious stares. Jake replied, his voice low enough for only Emma to hear, “Maybe he’s just here to enjoy the experience, Emma. Who knows? He might have his own reasons for coming here.”
Emma scoffed, shaking her head. “Reasons? Look at his outfit. Who comes to this restaurant in worn-out shoes if not to pretend?”
Jake avoided her gaze, unwilling to get into an argument. He felt uncomfortable with her behavior but knew that any opposition would only fuel her arrogance.
At the corner table, Shaq sat quietly, entirely unbothered by the murmurs behind him. He flipped through the menu leisurely, as if savoring every moment in the luxurious ambiance. Curious glances occasionally came his way from nearby tables, but Shaq met them with a gentle, untroubled smile.
At a neighboring table, the older couple, Mr. and Mrs. Carter, observed everything in silence. Mr. Carter, a distinguished-looking man with silver hair, slowly raised his wine glass. His eyes gleamed with understanding, as though he had witnessed countless similar stories.
Lifting his glass slightly, he gave a subtle nod in Shaq’s direction—a small but meaningful gesture.
Shaq caught his gaze and returned the nod with a smile, his eyes seeming to convey, I’m fine, thank you.
Mrs. Carter leaned closer to her husband, whispering, “It’s strange how they’re treating someone like that. Who do you think he is?”
Mr. Carter set his glass down, his eyes still fixed on Shaq. “There’s something special about him, that calmness. It’s not something everyone has.”
Across the room, Emma continued her commentary with Jake, but this time she wasn’t keeping her voice down. It was loud enough for a few nearby diners to hear. “See? He didn’t even have a reservation. People like him just want to see if they can sneak in unnoticed, but I guarantee he’ll bolt the moment he sees the total on the bill.”
A few diners at nearby tables glanced over at Emma, their disapproval beginning to show on their faces.
In another corner, Lisa, the young businesswoman dining with a friend, frowned slightly. She turned to her companion. “She’s being so rude. He hasn’t done anything to deserve that.”
Her companion, a composed young man, nodded. “It seems like his very existence annoys her.”
The atmosphere in the restaurant started to shift, but not in the tranquil way La Lumiere was known for. Emma’s words, the quiet observations of the other diners, and Shaq’s unshakable calmness created a palpable, underlying tension.
Meanwhile, Shaq continued to enjoy his moment. He refused to let the whispers affect his mood. Though he knew he was being judged, he felt no need to justify himself.
At the Carter’s table, Mr. Carter sighed softly, his gaze still resting on Shaq. “The world is a strange place,” he said, his voice warm but tinged with disappointment. “People forget that someone’s true worth isn’t in their appearance.”
Mrs. Carter nodded in agreement, but both of them understood that the evening’s drama was far from over. Emma might think she was in control of the situation, but it was clear that in this room, Shaq’s mere presence commanded the atmosphere.
Emma, stewing over the murmurs, decided to take her pride to a whole new level. In her mind, Shaq didn’t deserve the courteous service La Lumiere was known for, at least not from her. Turning her back on him, she grabbed her notebook and began attending to other tables as if Shaq didn’t exist.
She stopped at a central table, where a wealthy couple was sipping red wine. Flashing a radiant smile and using her sweetest voice, she leaned in slightly. “Would you care for another bottle of Margot 2015? It pairs perfectly with the main course.”
The couple nodded, and Emma quickly jotted down the order, throwing in a few playful remarks to extend the conversation. But her eyes kept darting toward Shaq’s table, where he sat calmly, seemingly oblivious to her deliberate neglect.
Emma walked past his table repeatedly, feigning busyness. Balancing a tray in one hand and focusing on another table, she acted as though she hadn’t even noticed him. The steady clack of her heels on the wooden floor echoed her indifference.
Shaq, a man who had faced fierce competitors on the basketball court, remained utterly composed. His large hands rested lightly on the table, his eyes wandering around the room with an air of quiet curiosity.
A small jazz band played in the far corner of the restaurant. Their gentle tunes filled the space with a soothing atmosphere. When the song ended, Shaq clapped, a warm, resonant sound that brought smiles to the band members’ faces.
His applause not only caught the band’s attention but also piqued the curiosity of nearby diners. Some began to wonder, how does he remain so calm, even when it’s clear he’s being treated unfairly?
At the counter, Emma frowned. The polite smile she wore for other customers had vanished. Shaq’s composure irritated her far more than she had anticipated. Inwardly, she began to suspect he was challenging her on purpose.
Why doesn’t he say anything? No complaints? No demands for service? she thought, biting her lip in frustration.
Determined to test Shaq’s patience further, Emma decided to delay things even more. She approached another table, where a group of diners had just arrived, and began an overly detailed explanation of the menu, fully aware that this would prolong Shaq’s wait.
At another table, Mr. and Mrs. Carter, who had been watching the situation unfold, grew increasingly uneasy. Mrs. Carter leaned toward her husband and whispered, “Do you see what she’s doing? She’s obviously giving him a hard time. He’s been waiting for at least twenty minutes.”…
