The restaurant’s quiet elegance, with its warm, deliberate lighting, did little to ease my nerves. My stomach was tight, but my heart held a spark of hope. Then she glanced at the waiter, smiled, and asked, "What’s the priciest item on your menu?” I froze.
I was prepared to pay for dinner, but not for a question that felt like a trap. As the waiter described an extravagant seafood platter costing more than my monthly groceries, I wondered if I’d made a serious mistake. Steadying myself, I gently asked if that was what she truly wanted. To my surprise, she laughed and shook her head.
"No,” she explained, "that’s my first-date test. If someone orders it to look impressive, appearances matter more to them than connection. If they get upset, it shows they don’t handle stress well. But if they stay calm, I know they value the moment more than the menu.” Her reasoning floored me. What had seemed like a red flag became the most intriguing thing I’d ever heard.
From that moment, the evening transformed. We chose simple pasta and let the conversation flow naturally, sharing stories of our families, dreams, and imagined futures. The tense beginning gave way to one of the most meaningful nights of my life. By the time I walked her to her car, my nerves had been replaced by a profound connection.
Today, she is my wife, and that first date remains a cherished story we love to recall. We laugh about how rattled I was, but we also hold onto its lesson: true value isn’t found in expensive meals or grand gestures, but in the honest, patient bond two people build together. Even now, when she playfully repeats that question to a waiter, I’m reminded of the night I learned that love is about choosing to face the world hand in hand.
