But just as I opened my mouth to ask him what was on his mind, the waiter appeared at our table, breaking the moment.
"Your orders," the waiter announced, placing the dishes in front of us with practiced efficiency. Our favorite meal, a small comfort in the midst of this inexplicable tension.
Karim had always been good at remembering the little things, the small details that made up the fabric of our lives together. He knew how much I loved this dish, how tea was his go-to no matter the time of day or night.
He could drink it in the middle of a chaotic day, or in the quiet of midnight, the simple ritual grounding him in a way few things could.
"Thank you," Karim murmured to the waiter, his voice low and composed.
As the waiter walked away, leaving us alone once more, Karim turned his attention back to me. His eyes softened slightly.
