Thalia has warned me about the uncommon restaurant rule in Sa’mesa Bali: all guests will have to sit down at one long table, like we’re all one big Italian family having dinner together after a long week of not meeting each other. I told her that it’s a bad idea considering the fact that I’m an introverted person and it will take time for me to be able to warm up with strangers — especially when eating messy Italian food. She gave me a laugh and stated that it’d be fine, she’s also an introvert (an INFJ) but it’s never been a problem for her. I don’t know why I trust her that easily but I do.

The restaurant is packed; expats, locals and Jakartan tourists are there to witness the hype that the new place has to offer. Even though it’s rated #18 on Tripadvisor over 60 other Italian restaurants in Canggu, this place is rated 5 stars in Google — a perfect score — I know because I’ve checked.

“Reservasi atas nama Thalia .” I’m still checking the place out, my film camera in my grip, as I hear Thalia give her name to the waitress upfront. She gives Thalia a small smile before beckoning us to follow her.

It’s not a big space, I can tell you that, especially with the long wooden table taking up most of the area, it feels a little cramped up. Even before dinner is served and all the diners have been seated, there’s a buzzing atmosphere in the air that makes my ears ring with anticipation. There’s a scent of freshly-cooked pizza, olive oil grease splattered on the counter, foreign chefs with tan lines that show they’re not from around here greet us with a huge smile. They converse in Italian — sometimes English — while looking over the guests that are starting to pour in.

“Bisa duduk di sini ya, Kak,” the waitress leads us to the 2 chairs situated at the edge of the table — thank God — and I decide to sit on the outermost part. I want to take it all in first before completely submerging myself in the new experience — if Thalia said that she’s fine with it, I’d like to see her do it.

Because I’m a courteous person and because I feel kind of bad for Thalia, I pull the chair that she has to sit in for her. She gives me a small nod before placing herself on the wooden chair and I do the same with the empty one beside her. Seated on the table are a couple of families bickering in a foreign language that I can’t understand (French? Maybe?), 3 couples who seem to be on their honeymoon and a group of friends that I assume come from Jakarta (because of the constant mixing of American slang and Indonesian words, sometimes it doesn’t really make sense.) Thalia and I sit awkwardly side-by-side, a few inches apart in order to keep the line between us clear. We’re here as acquaintances, making our way to being friends.

“Since when did you have a place in Bali?” Thalia asks, rotating her figure a little bit so she doesn’t have to turn her head completely to the right.

I fidget with the edge of the tissue paper on the table in front of me, “I bought it 4 years ago, I think, my friend was letting go of it and he knew I was looking for a place here. Ta-da! Bought it and I’ve been renovating it ever since.”

Although what I said is the truth, it’s not the complete, naked truth. I bought the house 4 years ago when I was still with Sabrina, thinking that we could use it together in the future after we get married and settle down. The house was good, very good, but it wasn’t up to her standards and we bulldozed it down in order to renovate it completely from the ground up. 2 years ago when we broke up, I halted the construction of it, thinking I don’t want it to be done if I’m not able to live in it without her. There’s a portion of the house that will never be complete — the sun-room — and I’m unsure if I want it to be.

“Kenapa engga pindah ke Bali full-time?”

“May I take your drinks*?*” Before I can answer the dreaded question, the waitress from earlier approaches us with a small notepad and ink, giving us a small, anticipating smile.

“I’ll just have a Sangria.” I tell her.

“Red wine for me.” Thalia says before the waitress moves back to the kitchen once more, “Oh and this restaurant also doesn’t have a menu?”

Raising an eyebrow, I ask her, “What do you mean?”

“Chef-nya yang milih kita makan apa, tergantung mood dia. The food will start rolling out around 6:30, he says this kind of dining reminds him of his grandma. So, yeah.” She purses her lips after that while running a hand through her dark, long hair.

“Kalo engga enak gimana?” Although I’m not a picky eater, I prefer to know what dishes I’ll have for dinner. It’s a little bit overwhelming to not know.

Thalia lets out a little laugh, “We just assume that it’ll be.”

“There are so many assumptions in this little acquaintanceship that we have.” I state, trying to make it sound as lighthearted as possible.

“Then what do you want to know about me? So that we don’t have to make assumptions about each other anymore.”

There are not a lot of things that I know about Thalia Nathania, if there’s any indication that her family’s well off, they have such a good PR team that all information about them has been wiped off from the Internet because I’ve been searching so much but it never gives me the results that I want. For starters, I don’t know who her parents are. Daniel merely told me about what her dad’s occupation is but even if I search for an exporter in Surabaya with ‘Halim’ as their last name, it’ll give me a million results. Parents are unimportant in the grand scheme of things (and in my case, the ‘grand scheme’ is fake dating someone’s daughter) but I believe it’ll help me give a deeper understanding of who she is. That’s all I need.