The ice in my negroni clinks as I lift the glass. Bright sound. Familiar. Precious. Ethiopian jazz is drifting from the record player — smooth, soulful, unhurried. People laugh over dinner and drinks. A soft hum, like bees in a glass hive.

What makes a night so majestic?’ I ask myself, watching the little urban garden glow softly like a hidden chapel where ancient mosaics nod in the flickering light like old friends. The music runs down my spine like a warm hand. Maybe the rarest luxury nowadays is intimacy.

My date is late, but I don’t mind. Everyone here is like family. That woman sitting across the room in the yellow dress could be my sister. The shelves all around are filled with books I’d want to read. Pictures on the walls seem like letters from people I spent entire summers with on deserted islands.

A poster of Thai kings is overseeing the kitchen counter. A steaming bowl of tom kha kai is waiting to be picked up by a waiter. The place feels like an alley in Bangkok and a living room in Athens at the same time. A little crazy. A little sweet. Simple, but complex. Dreamy, but real.