I’m sitting in the back of my dad’s Dodge Charger at the Chicken Express on Eagle Drive and Ave C by UNT.

The whole point of this spring-of-the-moment trip was to look around at UNT. My parents search for the journalism department on my mom’s phone. But I’m staring at the restaurant across the parking lot.

That restaurant. That little fast-food Indian place. There’s the old gas pumps from the 50s. The tiny sign sports a flickering tomato. The flower pots are empty, just like they were a year ago. I don’t think they ever plant flowers.

I knew it was down here somewhere. I was subconsciously looking for it. I’ve only been there once, though it was arguably the most memorable day of my life. The food wasn’t that particularly good, and it was an overall awkward experience, but what do you expect when on your first date at a restaurant you’ve never been to that serves food you don’t normally eat?

I don’t understand how Rasoi’s Indian Kitchen can mean so much to me. But it does.