"It's a serious one," Theresa asserted, her tone a mixture of playfulness and curiosity.
 
Altair exhaled deeply, allowing the quiet of the night to envelope his thoughts momentarily. He then articulated his response, carefully choosing his words.
 
"While I hold deep affection for Cassy and cherish the moments we've shared, I believe she is better navigating her path independently. She has numerous responsibilities and aspirations, and I wouldn't want to inadvertently become another stressor in her academic journey."
 
Theresa's lips curved into a cryptic smile, her features illuminated yet obscured by the moonlight. Though she sensed that Altair was either consciously skirting around his true feelings or simply in denial, she found solace in his response.
 
With an impish gleam in her eye, Theresa leaned in closer, playfully teasing, "Tell me, Altair, let's entertain a hypothetical scenario. What if I were your girlfriend?"
 
Altair's laughter echoed through the silent surroundings, disrupting the serenity that enveloped the gazebo.
 
"What kind of question is that?" he chuckled, amused by the sudden turn in conversation.
 
Theresa pouted theatrically, feigning offense. "How dare you dismiss my genuine inquiry? You've wounded me, Alty."
 
"Was that a serious question?" Altair queried, an eyebrow lifted in playful skepticism.
 
Theresa's pointed stare served as her unspoken reply.
 
"Alright, alright," Altair conceded, gesturing in mock surrender with his hands, laughter still lingering in his voice. "No need for that menacing glare. If you're genuinely curious, I suppose I'd take you to a prom as a start. It's an experience I missed out on."
 
Theresa's laughter mirrored his own, filling the gazebo with a light-hearted melody. "A prom? Really?"
 
Altair feigned offense, placing a hand over his heart theatrically. "How dare you mock my heartfelt desire?"
 
Attempting to suppress her mirth, Theresa brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "So, what prevented you from attending your prom?"
 
For a fleeting moment, Altair's expression became distant, nostalgia tinting his gaze. "During the fourth quarter of the school year, I was busy creating and selling printed projects to students."
 
Theresa's expression softened in understanding. "Poor you, missing out on such a pivotal high school experience."
 
He shot her a playful glare, retorting, "Hey, it was an excellent entrepreneurial opportunity!"
 
The air grew thick with unspoken sentiments as Theresa took a deep breath. "Alright, Altair," she began, her voice softer and laden with vulnerability, "let me pose the question again, this time more earnestly. If you were given an opportunity with someone you deeply cared for, would a prom still be your heart's desire?"
 
The intimate weight of their shared gaze was palpable; in the dimming glow of the gazebo, their emotions were tangible, even without words. For Altair, Theresa's intensity was magnetic and somewhat intimidating, making his typical self-assuredness falter momentarily.
 
Taking a moment to collect himself, he nodded in understanding, their unspoken agreement hanging in the air.
 
Without breaking eye contact, Theresa deftly retrieved her phone, scrolling briefly before selecting a tune. The opening chords of "King and Queen of Hearts" enveloped them. As if transported to a bygone era, she delicately lifted the hem of her dress and bowed with an elegance evoking the charm of grand ballroom dances.
 
Altair, still a bit taken aback, blinked in confusion as the music was abruptly halted. He was met with Theresa's playful yet chastising look.
 
"You planned on leaving me stranded here, dancing solo?" she teased.
 
Shaking off his momentary daze, Altair rose to his feet and held out his hand in invitation. But as he began to lead, Theresa's fingers gently corrected their stance, ensuring their hands were positioned perfectly. She pressed play once more, leaning in to whisper, "Trust me, and follow my lead."
 
The music wrapped them in its embrace. It was as if the universe had momentarily ceased its spin, leaving just them in their cocoon. Their synchronized movements betrayed an innate connection, giving the impression of countless shared dance sessions.
 
Eyes remained intertwined, the unspoken emotions bridging the gap words never could. Their every step, turn, and gesture painted a narrative more poignant than any spoken exchange.
 
As the final notes drifted away, the dance's conclusion left them wrapped up in the spell they'd woven. The dangling cigarette from Altair's lips broke the trance, prompting a playful remark from Theresa.
 
"Most would ditch the cigarette pre-dance. What's this? A rebel's signature move?"
 
Before he could craft a sharp retort, Theresa's fingers were swiping the cigarette from his grasp. Altair braced for a jesting rebuke or perhaps a replacement for his lost smoke. Instead, Theresa's boldness reached new heights as she pulled him into a searing kiss. Those few, fervent seconds felt like they stretched and expanded, each heartbeat echoing the intensity of their connection.
 
However, as quickly as the fire ignited, it was extinguished. The reality of her daring act seemed to crash over Theresa like a tidal wave, and Altair's face reflected a similar whirlwind of emotions. Theresa, perhaps overwhelmed by the raw vulnerability of the moment, spun around and darted off, leaving behind a stupefied Altair, trying to grasp the electric events of the evening.
 
There, standing amidst the gentle hum of the night, Altair found himself grappling with unfamiliar emotions. The man who had so often been the pillar of calm in any tempest now felt like the protagonist caught up in a sweeping K-Drama plot twist. His fingers, subconsciously, drifted to his lips, as though tracing the phantom warmth of the kiss. Each step towards the house seemed to carry the weight of a thousand, the soles of his shoes dragging with the gravity of contemplation.
 
His mind, once a haven of logic, now seemed to be filled with a fog of uncertainty. In an attempt to find clarity, he instinctively reverted to his old methods. He began to mentally recite terms he was familiar with, akin to a mantra. "Bullish flag, head and shoulders, Fibonacci retracement, Bollinger bands, moving averages..." These terms, tied to his professional endeavors in financial analytics, had always brought a sense of order and reason to his world.
 
Taking a deep breath, he tried to pull himself together. The crisp night air seemed to cling to his face, bringing with it a momentary sense of calm. But the more he tried to rationalize what had just occurred, the more the realization hit him. This wasn't about logic or analysis. It was raw, pure emotion. The kind that made your heart race and thoughts scatter.
 
With a light shake of his head, he muttered, "What the hell just happened?" The question was more rhetorical than anything, a soliloquy to the stars above that bore witness to the night's events.
 
Pausing at the doorstep, he looked back at the gazebo. The moonlight danced gently upon its structure, creating flickering shadows that mimicked his fluctuating emotions. For a moment, he considered returning, chasing after Theresa, seeking answers or perhaps just to relive that fleeting moment. But he held back. Some things, he realized, were better left to the rhythm of time.
 
Inside, the house was silent, with the exception of the distant ticking of the grandfather clock. Altair ambled into the living room, pouring himself a glass of water. The cold liquid seemed to anchor him, if only for a brief moment.
 
He took a seat on the couch, allowing himself the luxury of contemplation. It wasn't just the kiss that left him unsettled. It was the myriad emotions that had led to it - the dance, the shared laughter, the vulnerabilities laid bare. Each moment added another layer to the complexity of their relationship.
 
Altair's fingers brushed against his phone, a sudden urge to call or text Theresa surging within him. But what would he say? How could he possibly articulate the whirlwind of emotions he was experiencing? He hesitated, then decided to give himself and Theresa the night to process.
 
Settling into the couch, he closed his eyes, allowing the memories of the evening to wash over him. The music, their shared laughter, the dance, and, of course, the kiss. Sleep was elusive, but in its stead came a profound introspection. Tonight had changed something between them, and come morning, they would have to face the reality of this new dynamic.