Cassy and Altair just arrived at the café-library mashup that Allaine had suggested. The space is sprawling but surprisingly intimate, not too crowded, and offers a blend of rustic wooden tables, plush chairs, and bookshelves that reach toward the ceiling.
 
"Ah, I can't beat the smell of fresh coffee and old books," Altair said, breathing in deeply as they walked in.
 
"You like these kinds of places?" Cassy queried, her eyes twinkling as they swept over the cozy environment.
 
"Absolutely. My daily grind is essentially a blur of numbers and loud discussions. Places like these? They're an oasis for me, a brief escape from the chaos. How about you?" Altair wondered aloud, keen to hear her thoughts.
 
Cassy grinned from ear to ear. "Yes!" was her simple yet telling reply.
 
Then, in the middle of that comfortable pause, Cassy blurted out, "Soooo... what are your thoughts on Theresa?"
 
Altair, unfazed, looked back at her. "In what sense?"
 
Choosing her words carefully, Cassy continued, "Uhm, do you see her as, you know, someone you could be with? Like, long-term?" 
 
Altair chuckled lightly. "Getting straight to the point, huh? Theresa is a force, no doubt—smart and gorgeous, and we vibe really well. But love isn't just a checklist, you know? Plus, she's got these high standards. I wouldn't exactly say I meet the 'high-standard' criteria."
 
Cassy let out a sigh of relief, a sound Altair didn't catch as he was busy placing their coffee orders.
 
"What was that all about, Cassandra? Why did you ask that question? Are you trying to sabotage yourself? You've been battling with your own feelings, and now you're fishing to see if he's interested in someone else. Get a grip, Cassandra-Lexi!" She thought to herself.
 
The room was bathed in a cozy, golden glow as sunlight streamed through the library windows. Cassy and Altair had stumbled upon the perfect middle ground: a tranquil library, equipped with an equally serene coffee corner.
 
"It's like the best of both worlds," Cassy grinned, sipping her Frappuccino.
 
Altair looked up, meeting her eyes, and smiled back. "I can't argue with that," he admitted, setting down his cup of black coffee.
 
"So, got a favorite book?" Altair asked, leaning back into his chair with a look of genuine curiosity.
 
Cassy hesitated, her eyes twinkling. "Promise you won't laugh."
 
Altair mimicked crossing his heart. "Promise." 
 
"Wow, no dying, please. I'm not ready for widowhood," Cassy quipped.
 
"Fair enough," Altair chuckled. "So, what's the book?"
 
"'Lullabies' by Lang Leav," Cassy finally revealed.
 
Intrigued, Altair's eyebrow lifted ever so slightly. "Why that one?"
 
"Lang Leav has this uncanny ability to distill love and loss into words that just...get me. There's something magnetic about her writing," Cassy elaborated, her eyes shining.
 
"You're quite the romantic, aren't you?" Altair mused. 
 
Cassy grinned. "Believe it or not, I'm a hopeless romantic."
 
His eyes met hers as he asked, "Do you have a favorite quote from the book?"
 
For a moment, time seemed to freeze, as if allowing the gravity of the question to truly sink in. Cassy locked eyes with Altair, the palpable tension making the air between them feel electric.
 
"Acceptance. There are things I miss that I shouldn't, and those I don't that I should. Sometimes we want what we can't—sometimes we love who we can," Cassy recited, her voice soft yet striking.
 
The weight of her words hung in the air. Altair found himself momentarily at a loss, deeply impacted by a quote that struck chords within him he hadn't even known were there.
 
"Wow, that's profound," Altair finally said, still absorbing the depth of the quote.
 
"But enough about me," Cassy said, playfully shifting her gaze upward as if searching for an answer on the ceiling. "Let me guess your favorite book—it's got to be something heavy and thought-provoking."
 
Altair chuckled, "Il Principe, or as it's commonly known, The Prince by Machiavelli."
 
Cassy looked intrigued but not surprised. "That's quite an intense choice."
 
Altair leaned in, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "There's a brutal pragmatism to Machiavelli that I find compelling. He strips away all the romanticism usually associated with leadership and cuts right to the harsh, often uncomfortable, realities of it."
"Do you have a favorite quote from The Prince?" Cassy inquired, visibly interested in Altair's answer.
 
"Absolutely. 'Everyone sees what you appear to be; few experience what you really are.' It's a stark, unfiltered view of reality," Altair said, letting the weight of the words hang in the air.
 
Cassy let out a soft chuckle. "I should've guessed you'd pick something that strategic."
 
"To love and loss?" Altair quipped, lifting his coffee cup with a mischievous glint in his eye.
 
"To strategy and the tough calls we have to make," Cassy countered, clinking her Frappuccino cup against his black coffee.
 
Altair sipped his coffee thoughtfully, locking eyes with Cassy. She sensed a sudden intensity in his gaze. "Something on your mind?" she asked.
 
"I have a second favorite book," Altair revealed.
 
Intrigued, Cassy raised her eyebrows. "Oh? Another tome on political maneuvers?"
 
The tension between them thickened, each second ticking by slowly, laden with expectation. "No, actually, this one's a departure from my usual taste. Would you like to hear my favorite quote from it?" Altair inquired, his voice tinged with vulnerability.
 
Cassy leaned forward, her curiosity bubbling over. "Absolutely," she responded, barely above a whisper.
 
Altair leaned in closer, lowering his voice as if he were about to reveal a profound secret. "I was ready to give it all up—everything. I was half out of my mind with love. And I didn't think twice about what I was throwing into the fire, as long as I could keep it burning for just another minute. If only I was allowed to sit awhile longer beside its pale glow."
 
He paused, letting the poetic words suspend in the air between them. "That's how I loved you in the end. With my body cold and shuddering. With empty hands over smoldering ash, counting the minutes
 
The words hit Cassy like a tidal wave. Her eyes widened, and she felt a rush of indefinable emotions, almost like a foreboding. As a single tear threatened to escape her eye, she hastily blinked it back, rallying to regain her composure.
 
"No way! That's Lang Leav!" Cassy exclaimed, her voice tinged with both awe and relief.
 
"Why Lang Leav?" she probed further.
 
"While I admire Machiavelli's relentless pragmatism, I have a soft spot for the dreamy idealism of poets like Lang Leav," Altair admitted.
 
Cassy looked puzzled. "But why?" 
 
Altair paused, contemplating his next words carefully. "Because if we only adhere to the gritty realism that surrounds us, we risk losing our ability to dream. Romanticism and idealism inspire us to transcend and strive for something better."
 
Cassy stared at him, captivated. "You've just completely shattered my perception of your literary preferences, and maybe even my perception of you."
 
In that silent moment, amidst the gentle rustle of pages turning and the aromatic wafting of freshly brewed coffee, something ineffable shifted between them—a shift neither could articulate just yet.
 
-Hours later- 
The library was bathed in a warm, golden hue as the sun began to set. Shafts of light filtered through the windows, casting dappled shadows on the pages of books and the faces of their readers. Cassy had dozed off, her head gently resting on Altair's shoulder, creating a picturesque moment that seemed as if it were lifted from a painting. The soft glow from the setting sun added an ethereal quality to the scene, highlighting Cassy's face and making her look almost angelic.
As if reluctant to disturb the serene tableau, Altair's phone buzzed softly, followed by Cassy's. Stirred by the vibration, Cassy gradually woke up, her eyes fluttering open to meet Altair's.
"Sorry, I fell asleep," Cassy murmured, a touch of embarrassment coloring her cheeks.
"Good morning—or, should I say, good afternoon," Altair greeted, his eyes twinkling like he was in on some delightful secret.
They both picked up their phones, their faces transitioning from contentment to seriousness. The message was from Carlos.
"Piccadilly, 7:30 PM," the text read.
A wave of concern washed over Altair's face. "You don't have to go, Cassy."
But Cassy was already shaking off the remnants of her nap, her eyes sharpening with determination. "We should go," she declared.
Seeing the resolve in Cassy's eyes, Altair couldn't help but respect her choice. He stood up, extending a hand toward her. As she took it, the electricity of their interlocked fingers seemed to echo their mutual resolve.
"No time to waste, wifey," Altair said, the tone of his voice a perfect blend of seriousness and playfulness.
 
Back at Theresa's Office 
The clock was ticking down to the end of another workday. Theresa stretched her arms above her head, feeling her muscles unwind as Mildred took a moment to look at her papers.
"Going back to the conversation earlier," Mildred began, but was interrupted by Theresa.
"Let's continue this in the smoking area; it's almost the end of the shift," Theresa suggested, closing her laptop and sliding it into her handbag with practiced ease.
Avoiding the bustling main pathway, they made their way to the smoking area. Theresa rummaged through her bag and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, deftly placing one between her lips and lighting it up.
"So she's prettier than you, huh?" Mildred broke the silence, her tone teasing yet observant.
"Younger too; she doesn't even have to try," Theresa replied, exhaling a plume of smoke into the evening air.
Mildred smirked as she took a cigarette from the pack and lit it. She took a long, contemplative drag before responding. "If she's younger, then your game needs to be more intellectual than emotional."
Theresa looked intrigued. "What do you mean by that?"
Mildred took another drag, letting the smoke swirl around her before exhaling. "Look, from what you were saying earlier, the relationship between this guy and your, let's say, 'rival,' teeters on the edge between being just friends and something more."
Mildred paused for effect. "It's high-stakes, high-reward. If you're going to throw your hat into the ring, do it smartly. Leverage your strengths and the depth of experience you bring to the table."
Theresa looked a bit puzzled; competition in love was foreign to her. "So what's the move? Confront him? Confront her?" 
Mildred shook her head. "No, no. Don't be rash or drastic. From what it sounds like, you're not even sure of your own feelings yet. The best move right now is to strengthen your connection with him. Spend time together, but let it happen naturally. Don't force the issue."
Theresa knit her brows together in thought. She was still grappling with how to be natural in a situation that felt increasingly complicated. Then it struck her—most of her interactions with Altair had indeed unfolded quite naturally.
  
"So, just keep doing what I'm already doing?" Theresa asked, still a bit unsure.
  
"Exactly." Mildred nodded, her eyes twinkling. "Don't compete directly. Offer him something that your competitor can't."
  
"And that would be?" Theresa questioned, intrigued.
  
Mildred chuckled and pointed at Theresa's head. "This," she paused for effect, "is your intellect, your emotional maturity, and your level of understanding."
  
"Why does that even matter?" Theresa was genuinely puzzled.
  
Mildred took a long, thoughtful drag of her cigarette. "From what you've shared, this other girl may have the looks and the chemistry, but if she lacks the will or conviction to truly engage him, she'll end up hurting both herself and him in the end."
  
She exhaled slowly, watching the smoke drift away before continuing. "Staying by his side and providing a depth of understanding that she can't match—that's your best course of action."
  
"So, what you're saying is that I should be prepared to be the rebound girl when things fall apart between them?" Theresa's voice had a tinge of sarcasm.
  
Mildred shook her head vehemently. "No, that's not what I'm suggesting. Being the 'rebound girl' implies that you're a second choice, a consolation prize. What I'm advising is to show your value consistently—be dependable, emotionally mature, and intellectually stimulating. Make him realize what he'd miss out on if he chose her over you."
  
Theresa paused, allowing Mildred's words to sink in deeply. "But in my opinion, you're already more emotionally invested than you think—you're falling for him," Mildred added, hitting the nail on the head.
  
For the first time in what felt like forever, Theresa felt empowered. This wasn't about being a fallback option; this was about proving she was the real prize to be won.
  
Just as they were stubbing out their cigarettes, Theresa's phone buzzed. The screen lit up with a text from Cassy in the group chat: "Level 3! We're having dinner with Carlos."