Familiar Grounds
Adrielle had always been good at chasing things—goals, numbers, the next big client.
This one, though, was different. A VVIP account that could change the trajectory of the company for the next five years. It demanded everything. And as always, Adrielle gave everything.
She came home long after midnight, quietly unlocking the door like she was trying not to disturb the silence. Cassandra would already be asleep, usually on Adrielle’s side of the bed, curled up next to her pillow like it still held warmth. Adrielle would sit for a moment beside her, brushing stray strands from her face, sometimes whispering “I’m sorry” into the dark, before heading for a quick shower and collapsing beside her.
Cassandra would wake to an empty bed and the faint scent of Adrielle’s perfume still lingering on the pillow. She stopped expecting breakfast together. Even their morning kisses had become rare and replaced with short notes on the fridge or quick “miss you” texts that always came in the middle of back to back meetings.
They were living in the same house. Sharing the same bed. Loving each other the same way. But for weeks now, it felt like they were loving each other in passing.
And still, Cassandra understood.
She took on some of Adrielle’s internal work and kept meetings running smoothly, handled internal crises before they could reach Adrielle’s already-overflowing inbox. She never complained, never made Adrielle feel guilty. But that didn’t stop the ache.
Because she missed her wife.
Not the CEO. Not the powerhouse strategist. She missed the woman who used to sway to music while cooking eggs on lazy Sundays, barefoot and messy haired, humming along to Britney Spears. The one who insisted on folding the laundry together even when they could’ve easily hired someone because “we’re a team, and folding socks is sacred.” The one who always danced with her in the kitchen when dinner turned into leftovers and the lights were soft and warm.
And maybe—just maybe—that’s the version of Adrielle she needed back.
Even if just for a day.
The contract signing was a success.
The sleek glass walls of the Hidalgo-Sy conference room reflected the sharp lines of tailored suits, champagne flutes catching the noon light. Laughter mingled with the clink of crystal, and a sense of triumph filled the room.
Adrielle stood confidently at the head of the table, her smile poised but warm. Beside her, Rebecca Ramirez, a VVIP client whose signature would secure not just revenue, but prestige, beamed as she handed over the signed contract.
“And of course,” Adrielle added smoothly, “none of this would be possible without my partner in every sense of the word—Cassandra Sy.”
Cassandra, seated across from her, simply offered a polite smile and a nod. “We’re grateful for your trust in Hidalgo-Sy. We’re looking forward to building something excellent together.”
There were no fireworks in her tone, no possessiveness in her glance. Cassandra understood the game. Understood the necessity of professionalism, especially at this level. And it wasn’t the first time Adrielle had been front and center. Cassandra had always been fine being the other force, the steadier, quieter half. Always, she trusted Adrielle to know the lines.
After the applause and final handshakes, Rebecca turned to Adrielle. “We’re throwing a little celebration at our office later. Champagne, music, maybe some very bad karaoke. You should come.”
Adrielle didn’t even blink. “Only if I get to bring my wife,” she said, smiling easily as she placed a hand on Cassandra’s lower back.
Cassandra arched a brow but nodded. “I would love to come with you but I still have an offsite meeting. I will follow after.”
Adrielle leaned in with a quiet, “See you later then, Cass,” before slipping away into a quick press huddle with Rebecca and their communications team.
The sun had set by the time Cassandra arrived at the venue. A rooftop garden transformed with lights strung across trellises and sleek cocktail tables spread across the space. Music pulsed low beneath the chatter of executives and department heads.
Cassandra entered quietly, scanning the crowd.
She found Adrielle near the bar.
Laughing.
Rebecca stood close—too close. Her hand brushed Adrielle’s arm mid sentence, lingered for just a second too long. Her body tilted inward, her wine glass held loosely as if nothing else around them mattered.
Adrielle wasn’t laughing flirtatiously. She wasn’t leaning in, wasn’t touching back.
But she also wasn’t stepping away.
And that’s what stung.
She wasn’t doing anything.
Cassandra didn’t storm out. She didn’t walk up and start a scene. No one would see anything different in her smile as she approached the table later, no bitterness in her tone as she greeted them both, no crack in her posture when Rebecca gave Adrielle another lingering glance.
But Adrielle—Adrielle felt it.
She felt the chill behind the warmth in Cassandra’s smile.
She saw the slight delay before Cassandra met her eyes.
She knew something had shifted.
And she chose—for now—not to address it.
Cassandra drove in silence.
The city stretched before them, all golds and silvers, headlights streaking like ghosts in the rain-polished asphalt. Inside the car, the air was thick. Adrielle stole glances at Cassandra now and then, trying to read her. The subtle stiffness in her posture, the tight grip she had on the steering wheel.
Adrielle tried to fill the silence. “Party went well, don’t you think? No icebreakers, no forced dance numbers. That’s a win.”
Cassandra offered a hum. A non-answer. Polite. Distant.
Undeterred, Adrielle tried again. “Rebecca kept trying to corner me for another pitch. She nearly followed me to the bar.”
“Persistent, isn’t she?” Cassandra said, eyes still fixed on the road.
There was something in her tone—soft, but not light.
Adrielle chuckled awkwardly. “She’s… just friendly.”
But even as she said it, she heard how it sounded.
Cassandra didn’t reply. And for the rest of the ride, the silence was the kind that echoed.
The soft click of the lock gave way to a quiet hallway lit only by the ambient glow of warm sconces. Cassandra toed her heels off without a word. Adrielle followed, a step slower, as if trying to find her rhythm again.
The sound of eager paws on tile echoed from the hallway.
Yuki came bounding toward them tail wagging, tongue out, little paws skidding on the floor. Right behind her, Atticus trotted in with a dramatic yawn, tail high and curling like a question mark.
Cassandra dropped to a crouch immediately, welcoming Yuki’s happy licks and soft whining. “Hi, baby. Did you guard the house well?”
Adrielle bent to scratch behind Atticus’s ears. The cat purred, rubbing against her legs. “Missed me, overlord?”
The pets filled the space with warmth, but it wasn’t enough to cover the tension still clinging to the edges of the room.
Shoes off. Blazers hung. Adrielle caught Cassandra’s silhouette moving into the kitchen, wordless.
She followed.
Cassandra poured herself a glass of water. The hum of the fridge was the only sound between them. Adrielle lingered by the counter, heart thumping, not loud, just steady. Dread had a rhythm.
“Hey,” she said softly. “You okay?”
Cassandra gripped the edge of the kitchen counter and let out a quiet sigh. The kind that had weight.
“Just tired?” Adrielle offered, her voice careful now.
“No,” Cassandra said, turning. Her expression was unreadable, but her eyes carried everything. “Not just tired.”
Adrielle’s heart dipped.
“I saw how Rebecca was with you,” Cassandra continued. “And I saw you let her.”
Adrielle straightened. “Cassandra, I didn’t—”
“I know you didn’t flirt back,” Cassandra said, her tone calm—too calm. “But you didn’t stop her, either.”
“I didn’t want to make a scene—”
“It’s not about that,” Cassandra said, cutting her off. “You could’ve done anything. Held my hand. Pulled me close. Just… something.”
Adrielle looked away, the kitchen suddenly too still. Even Atticus had slunk to the corner, curling into a loaf on the carpet. Yuki was sprawled by Cassandra’s feet, sensing the shift.
“I introduced you,” Adrielle said quietly. “I told them who you were.”
“And then you let her act like I wasn’t there,” Cassandra replied, not unkindly. Just honest.
There was a pause. Then—
“I get it,” Cassandra added. “You’ve been so focused on work. I’ve supported that. I’ve even taken some of it off your plate because I know how much this deal meant. But tonight, Adrielle… I really needed to feel like your wife. Not just your business partner.”
Adrielle blinked. Her chest ached.
“I miss you,” Cassandra whispered. “And tonight reminded me how far away you’ve felt.”
Adrielle stepped forward, eyes soft with guilt. “I didn’t mean to make you feel that way.”
Cassandra shook her head gently. “I know. But you did.”
Then she turned, slowly walking toward their bedroom, Yuki trailing behind her.
Adrielle stayed in the kitchen for a moment, hands gripping the edge of the counter.
And Atticus? He leapt onto the stool beside her and bumped his head softly against her arm—like he, too, was saying: Fix it.
The soft clinking of porcelain echoed faintly through the kitchen.
Adrielle stood by the counter, still in her sleep shirt, brewing coffee. Her hair was a little messy, the kind of effortless disarray that usually made Cassandra smirk. But this morning, the house felt different. Not cold, but quieter.
She glanced at the hallway. No footsteps. No light hum of music from Cassandra’s bathroom. No smell of her shampoo trailing through the air.
Yuki was curled up on Cassandra’s side of the couch, head resting on her paws. Atticus, from his perch on the window, eyed Adrielle with lazy interest.
Adrielle set two mugs on the table—muscle memory. One black with just enough sugar, one sweetened with a splash of oat milk. She sat down and stared at both. After a beat, she reached for the one that wasn’t hers and took a sip. Bitter. Of course.
She sighed.
The door creaked. Cassandra stepped out of the bedroom, dressed down in a hoodie and joggers, hair up, eyes sleepy. She paused when she saw the two mugs.
Adrielle stood up. “Good morning.”
Cassandra nodded, polite. “Morning.”
She walked past her and went straight to the sink to rinse a glass. The distance between them wasn’t hostile—it was careful.
Adrielle approached, voice quiet. “I made you coffee. The way you like.”
Cassandra looked at the mugs. “Thanks.”
She took it. She sipped. She didn’t say it was good, but she didn’t set it down either.
Adrielle took it as a win.
They settled in the living room. Not close. But not far, either. A few inches of silence between them. The TV played some weekend morning rerun, volume low, background noise.
“Do you have work today?” Cassandra asked after a while.
“No,” Adrielle said. “Blocked my calendar.”
Cassandra nodded.
A pause. Then Adrielle added, “I want today to be about you. Us. If you’ll let me.”
Cassandra turned to her. Something flickered in her eyes—soft, tired, still a little guarded. But not closed off.
“What’s the plan?” she asked.
Adrielle shrugged. “Start with breakfast. Then maybe a walk. Or… we can stay in. Whatever you want.”
“You’re letting me choose?”
“Every second of today.”
Cassandra sipped her coffee again. Adrielle waited.
Then, a small, barely-there smile tugged at Cassandra’s lips. It didn’t reach her eyes—but it was something.
“Okay,” she said. “But I'm good with anything.”
Adrielle smiled back—relieved, grateful.
“Then let me surprise you.”
The morning passed slowly. Gently.
Adrielle made Cassandra's favorite—fluffy banana pancakes, crispy bacon with extra serving, and that overpriced maple syrup Cassandra insisted tasted “life-changing.” She didn’t sit down right away; she cooked while stealing glances at Cassandra across the kitchen island, gauging every subtle shift of mood.
They ate. Talked a little. Nothing deep, just a safe thread of easy conversation. Yuki rested under the table, and Atticus occasionally rubbed against Cassandra’s leg like he knew she needed the grounding.
Later, Adrielle quietly took the initiative to clear the table and clean the dishes. Cassandra offered to help, but Adrielle shook her head with a soft, “Today’s on me.”
Cassandra was seated on the weathered deck chair, nursing a glass of lemonade. Yuki laid next to her, sunbathing like she was part of the moment. Adrielle came out with a basket—not of laundry, but of keepsakes.
Cassandra raised an eyebrow. “What’s that?”
Adrielle knelt beside the outdoor table and opened it. Inside were little things: old event badges, a crumpled debate script from college, a photo strip from a mall booth, concert tickets. A half-written anniversary card Adrielle never gave her because she thought it was “too cheesy at the time.”
“I cleaned up the studio last week and found this. Thought… we could go through it?” Adrielle asked, almost nervous.
Cassandra stared at the pile of memories. “You kept these?”
Adrielle gave her a sheepish smile. “I keep everything you touch.”
Cassandra didn’t say anything right away, but she leaned forward, fingers brushing against the photo strip—their faces laughing, slightly blurred, Adrielle sticking out her tongue, Cassandra mid eye roll.
“I forgot about this day.”
“I didn’t,” Adrielle murmured.
The two of them stayed like that for a while knees almost touching, sifting through years of their love, paused only when Cassandra’s laugh broke through, soft and genuine, at a doodle Adrielle made on a napkin: stick figures of them in a boardroom with the caption ‘The CEOs of Chaos.’
That made Adrielle laugh too. Not too loud. Just enough.
The tension hadn’t disappeared entirely but it cracked. It softened.
And when Adrielle reached out, resting her hand lightly on top of Cassandra’s, this time, Cassandra didn’t pull away.
The kitchen was spotless again, the hum of the dishwasher the only sound filling the air. Yuki’s nails clicked against the tiles as she trailed after Cassandra, tail wagging. Atticus padded silently behind Adrielle, leaping up to the counter like a shadow with fur.
Cassandra moved toward the living room, a glass of wine in hand. The lights were dim, soft amber casting a warm glow over their cozy living room—elegant but intimate, every piece of furniture intentional, every corner filled with quiet stories. No empty walls. No cold spaces.
Adrielle joined her with a deep exhale and a glass of her own, settling onto the couch as Atticus claimed his usual perch beside her. Yuki promptly curled up on the floor near Cassandra’s feet.
They sat in silence at first, sipping wine, both tired but not just from the day.
Cassandra tugged the blanket over them, her movements slower than usual. Adrielle leaned slightly toward her, careful. Trying.
“You know,” Cassandra said after a while, gaze fixed on the built-in shelves across the room, “when we bought this place, I thought... maybe it would feel too put-together. Too grown-up.”
Adrielle blinked. “It is pretty grown-up. I mean, the fridge has a wine rack.”
“Exactly.” A soft smile played on Cassandra’s lips. “But I was wrong. It’s not the wine rack. Or the polished floors. Or the fact that this couch was probably more expensive than my first car.”
Adrielle turned to her slowly. “Then what is it?”
“You. Me. Our things. The dog. Your weird cat. It’s us. That’s why this place feels like home.”
Adrielle didn’t speak for a moment, just let the words settle between them like a balm.
“You said our things first,” she teased gently.
Cassandra chuckled, finally meeting her eyes. “Well, you brought more junk than I did.”
“Excuse me—those are curated design accents.”
“That lava lamp was not curated.”
Adrielle laughed, really laughed, head tilting back slightly before she caught herself and looked at Cassandra again, this time softer.
“I miss this. Just... being here with you. Not with a laptop. Not in a conference room. Just... here.”
Cassandra held her gaze, the silence that followed no longer tense—but filled with something tender.
“Then be here,” she said. “Don’t just show up. Be here.”
Adrielle’s breath hitched lightly, the weight of those words striking true.
She reached for Cassandra’s hand, threading their fingers together.
And in their one-storey home—with the lights low, the wine half full, and their fur babies content at their feet—Adrielle realized:
She was already planning her Sunday.
Not as CEO.
Not as Hidalgo.
But just as Adrielle.
Cassandra’s wife.
Cassandra was already asleep, her breathing deep and even, the bedside lamp casting a soft golden glow across her features. Yuki lay at her feet, snoring softly. On the other side, Atticus was curled up on Adrielle’s pillow like he owned it.
Adrielle stayed still for a moment, watching them. This—this—was the peace she kept chasing through contracts and negotiations and calendar blocks. And lately, she’d been missing it without realizing just how much.
Slowly, she slid out of bed, grabbing her phone and a small notebook from her nightstand drawer.
Out in the hallway, the house was dark and silent. She made her way to the kitchen, barefoot, hoodie thrown over her pajamas. She brewed tea, sat at the breakfast nook, and began to plan.
Monday: Blocked off. Calendar event: Cassandra Day. Location: Home. Objective: Undo being a dumbass.
She smirked to herself, tapping on her phone while scribbling with her pen. Tabs open: playlist app, an online store for overnight delivery of Cass’s favorite pastries, and a site for flower subscriptions.
She also had a separate tab open titled:
“Romantic ideas that don’t scream I’m guilty but still say I love you.”
Atticus slinked into the kitchen, blinking slowly.
“Go back to bed,” Adrielle whispered. “I’m trying to win your other mom back.”
The cat ignored her completely.
The scent of garlic rice, eggs, and longganisa drifted through the house.
Adrielle was at the stove, hair up in a messy bun, dancing barefoot to a faint R&B track playing from her phone. She flipped the eggs with one hand and typed something on her screen with the other probably a delivery update.
Cassandra emerged from the bedroom in an oversized hoodie, her hair still tousled from sleep. Yuki padded after her groggily.
“Smells good,” she said, voice husky with morning. “Is that for me?”
Adrielle turned, spatula in hand, looking very proud of herself.
“All yours. I even made coffee. Black, just the way your soul likes it.”
Cassandra let out a small laugh, sitting at the dining table while Yuki settled by her feet.
“What’s the occasion?”
“Do I need one to cook for my wife?” Adrielle asked, turning back to the pan.
“Hmm. You’re being suspiciously domestic. I’m watching you.”
“Good,” Adrielle said with a smirk. “You always look hot when you’re suspicious.”
Cassandra raised an eyebrow but said nothing, accepting her plate as Adrielle placed it in front of her with a flourish.
The rest of the morning was quiet, peaceful. They ate in comfortable silence, occasionally throwing soft jabs at each other, and later settled in the living room.
Cassandra stretched out on the couch with Yuki by her legs, while Adrielle curled into her side with Atticus perched on the backrest.
Every now and then, Adrielle checked her phone, not the work one, which she had silenced and hidden away, but her personal phone, where she was organizing everything for the next day.
Playlist? In progress.
Special delivery? Confirmed.
Old photos? Downloaded.
And Cassandra? Blissfully unaware.
Adrielle rested her head against her wife’s shoulder, closed her eyes for a moment, and smiled.
Monday was going to be good.
While Cassandra napped on the couch, a book open on her chest and Yuki curled at her feet, Adrielle slipped into their home office, the one she usually avoided on weekends, especially lately.
But this time, it wasn’t for work.
She placed her personal phone on speaker and opened her laptop. The tabs were ready: their business school’s booking portal, her to-do list for tomorrow, and her pinned conversation with Mira and Jen.
She first dialed Liv.
“Well, well,” Liv answered after a single ring. “The ever-busy Adrielle is calling me on a Sunday. Is the world ending?”
“Ha-ha. Just giving you a heads-up,” Adrielle whispered, peeking out the door to make sure Cassandra was still asleep. “I won’t be working tomorrow.”
“No meetings? No site visits? No ‘I’m just joining virtually’? What’s the catch?”
“It’s Cassandra Day,” Adrielle said.
There was a beat of silence on the other end.
“...You finally pissed her off, huh.”
“I didn’t piss her off,” Adrielle hissed, though even she didn’t sound convinced. “I mean. Not exactly. I’m fixing it. Quietly. Thoughtfully. With style.”
“And with that ‘I’m-so-in-love-but-trying-to-hide-it’ tone. Wow. I’ll hold your schedule. Go forth and wife harder.”
“Thank you, Liv.”
“Tell Cass I said—wait no, don’t tell her anything. I want to see her shocked face.”
Adrielle laughed and ended the call before sending a message to Mira and Jen:
Adrielle: Hey. Sorry for messaging on a weekend. Just giving a heads-up I’m on leave tomorrow. Full day. I'm bringing your other boss as well so please reroute any urgent matters to Liv.
Mira: 👀
Jen: Wait. A whole day?
Adrielle: A whole day. Please keep it quiet. I’m planning something.
Mira: Oooooohhh.
Jen: Say no more. We got you, boss lady. 👏
With that handled, she moved to the most crucial part of her plan—the booking.
She pulled up the internal alumni portal of their business school and began the request for Auditorium C, the same one where she and Cassandra had their very first heated debate. The one that started it all.
She filled in the form, noting:
Private use. For personal engagement. No third-party vendors. One-day access.
Under special instructions, she added:
Please prepare simple lighting. No stage setup. I’ll bring personal materials.
Within ten minutes, her request was confirmed. Alumni perks had their uses.
She stared at the screen for a moment, a soft smile playing on her lips.
“We’ll go back to where it all started, Cass,” she whispered.
She turned off the light, left the office, and returned to the couch where Cassandra was just stirring awake. Adrielle curled next to her again, dropping a kiss on her shoulder.
“Hi,” Cassandra murmured.
“Hi,” Adrielle replied, wrapping her arms around her. “How was your nap?”
“All good. Do you want to eat something?”
Adrielle only smiled.
“Let's just stay like this for the meantime.”
The sun filtered in through their bedroom curtains, gentle and warm, nothing like the usual rush of their Mondays. Cassandra stretched, groaning softly as she reached for her phone.
No unread messages. No calendar pings. No alarms from Adrielle’s side of the bed.
She blinked.
"Wait. She’s still here?"
Sure enough, Adrielle was sitting at the foot of the bed, fully dressed in one of her tailored beige pantsuits, her hair in soft curls. Not a hair out of place.
“You’re dressed already?” Cassandra asked, rubbing her eyes. “Did I oversleep?”
Adrielle smiled and stood, walking back over to Cassandra’s side with a mug of coffee in hand.
“Nope. You’re right on time. I just didn’t want to wake you.”
“That’s suspicious,” Cassandra mumbled, accepting the mug anyway.
“You say that like I’m not allowed to be a good wife.”
“You’re always a good wife,” Cassandra said between sips. “But you’re never this relaxed on a Monday.”
Adrielle only grinned, brushing a kiss on her temple.
“Finish your coffee. We’re leaving in twenty.”
“We? As in… together?”
“Yup. I have an offsite meeting. I figured you could tag along, since you’re free before lunch.”
Cassandra narrowed her eyes. “You hate offsites. You rarely request riding together on workdays. You always have three calls before 9 AM.”
“What can I say?” Adrielle said breezily, already pulling a light jacket over her shoulders. “Trying something new.”
Cassandra stared at her, unconvinced—but didn’t press. Not yet.
Liv was at her desk when they arrived. She stood up straighter as Adrielle and Cassandra walked in, nodding respectfully.
“Morning, Mrs. Sy. Mrs. Sy,” she said, fighting the twitch in her lips.
Mira peeked over her monitor from her desk, mouthing a silent ‘eeeee’ before quickly ducking.
Jen was typing away beside the boardroom entrance, but Cassandra swore she saw her pause to glance at them and smirk.
“Everything’s good today?” Adrielle asked, handing over her work phone to Liv. “Anything urgent?”
“Nope. All your calls rerouted or rescheduled. I’ll handle your inbox.”
“Perfect. You’re the best.”
Liv’s eye twitched. “Try not to cry when you see her reaction,” she mumbled under her breath before adding louder, “Have a productive offsite, ma’am.”
Cassandra gave her a look, brows furrowed. “What reaction?”
“Nothing!” Liv chirped. “Have fun—I mean—safe travels!”
Before Cassandra could dig into that, Adrielle had her hand in hers and was already leading her back toward the elevator.
“Why do I feel like I missed a memo?” Cassandra asked as they entered the parking area.
“Because you did,” Adrielle said with a wink. “But it’s all part of the experience.”
Instead of their usual driver or company car, it was Adrielle who unlocked one of their sedans, opening the passenger door for Cassandra.
“You’re driving?”
“I’m taking the day seriously,” Adrielle said. “And no, this isn’t a kidnapping. You’re not allowed to report me.”
“Mmm. Jury’s out,” Cassandra replied, sliding into the seat. “This better not be a sales pitch for one of Rebecca Ramirez’s friends.”
Adrielle gave a dramatic gasp. “I am wounded. Deeply. Profoundly. You’re going to regret saying that when you see where we’re going.”
“And where are we going?” Cassandra asked, side-eyeing her wife as the car pulled out of the parking lot.
Adrielle just smirked, one hand on the wheel, the other already queuing up a playlist on their car’s Bluetooth.
The first chords of Your Universe by Rico Blanco filled the car.
Cassandra leaned back, suspicious and curious all at once.
Cassandra looked out the window as they entered a familiar part of the city. Her brows furrowed deeper.
“This… this is near campus.”
Adrielle didn’t reply. She just smiled as she slowed the car, pulling into a private lot tucked behind a building Cassandra knew too well.
Cassandra’s breath hitched.
“Is this—”
“Yup.”
The auditorium.
The very same one where they had their legendary debate during business school, the one professors still whispered about, placing bets on who’d make the first move, or the first mistake.
Adrielle parked, stepped out, and rushed to open Cassandra’s door. She extended a hand.
“Walk with me?”
Cassandra hesitated for a beat, still stunned, before taking it.
They entered through a side door, one Adrielle clearly had access to. The inside was dim, the auditorium softly lit by rows of warm ambient lights along the steps. It had been transformed.
Gone were the stiff school chairs and the creaky podiums. Instead, in the center of the stage, there were two tall stools and a small table between them, holding two tumblers of coffee, one in black, one in cream. Just like how they always took their coffee during business school.
And on the screen behind the stage, in clean, soft serif font, were the words:
"Familiar Grounds."
Cassandra’s lips parted, speechless.
“I wanted to bring you somewhere quiet,” Adrielle said gently, guiding her toward the front. “Somewhere that still echoes with who we were… before the boardrooms, before the company, before the chaos.”
Cassandra chuckled quietly. “Before the flirtatious clients.”
Adrielle winced but grinned. “Exactly.”
They walked up the stage together, and Cassandra ran her hand along the edge of the chair almost reverently.
“You really set all this up?”
“Called in favors. Pulled some strings. Mira bullied a few student organizers. Liv cried at the alumni association. It was a group effort.”
Cassandra bit back a laugh, placing a hand over her mouth. Her eyes softened.
Adrielle motioned for her to sit. They both did, the silence settling like a warm blanket.
Then—
“Do you remember the topic?” Adrielle asked.
“Of our debate?”
“Mmhm.”
“Market disruption and financial scalability,” Adrielle recited. “Two weeks of prep, ten rounds of rebuttals—”
“And no one won,” Cassandra added, the corner of her mouth twitching. “The professors called it a tie. Said it was the most exhausting debate they’d ever judged.”
“We both hated it,” Adrielle said with a grin. “I’ve never seen anyone roll their eyes at being called ‘equally brilliant’ the way you did.”
They laughed.
“I hated you that day,” Cassandra said, shaking her head.
“I thought I was in love with you that day,” Adrielle replied.
Cassandra’s smile faltered, not from sadness but from something deeper. The kind of emotion you don't always know how to name.
“I didn’t even know we’d end up building an empire together,” Adrielle said, looking at her. “I just knew you were the one person I couldn’t stop thinking about.”
“Even when I was tearing your argument apart?”
“Especially then.” Adrielle smirked.
“You were the only person who ever made me feel like I had to fight to be heard,” Adrielle said, more softly now. “And I hated it. And I loved it.”
“You were the only person who actually listened,” Cassandra murmured. “Really listened. Not just waited to respond.”
There was a beat of silence.
And then, as if summoned by magic the lights dimmed just a little more. A spotlight turned on. Music began playing, beats echoing across the empty seats.
Then Adrielle stood and offered her hand, a small smile tugging at her lips.
“Dance with me?”
Cassandra blinked. “We’re in the middle of campus.”
“There’s no one else here.”
“You’re impossible.”
“But romantic.”
The music started—“Accidentally in Love” by Counting Crows. Playful, nostalgic, and a little chaotic—like them.
Cassandra stared. “Are you seriously recreating our first dance?”
“Our first non-official dance. We were tipsy. This time, I want to do it sober. Just us. No crowd. No pressure. No competition.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” Cassandra teased as she stood, sliding into Adrielle’s arms. “I’m still judging your form.”
“That’s fair,” Adrielle grinned. “Just don’t score me too low—I’m trying to win you back.”
“Why this song?”
“You hummed this during our first week in your old condo. While brushing your teeth.”
“God, you remember everything. And you really took the day off?”
“I really did,” Adrielle whispered. “Today’s yours. Entirely.”
“Even if I ask for a debate rematch?”
“I will crush you in round two,” Adrielle teased.
“You wish.”
They laughed, the sound echoing softly across the empty auditorium—two brilliant minds, two stubborn hearts, and one quiet promise between them:
They'd always find their way back to familiar grounds.
Adrielle rested her forehead against Cassandra’s.
“You’re the love of my life, Cassandra Sy.”
Cassandra sighed against her, resting her head on Adrielle’s shoulder.
“Next time, just flirt back with me at parties. I’m a better distraction.”
Adrielle chuckled. “I’m counting on it.”
And under that spotlight, on a stage that had once turned them into rivals, Adrielle held Cassandra like she never wanted to let go again.
After their quiet dance in the auditorium, Adrielle took Cassandra to a nearby brunch café—the kind with high ceilings, lots of sunlight, and croissants that flaked perfectly when torn. They sat by the window, still holding hands across the table like teenagers.
No rush. No phones. No boardroom talk.
Just them.
They spent hours walking through campus grounds after, passing by the old bench where Cassandra used to eat her packed lunch and the library corner where Adrielle used to nap in between classes. It was simple. Soft. A space for memories to breathe again.
By mid-afternoon, back in their car and halfway through the drive home, Adrielle's phone buzzed with an incoming video call—Liv.
“You answer,” Adrielle said, already grinning as she handed it to Cassandra.
Cassandra tapped accept and immediately, Liv’s face popped up—messy bun, exaggerated pout.
“How’s your fake off-site meeting going?” she teased.
“So fake, it’s almost romantic,” Adrielle replied, focusing on the road.
“Ugh. Gross. Mira’s manning the office like she’s running for mayor. Jen has a sticky note mustache. I’m suffering.”
“And yet, you sound very well-fed,” Cassandra noted, spotting the crumbs on Liv’s cheek.
“They sent lunch. I take bribes. Anyway, Mira and I just bet on whether you two will survive this trip without... tears.”
“It’s not a trip,” Adrielle groaned. “It’s a detour. A life-saving detour.”
“Whatever. Send me selfies or I’ll dock your bonus. Bye.”
The screen went black, leaving the couple in soft laughter.
By the time they arrived home, the sun was beginning to dip. Yuki greeted them first—tail wagging, bounding towards them. Atticus, poised as always, watched from the kitchen counter with narrowed eyes like a grumpy landlord.
Inside, their living room smelled like lavender and something vaguely cinnamon, probably a candle Adrielle lit that morning while setting up.
“Go wash up,” Adrielle said. “I’ll set up dinner.”
“You’re not cooking again, are you?”
“Of course not. I ordered.”
They spent the evening sprawled on the couch, Yuki nestled at Cassandra’s feet, Atticus perched on the backrest like the king of the room. They watched half a movie before a second video call came in—this time, from both their mothers.
“We’re visiting soon!” Elena Hidalgo declared right after Cassandra hit accept.
“Next weekend,” Margaret Sy added. “And we want lechon.”
Adrielle almost dropped the phone. “You’re giving us a week’s notice?”
“That is notice,” both moms said in unison.
The call lasted far too long, filled with giggles, reminders to drink vitamins, and unasked questions about when they’re planning to adopt another cat or a child (neither answered).
Later that night, as Adrielle was in the shower, Cassandra plugged her phone in beside the bed. Notifications lit up, and one caught her eye:
New Playlist: “Cassandra”
She tapped it.
Beneath the title was a message, short but unmistakably Adrielle:
A love letter in the form of music. But if you ask me, I’ll just say it’s “just a playlist.”
Cassandra stared for a moment, already smirking, head tilting slightly in that way she did when she felt too much in one go. Then, quietly, she pressed play.
As the opening notes of I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing (Khel Pangilinan version) filled the room, Cassandra leaned back against the pillows.
Tomorrow, she would drive to work with the same song playing. The playlist would unfold like a secret note only she could decode. And when she saw Adrielle walk into the boardroom with her coffee and her smile, maybe she wouldn’t say anything.
But she'd remember.
And she’d fall a little harder.
All over again.
The house smelled like sun and fresh coffee.
Cassandra had already left for work, slipping out with a kiss to Adrielle’s cheek and a gentle reminder to “take it easy, for once.” She said it teasingly, but Adrielle knew it was layered with gratitude. And maybe a little lingering disbelief.
Adrielle, still in pajamas and a hoodie she may or may not have stolen from Cass, padded into their home office with her mug in hand. Her phone buzzed just as she settled into the chair—Liv’s face popping up on the screen with a bright, annoying grin.
“So... is this gonna be a weekly thing now? Cassandra Day every Monday?”
Adrielle rolled her eyes but smiled, cheeks warm. “Shut up. I’m just... catching up on what matters.”
Liv, mock-swooning “Awww. Look at you. Soft. Domestic. Whipped.”
Then, leaning closer to the camera, “Also, FYI—Mira cried. Actual tears. Jen is drafting a petition for an annual reenactment of your debate. And just so you know, you already have a fans club in your company with a ship name at that!”
Adrielle laughed, head falling back against the chair. “What was the ship name?"
"They lovingly call you two, CassRielle." Liv said trying biting back a laugh.
"You sure you're not the founder?"
"I should have been but Gab beat me to it."
Adrielle laughed, "All right, all right. Now let me enjoy the last hour of my day off before you ruin it.”
“Too late. Love you both. See you later! Byeeee.”
As the call ended, Adrielle glanced at the empty coffee cup on the desk and the faint scent of Cassandra’s perfume still lingering in the room.
Her phone buzzed again. A message from Cass.
Saw the playlist. You’re not slick.
...I love you too.
Adrielle smiled, thumb hovering over the keyboard for a second before typing back:
It’s just a playlist.
But I love you.
And just like that, the week began quiet, steady, and full of heart.