**Monday Morning – Three Days After the Dinner**
I see him waiting at my locker before he sees me.
Aurelio stands there with two coffee cups, his hair slightly messy like he ran his hands through it too many times, his eyes searching the hallway. Looking for me.
I turn around and walk the other direction.
"Cassia!" His voice echoes down the hallway. "Cassia, wait!"
I don't wait. I duck into the girls' bathroom, lock myself in a stall, and try to remember how to breathe.
My phone buzzes. I already know it's him.
**Aurelio:** Please talk to me.
**Aurelio:** I'm sorry about my mother. I'm sorry about everything.
**Aurelio:** Just give me five minutes. Please.
I turn my phone off.
---
The week passes in a blur of avoidance.
Tuesday, there's a note in my locker: *I miss you. -A*
I throw it away. But my hands shake as I do it.
Wednesday, another note: *Please don't give up on us.*
I crumple it up. Shove it in my backpack. Tell myself I'll throw it away later.
I don't.
Thursday, we have to present our AP Literature project together. Ms. Okonkwo announces our names, and I want to die.
We stand at the front of the class, three feet of space between us that feels like miles. I talk about Catherine and Edgar. He talks about Heathcliff's obsession. We don't make eye contact once.
When we sit down, Ms. Okonkwo's expression is knowing. Sad.
After class, she stops me. "Everything alright, Cassia?"
"Fine."
"You and Aurelio seem—"
"We're fine. Everything's fine."
It's the worst lie I've ever told.
---
Thursday after school, Poet corners me at my locker.
"Okay, that's it," she says, arms crossed. "What are you doing?"
"Going home."
"You know what I mean. Aurelio is miserable. You're miserable. This is stupid."
"His mother hates me, Poet."
"So what? He doesn't hate you. He's crazy about you. Do you know he asked me if you're okay? Like five times today?"
My chest aches. "It doesn't matter."
"How does it not matter?"
"Because she's always going to be there! Always going to think I'm not good enough. Always going to—"
"So you're just giving up? Just like that?" Poet's voice is sharp. "The Cassia I know doesn't give up. The Cassia I know fights for what she wants."
"Maybe I'm tired of fighting."
"Or maybe you're scared."
The words hit too close. "I'm not—"
"Yes, you are. You're scared that if you let yourself love him completely, he'll realize his mother was right. But Cassia, he already chose you. Over her. Over Sterling. Over everything. And you're throwing it away because you're too scared to believe you're worth fighting for."
She walks away before I can respond.
I stand there, alone in the hallway, and feel something crack open in my chest.
---
I don't mean to go to the library. But my feet carry me there anyway.
It's after four. Most students have gone home. The library is quiet, empty except for the afternoon light streaming through the windows.
I walk to our spot. The poetry section in the back corner.
And there he is.
Aurelio sits on the floor, back against the bookshelf, a copy of *Wuthering Heights* in his hands. He looks up when he hears my footsteps.
For a moment, neither of us says anything.
Then: "I wasn't sure you'd come."
"I didn't know I was coming."
He stands slowly, like I'm a wild animal that might bolt. "Can we talk? Please?"
I should say no. Should walk away. Should protect myself.
Instead, I nod.
We sit on the floor, a careful foot of space between us. The same spot where we first kissed feels like a lifetime ago.
"I'm sorry," he says. "About my mother. About dinner. About everything. I should have warned you. I should have prepared you. I should have—"
"Told me your mother thinks I'm beneath you?"
He flinches. "She doesn't—"
"Yes, she does. And maybe she's right."
"Don't." His voice cracks. "Don't say that. You are not beneath me. You're not beneath anyone. You're brilliant and brave and—"
"And from Roxbury. And on scholarship. And my family is a mess. And I work in a library because I have to, not because it's character-building."
"I don't care about any of that!"
"But everyone else does! Your mother. Sterling. Half the school. Eventually, you will too."
"No." He moves closer. Takes my hand. I should pull away. I don't. "Cassia, listen to me. I had a fight with my mother. After you left. I told her that my life is mine. That I'm going to date who I want, love who I want, and if she can't accept that, then that's her problem, not mine."
My breath catches. "You said that?"
"I said worse than that, actually. Pretty sure I'm grounded until college." He tries to smile. It doesn't quite work. "But I don't care. Because the only thing that matters to me is you. Us."
Tears are building behind my eyes. "I was so scared. At that dinner, I felt so small."
"I know. I'm sorry. I should have protected you."
"And I should have talked to you instead of running away."
"So can we try again?" His grey eyes hold mine. Desperate. Hopeful. "Please? I know my mother is a nightmare. I know there are going to be more obstacles. But Cassia, I love you."
The words hang in the air between us.
"You love me?"
"Yes. God, yes. I've been trying to say it all week, but you wouldn't talk to me, and I love you so much it's driving me crazy, and—"
I kiss him.
Cut off his rambling with my lips on his, my hands in his hair, everything I've been feeling for the past week pouring out of me.
He makes a sound between a gasp and a laugh and kisses me back.
This kiss is different from the first one. That one was discovery. This one is forgiveness. Promise. Choice.
His hands cup my face like I'm precious. Like I'm something worth fighting for.
When we finally pull apart, we're both breathing hard.
"I love you too," I whisper. "I've been trying not to, but I do. I love you."
His smile could light up the entire city. "Say it again."
"I love you, Aurelio Santoro."
"One more time."
"I love you."
He kisses me again. Softer this time. Sweeter. Like sealing a promise.
"Don't run from me again," he whispers against my lips. "Promise me. If something's wrong, if you're scared, if my mother says something horrible—you talk to me. You don't just disappear."
"I promise."
"I'm serious, Cassia. We're in this together. All of it. The good and the bad and the terrifying."
"Together," I repeat. "Okay."
We stay in the library until they kick us out at closing. Talking. Kissing. Making promises we hope we can keep.
---
**Friday After School**
Aurelio picks me up in his BMW, and there's something different about his smile. Secretive.
"Where are we going?" I ask.
"It's a surprise."
"I hate surprises."
"You'll like this one."
He drives us to Cambridge. Parks near Harvard Square. Takes my hand and leads me down a side street I've never noticed before.
We descend into a basement venue—dim lights, mismatched furniture, a small stage in the corner.
"What is this?" I ask.
"Poetry reading. Open mic. I remembered you said you always wanted to go to one but never had anyone to go with." He looks almost shy. "Surprise?"
My heart does something impossible in my chest. "You remembered that?"
"I remember everything you tell me."
We find seats in the back. For the next two hours, we listen to poets pour their hearts out on stage. Some are good. Some are terrible. All of them are brave.
Aurelio holds my hand the entire time. Sometimes he leans over and whispers in my ear: "You could do this. You're a better writer than half these people."
After, we walk to a small Italian restaurant in the North End. Not his family's place—somewhere different. Somewhere that's just ours.
Over pasta and wine we're technically too young to drink but the waiter doesn't card us, Aurelio asks, "What do you want? From life, I mean. After high school."
"I want to write," I say. It's the first time I've said it out loud. "Really write. Not just for school. I want to tell stories that matter."
"You will."
"You don't know that."
"Yes, I do. I've read your stuff, Cass. You're brilliant."
"What about you? What do you want?"
He's quiet for a moment. "I don't know. My father wants me to go to Harvard, study business, take over the family empire. But I don't think that's what I want."
"What do you want?"
"To matter. To do something that actually helps people, not just makes money." He looks at me. "To be with you. That's all I know for sure."
After dinner, we walk along the Charles River. The sun is setting, painting everything gold and pink and impossibly beautiful.
He stops walking. Reaches into his jacket pocket.
"I have something for you."
He pulls out a book. Old. Leather-bound. Beautiful.
"It's a first edition Neruda," he says. "I found it in a bookstore in the North End. I know you love his poetry, and I wanted—I wanted you to have something permanent. Something that says I'm serious about us."
I open it with trembling hands. On the title page, he's written in careful handwriting:
*For Cassia—Whatever our souls are made of, yours and mine are the same. All my love, A.*
"Aurelio," I breathe. "This must have cost—"
"Don't. Just accept it. Please."
I throw my arms around him. Bury my face in his neck. "Thank you. Thank you, thank you."
"You're worth every penny," he whispers into my hair.
We kiss as the sun sets. As the river flows past us. As the world continues spinning and for this one perfect moment, everything is exactly right.
---
He drives me home after dark. We sit in his car outside my building, neither of us wanting the night to end.
"Today was perfect," I say.
"It was, wasn't it?" He traces his thumb across my knuckles. "We're going to be okay, Cassia. I know we are."
"How do you know?"
"Because we choose each other. Every day. That's all love is, really. Choosing someone. Over and over."
I lean across the console and kiss him. Long and slow and full of everything I feel but can't quite say.
"I should go in," I whisper eventually. "Before my grandmother sends out a search party."
"One more minute."
"You said that ten minutes ago."
"One more anyway."
We smile against each other's lips. Kiss again. Finally, reluctantly, I pull away.
"Good night, Aurelio."
"Good night, Cassia. I love you."
"I love you too."
I watch him drive away before heading inside.
---
I float upstairs. Let myself into the apartment. Grandma Rosa is already asleep—she has an early shift tomorrow.
In my room, I change into pajamas, wash my face, and pull out my journal.
*Friday night. The best day.*
*We're okay. We survived our first real fight. Maybe we're stronger than I thought. Maybe Poet was right—maybe I was just scared.*
*But I'm not scared anymore. Not when he looks at me like I'm his whole world. Not when he gives me poetry books with promises written inside.*
*He said we choose each other. Every day.*
*I choose him. I choose us.*
*Maybe love really is enough after all.*
I'm smiling as I close my journal. Smiling as I pick up the Neruda book and trace his handwriting. Smiling as I get into bed.
Then my phone buzzes.
Unknown number.
I almost ignore it. But something makes me open it.
I read the message once.
My smile fades.
I read it again.
My hands start trembling.
*This can't be real.*
I read it a third time, and my heart is pounding so hard I can hear it in my ears.
No. No, no, no.
Why now? Why tonight? Why when everything was finally perfect?
I stare at the words on my screen until they blur.
The poetry book sits next to me—his words, his promise, his love.
But this message...
This message changes everything.
Or does it?
I don't know.
I don't know what to think. What to feel. What to do.
My fingers hover over the keyboard. I should respond. I should delete it. I should tell Aurelio.
Should I tell Aurelio?
God, I don't know.
My phone buzzes again. Another message from the same number.
I'm almost afraid to read it.
But I do.
And this time, tears start falling.
I clutch the poetry book to my chest with one hand, my phone in the other, and I realize:
Today was perfect. The kiss. The date. The promises.
But nothing perfect ever stays that way.
Not for girls like me.
I look at my phone one more time.
At the words that are either going to save us or destroy us.
And I have no idea which.