Cassandra

We're seated at a table draped in cream linens, the soft glow of the chandeliers casting a warm, golden light over everything. The restaurant's interior is a picture of elegance, timeless, and carefully curated to give the impression that anyone dining here is truly someone. Deep mahogany woodwork runs along the walls, seamlessly complementing the muted gold accents on the ceiling. Expensive crystal glasses, polished to a shine, stand alongside silverware so fine it gleams under the chandeliers. This isn't a place you come to on a whim; it's the sort of restaurant where people make reservations weeks in advance, a sanctuary for those who thrive on luxury. 

Our parents always insisted we meet up once a month for dinner since Liz went off to college. My mother was overly attached to her first-born. It was a tradition we all used to put up with just to please her, but now- now I see why mom did it. Nowadays, everyone in my family looks at me as if I am the overly attached one. If only they knew what I knew. 

The restaurant is softly lit, with each table illuminated by a small, flickering candle. There's a low hum of conversation, discreet and polite, as the wait staff in black suits, move like shadows, gliding from table to table with practiced elegance. I glance around, taking in the plush leather booths lining the walls, the soft clinking of glasses, and the gentle murmur of conversation that flows in rhythm with the quiet music playing overhead. A grand piano sits in one corner, unoccupied for now, but ready to lend its grace to the evening if someone decides to take a seat and play. 

Our table is set perfectly, each napkin folded into a sleek triangle atop polished dinner plates. A basket of artisanal bread sits in the center, alongside small dishes of olive oil infused with rosemary. Avrielle and Cole are seated across from me, their fingers intertwined under the table as they exchange a quiet smile. Liz and Matt are laughing softly to my left, Matt's arm casually draped across the back of Liz's chair. My parents sit at the head of the table, smiling indulgently at their daughters, our laughter filling the air with a warmth that blends into the ambiance. 

The first course arrives. An intricate arrangement of delicate greens, radishes sliced so thin they're nearly transparent, and a touch of vinaigrette that smells faintly of citrus. I pick up my fork, listening as Avrielle tells a story about one of her professors, her voice animated, her eyes shining. I laugh along with everyone else, but my attention keeps drifting, my gaze wandering around the room, taking in the faces of people I don't know. 

Mom brings up the topic of a family vacation again- which we all protested against in the past, but now, I am the opposite. Liz and Avrielle gawk at me. 

"What?" I shrug my shoulders. "A vaca sounds great." 

Then I see him and my heart almost flew out of my chest. Five tables down. I'd been searching for him, without even knowing it. 

He's seated across the room, just far enough that the shadowy lighting softens the angles of his face, but I'd recognize him anywhere. Gabriel. He's impeccably dressed, of course, in a dark suit that fits him perfectly, his posture confident and relaxed. The familiar sight of him sends a jolt through me, as though the universe is playing some twisted game by placing him here, now, just when I'm beginning to adjust to this strange reality. 

And then I notice the woman beside him when a wait staff moves from the table before them. In a red dress. 

She's stunning. 

A pain sears through my heart. Cassandra. 

Elegant, with a slim, graceful figure and an effortless poise that demands attention. She has the kind of presence that makes the world around her feel dim by comparison, her movements languid and fluid as she reaches for her glass. Her hair is long, needle-straight, and flowing down her back in a cascade of darkness so deep it almost shimmers, as though it's been woven from strands of midnight. Her features are delicate yet striking, and there's something about her that's both refined and dangerously alluring. 

My hair is not so beautiful. It's wavy, like my father's. I also realize then, the reason why Gabe encouraged me to keep my hair long and flat-ironed. My heart crumbles. 

Gabriel turns to her from speaking to the server, his eyes warm and attentive. I can feel a cold dread creeping through me, twisting into something unnameable as I watch them together. His gaze is soft as he leans closer, saying something that makes her laugh- a laugh as delicate as crystal, as refined as everything about her. I can't hear them over the distance, but I don't need to. It's in the way he looks at her, the slight tilt of his head, the ease of their interaction. 

I force myself to tear my gaze away, heart pounding as I try to focus on the table, on the conversation around me. But it's impossible to shake the feeling of being caught in some nightmare loop, watching the man who will one day shatter my heart with this woman who already has it in her hands. 

Liz nudges me, bringing me back to the present, and I manage a weak smile as she says something about the next course. The waiter arrives, setting down a beautifully plated dish of seared scallops arranged on a bed of saffron risotto, each one dusted with a hint of truffle. The rich aroma wafts up to me, but I barely taste the food as I take a small bite, my gaze drifting back to Gabriel and Cassandra across the room. She's leaning in, her hand resting lightly on his arm as she speaks, her fingers delicate and manicured. 

The urge to cut her red-painted nails is overtaking me. 

"Meg, are you alright?" my mother asks, her voice soft with concern. 

I force myself to smile, pushing the food around on my plate. "Yes, just… enjoying the ambiance," I say, hoping my voice sounds steadier than I feel. 

But my mother's gaze lingers on me, her eyes sharp with that intuition she's always had. I reach for my glass of water, taking a sip to steady myself as I pretend to listen to Matt talking about his job. But all the while, I feel drawn back to the table across the room, where Gabriel is laughing softly at something Cassandra has said. He looks… happy. 

Joyful. He was content with me sure. He was not sad or withdrawn and he did smile warmly. There was never any animosity between us... but this smile... his entire face was lit. 

My heart aches with a bitterness I can't even begin to express. It's a strange, twisted irony- seeing him with her now, in this timeline where he's nothing to me but a stranger, yet feeling all the old emotions rushing back as if they've been waiting for this moment to resurface. It's as if I'm watching a preview of what's to come, a glimpse into a future I've already lived, yet am powerless to change. 

My stomach is nauseated, and my head begins to ache. 

"Meg," Avrielle says, pulling me from my thoughts. "You're being so quiet suddenly. Are you sure everything's okay?" 

I nod, forcing myself to smile. "Just… taking it all in," I reply, my voice sounding thin even to my own ears. 

Liz leans over, squeezing my arm. "It's been a long week, hasn't it? You're probably exhausted." She was referring to exams. 

I nod, grateful for the excuse. "Yeah, that must be it," I murmur. 

But my attention drifts back to Gabriel and Cassandra, their laughter blending with the soft hum of the restaurant. I wonder if he loves her even now, if she's already that irreplaceable piece of his life, even before I ever come into it. Or perhaps he's only just beginning to fall for her, in that slow, subtle way that will grow until she's all he thinks about.