One day at a time, things seemed to regain their normalcy, and so did Philip. This did not mean that life was ever the same for the Hamiltons after what happened to them, but simply, it went on and they all tried their best to go on with it.

At one point, we stopped meeting daily in favor of doing so only a couple of days a week, due to the fact we both had other commitments. We did, however, begin to coincide again at all kinds of events, as Philip had reentered the social scene. The same couldn't be said of his parents, but of course, that in particular was meant to take more time.

Vestiges of his old self began to show themselves again. With the passage of days, they became more and more predominant. He would laugh, and chatter, and tell stories, all while projecting confidence and zest.

And, to my own dismay, I would catch myself staring with wonder.

We sat at a large dining table at the Rowland residence. As per usual, I was there with my mother and father. Philip Hamilton was there on his own, in representation of his family, if you will.

The evening had consisted of the usual greetings and small conversations with both my mother's acquaintances and those of my own. When we greeted Philip upon his arrival, I made sure I appeared nonchalant and casual. We barely exchanged the necessary amount of words to seem cordial.

I was trying my hardest to keep up with the conversation that was taking place around me. I'm sure the people who were seating around me must have been lovely. I'm also certain the chit-chat must have been very interesting. Sadly, I do not remember most of it. My head was elsewhere, making it impossible to keep track.

He was at the other side of the room, and just like in the old times, he was lost in conversation with a young, perky, pretty woman. I could not stop peeking at the direction he was in. Of course, I had to do it discreetly. Of course, I had to pretend I was completely unaware of this. I had to pretend I wasn't even registering it, because why would I have?

My father couldn't know we had grown close. What's more, he could not find my constant glances towards him suspicious. That's why I was trying my best to be discrete. Was that why?

Well, that was certainly the main reasons. If there were others, I didn't care for them, nor they deserved my thoughts.

"Are you enjoying yourself, Miss Burr?"

I turned my head to my side, where the voice was coming from.

"I am. What about you, Mr. Hamilton?" I tried not to show too much excitement in my tone.

"The dinner was outstanding. Well, except for the prunes. I hate them," he grimaced jokingly.

I laughed. "They're not my favorite, either."

The evening was coming to an end. Some of the guests had already begun to say their goodbyes. I was standing by the back of the room observing the scene, waiting for my parents to say we were to leave as well. I had not even seen him come, being as lost in thought as I was, as well as quite resigned about his whereabouts.

After a pause, he asked:

"So, Miss Burr, have you any other plans for this evening?"

"No, I don't, but it is late as it is. What about you?"

"I don't, either. I will probably go home, write some poetry, perhaps. I am feeling quite inspired, you know," he said playfully.

"Are you?" I played along. "You still have to show me your poems. Don't think I have forgotten about that."

He had told me a long time ago he had a habit of writing poetry, but he'd never actually shown me any of his works. He always seemed to find a way around the subject. That did not mean I would stop insisting.

"It's true," he conceded.

At that moment, I noticed my father direct a glance to where I was. It was a quick one, but I think it still confused him enough to double check. The second time he looked, he held his gaze a little longer.

I froze.

"My father just gave us a look," I said stiffly, tough I tried to appear relaxed. Instinctively, I fixated my eyes in a specific point in the wall across me.

"Is he looking now?" From the corner of my eye, I could tell Philip was also staring into nothingness.

"I don't know. I am too afraid to look, because if I look, and he's looking…"

"That would be suspicious, wouldn't it."

"It would."

"Let's disperse."

I nodded. "Very well," I said as I curtseyed. "I wish you a good evening, Mr. Hamilton."

"Good evening to you, Miss Burr," he responded with a bow.

I walked away and joined an all-new conversation, trying to seem collected and as if nothing had happened.