I unfurled the light folder, the crisp noise of paper sheets sounding through the heated air as the winter cityscape passed us. Before my eyes could even begin to scan the file, its faint bibliosmia coated my nose - a small comfort to those working with mountains of Times New Roman.

"Samantha Soriano, ring any bells?" I spoke, first taking notice of the name plastered on the heading.

"None that I can recall." With a succinct response, my gaze returned to the document's specifics.

"An 18-year-old college student who's taking up a course in nursing, she recently moved here to study and lives at Vista Street,"

"Oh, by the large apartment skyscraper?" We turned a corner as Myla asked, many such buildings entering our view.

"Bingo." Moving along steadily, I took the time to look at the picture on the corner of the paper, our client greeting me with an unmoving countenance.

Her hair was styled in a bob cut, with the silken strands straightened and bearing a sheen like dark chocolate. Her large eyes were adorned with long lashes - with a distinct shape that had sharp, narrow edges. Most notable was her olive skin, accentuating the rest of her features that were foreign to the natives of the city.

It wasn't uncommon. The place was a melting pot for hundreds of cultures, dozens of which you'd rub shoulders with just by crossing the street during rush hour. Still, it was good to keep it in mind as I continued picking apart her story.

Flipping the page, I was met with another wall of text, "As I said, she recently moved here to learn at the nearby university, marking it as her first time living away from her parents."

"She's fortunate then. It's a rather prestigious school, so the move is warranted," Without losing focus on the road, we got to work discussing the data, "As for her reasoning on a match request? Is there anything noteworthy?"

"Well, from what we have, she's got no prior experience and came from a somewhat conservative family - studies first kind of deal."

"Good to know, but it's not exactly what I asked for." Surprisingly, she saw it fit to switch her gaze to me with a disappointed look as if I was the reason the paper bore inadequate information.

As always, your priorities elude me...

"That's where we hit a speed bump, actually," Finishing the second page and flipping to the last, the query remained unanswered, "It seems we're the first pair to conduct a proper visit, so we don't have much to work with." Closing the folder, I placed it onto my lap and sank into my seat.

"Alright, we should see to collecting more data before making any assumptions - let alone decisions," Myla advised, short and sweet, with prose resembling the document in my hand.

"Aye-aye, Cap'n." I relaxed on the starboard side, our cruise through the asphalt seas undisturbed by the light snowfall of winter.

As we dove deeper into the metropolis, the buildings went farther and farther into the heavens - shadowing us from the sun and piercing even the clouds.

Restaurants, hotels, malls, and the like dotted the view that passed by the window, the October afternoon bringing a relaxing atmosphere as the city lights found themselves encased in the monotone white of snow.

One tiny flaw of being so relaxed was that it became a little difficult to follow my dear partner's recommendation, for the mind tends to wander when it has nothing to do.

I'd prefer not to assume anything, but...Ah, screw it! When did making near-baseless assumptions ever hurt anyone?

I joked, but it wasn't an unfair reaction - at least, that's how I saw it. At that age and with that kind of background, it's not uncommon for a la vie en rose sort of approach to be prioritized.

Then again, it's not like we were unfamiliar with that kind of work - in reality, it's one of our more common encounters. We had to remind them of the importance of practicality, and providing some dos and don'ts is part of that. Emotions obviously serve as the foundation for love - no one wants to be in a relationship where you feel nothing...

Woah, slow down there, Bridger! You might accidentally fix global warming with those hot takes of yours!

...But for anything to stand on said foundation, pillars of objective logic are necessary, and communicating all of this to someone you've just met while maintaining a spotless smile is all part of the job - one small excerpt from a surveyor's dogma.

I took a deep breath as I contemplated today's request, seeming to catch Myla's attention as I could see her glance at my somewhat wary demeanor.

"Yeah, we should be fine," I commented casually, reassuring her without making it obvious I caught wind of her observation.

You thought you clued into something, but I clued into your cluei- cluin- clueing? Is that a word?

"As always, your unpreparedness disguises itself as cleverness." With a sharp remark, she took a stab at my words without a shred of kindness.

"We've reached the point where I'm allowed to be confident in our abilities, you know?"

"Indeed, and I'm allowed to make jokes," Myla added, eyes remaining on the road but the edges of her lips curling ever so slightly up.

"Aww, does that mean you're trying to make me smile?" Not one to let her have all the fun, I teased back, leaning toward her side of the car as I did.

"Yes, now let's turn that frown inside out, shall we?" And with a poisonous sweetness lining her cold voice, I conceded.

"Pleasant as always."

Once again, our banter served us well - time flew by, and we had reached our destination by the end of our spat.

We parked on the sidewalk opposite the building, getting a clear view of just how big it was. Easily around seventy-five stories tall, the thing eclipsed all the other buildings around it and proved its name well, as the sky itself was scraped by its spear-like tip.

Plus, this thing is in the middle of downtown, for crying out loud... I think I just felt my right kidney leave my body when I thought about the rent...

Even so, just from height alone, you could probably get a view of not just the city but even the seaside from the higher floors - a true marvel of modern infrastructure.We exited the car and were met with the cold air, snow crackling beneath our footfalls as we walked toward the entrance. We carried only the essentials: The laptop, Samantha Soriano's document, and Myla's handbag.

The person-stuff ratio is as follows: Everything mentioned I'm carrying, and Myla's got her clipboard.

We went through the automated doors, warm air meeting our entrance with open arms as the reception hall accepted us. The receptionist waved us over, expecting our arrival, as she caught our paired uniforms of blue and pink.

Walking to the desk, the sharply dressed woman greeted, "Ah, good afternoon, sir, ma'am. Miss Soriano is in room one-zero-four, floor sixty-three." She stated, handing Myla the guest keycard to access the elevator, "I'll send her a message, and then you can be on your way." And with a customer-service face to rival our own, she typed away on her keyboard, receiving a swift reply.

"She's ready to meet you. Please, enjoy your stay, aiAI."

We both gave cordial nods and walked down the hall, calling and waiting for one of the elevators as we admired the lobby’s decor. It was as lavish as you'd expect. Massive paintings were hung upon the beige walls, with the area illuminated by the faint copper glow of the hanging chandeliers. The steady rhythm of bossa nova kept our ears company, and the entire piece was accented with hints of citrus scents that saturated the air.

All in all, it was quite the spot to live in.

Ding!

Turning around, the doors to our lift opened, giving us our ticket to the top. We entered, no other passengers riding with us as it closed and began to steadily rise. The elevator had glass walls, which meant we were given quite the spectacle on our way up. I leaned on the metal bars facing the growing horizon - a sea of lights amidst a dull winter backdrop.

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

"Even the building we had at my old job didn't go this high!" I exclaimed, thoroughly enjoying the view as I almost had my nose to the panes, "It's a nice change of pace from the usual spots we visit, don't 'ya think?" I continued, but my other half remained silent.

"Myla?" I asked, finally turning to face her.

She stood on the far corner of the elevator, arms crossed with her eyes closed as her ashen hair gently swayed from the lift's motion. Her expression was incredibly reserved - gentle even. And once she noticed my calls, her amber orbs met mine with a glance, seeming more muted than I recalled.

"Ah, apologies," She finally spoke, not moving from her spot and putting her head back down, "Long elevator rides tend to get me a little motion sick."

"Oh, alrighty," I answered, staying quiet for the rest of our ride as my partner closed her eyelids again.

Ding!

The sound reached my ears as they adjusted to the new altitude, cueing us to exit the lift. We stepped onto the floor, entering the hall's orange-hued labyrinth of identical doors. Myla began to walk ahead of me as I struggled to fumble through my pockets - hands still full with our belongings.

I could hear the light footsteps ahead of me pause as my view remained lowered, followed immediately by an icy voice, "What are you doing?"

"Ah, would you mind?" I explained, gesturing with my occupied hands as I looked at my intrigued partner.

I handed her the laptop, along with the folder squeezed inside of it as my fingers dug into my pocket, eventually grasping smooth plastic, "There it is. Alright, swappies please." I said endearingly, though the less-than-amused head tilt of Myla was seemingly indifferent.

We exchanged items, holding the computer to my side as she inspected the item I left in her hand.

"...Peppermints?"

"Yeah, I snagged some after we had lunch. I heard they help with motion sickness, so..." I clarified, my free hand scratching the back of my head as I did.

"Well then, that's convenient." My partner commented, unfurling one of the candies and eating it.

"And seasonal, might I add," I interjected, grinning as I hunched forward to meet her eyes directly.

She sighed, though she held a similar smirk on her pale face, "You almost make me not want to thank you." And with a quick turn, she began walking forward again.

"I expect no less."

We passed by a few doors before finding one-O'-six, composing ourselves and putting on our work faces before I placed a few knocks on the cherry wood door.

After a second, though muffled, a response came from inside, "Ah, please wait a moment!" Young and mellow as cotton was the voice, followed immediately by frantic footsteps toward us.

I straightened my collar along with my expression, and Myla held her clipboard close, setting our vibe as the door unlocked and swung open.

Samantha Soriano, an eighteen-year-old college student and today's client of focus. Something her file did not clue us into was made quite obvious now that she stood in front - er, above us.

Not that I needed any more reasons to be self-conscious, but hey, thanks.

Even as she held the door out and was hunched forward, her eyes remained level with mine. This was owed to her figure, long and slim limbs with a lean physique, by no means lanky, but it made her already tall stature all the more noticeable. You'd struggle to distinguish this from afar as her tanned skin was covered in loose, overlapping layers of black that folded onto themselves and concealed her contour, a thick cotton hoodie, and wide-cut shorts making up her quaint and comfy household ensemble.

Her hair remained as short as her picture, but it was styled opposite to its tidied strands. The young woman's crown curled every which way, fluttering with each minute movement of her body - seeming more full and animate. It also glowed a different hue, not because of the ambient amber lamps of the hall but because of the fading but still apparent highlights of nutmeg on her naturally chocolate hair. Not just that, below this flowing mane, a single teardrop mole decorated her youthful visage, along with tiny silver earrings that glistened on her darker skin.

The final features I scrutinized were the first ones I noticed - her eyes. They were large and just as striking as her photo - but in person, they were also incredibly expressive even as she offered us a reserved welcome to her abode.

"Thank you in advance. Please come in and make yourselves at home." Amiable, respectful, with an air of modesty, she kept herself low to let us in with a symbolic curtsy.

We entered, hearing the door close behind us as we enjoyed the scenery of the high-rise home. The place was obviously uncluttered for our visit, but it would be a bit of an injustice to call it minimalistic. Various decorations dotted the room, from varnished carvings of animals to ornate vases of different dyes, but not a canvas in sight as instead potted plants and rows of framed pictures festooned each of the shelves. The furnishings followed a similar aesthetic, traditional materials, and intricate designs - all bathed in a warm white light that clashed with the wintry blue scenery painted on the large window at the end of the room.

Heck, the view of the city expanse contrasted with the whole room in general, belonging not to the urbanized landscape but instead to a vintage and cozy cottage. Still, as out of place as it was, none could deny it was a lived-in and well-loved home.

"You just recently moved, right?" I asked, turning my head to each corner of the space, "Quite the busybody to have the place filled up so quickly."

She nervously laughed, dodging our gazes as she spoke, "Forgive the sentimentality. I wanted to preserve the feeling of home."

"It's alright. In fact, it's quite tasteful." Myla assured her, earning a warm smile in exchange for her cold voice's words.

We followed the lass to the living room, placing ourselves onto the soft cushions of the maple couch, a tray of still steaming drinks atop the coffee table decorated with floral patterns and ceramic crafts.

Samantha began placing down coasters along with a few cups of what seemed like tea, "I hope it's alright. I didn't find the time to ask what you wanted."

"Don't stress it, seriously." I placed down our essentials, taking the cup and a whiff of its floral scent, "Sit down and get comfy with us, will you?"

"Indeed, thank you for the generous welcome. You should get situated so we can begin." My dear partner continued, easing her into sitting down opposite us.

I've probably discussed this before, but setting the stage is crucial in any job where you work closely with your clientele. The very first impressions you give set the expectations, and the words you speak etch themselves quickly into their minds, not even accounting for the impact of your actions.

Upholding professionalism and balancing it with a friendly attitude is a skill, a tool even, and one that us surveyors had to wield effectively.

With that being said, "If you're nice and comfy, we can get started." With the curtains raised, it was time for us to dance.

"Sorry, but we've gotta do the whole intro spiel, company-standard sort of deal." I began, joking a bit as I gave a genial smirk, "Good afternoon, I'm Bridger Blaithe, accompanied by my wonderful little partner, Myla Marika, and we will be your surveyors for today."

"Smooth as always." Myla sighed, flicking her silver locks behind her ear, "Well met, Miss Soriano."

She seemed a little apprehensive, especially seeing our fire and ice act, "Samantha Soriano, or, well, Sam for short." She managed to eke out, a nervous voice but a confident stare, "Likewise, and thank you for the work."

"Alright, Sam," I began, sinking into the comfort of the velvet cushions, "Before we get to it, I've gotta say, you've got a nice thing going here," I observed, still admiring each knick and knack that caught my interest.

"It took a bit of setting up, but I'm glad to hear it paid off." She answered, sitting cross-legged as she enjoyed her handiwork.

Myla kept quiet during this, letting me take the reins as she prepared the software we were to download on her devices, along with keeping her eyes and ears open to catch anything of note during our conversation.

"You mentioned it reminds you of home. Do you mean your home country or..?"

"Oh, I've lived here most of my life, but my parents took good care to preserve our culture at home, so you're more or less correct." Letting our small talk continue, she happily entertained my inquiries.

"Does that mean your parents helped you find and fix this place?"

"Nope, this one was all on me." Mild-mannered as she was, it was almost like she was boasting when she said those words.

"All that, and you managed to land a spot in the uni! Just what can't you do?" I asked, no flattery in my words, only a genuine intrigue and wonder.

"Find myself a boyfriend is the first thing that comes to mind." The young lady quipped, taking the chance to get a chuckle from me.

The dialogue continued like this for a while longer, a trivial game of question and answer between us as I began to gauge Samantha Soriano's nature. Despite being very reserved, she was amicable and easy to talk to, carrying an elegance and maturity not quickly formed at such an age. She was respectful and evidently intelligent, matching her station and earning her accolades well. Even so, I say this without accounting for the main reason we're here - the match request.

To put simply, even with all of these attributes together, none of them immediately translate into an actual aptitude for relationships or love in general. Obviously, being a good person is at least the barest of minimums, but you can be the second coming of Christ and still find yourself fumbling a girl or guy.

Being humble and knowing that love is a territory you will enter blind, explore for years, and still trek with blindspots in your sights is a vital mindset - you can never and should never stop finding places where you fall short.

That aside, with the general questions done, it was time to get into specifics.

I heard the monotonous typing beside me cease for a moment, followed by a frigid and stern voice, "This the first time surveyors will be visiting you, yes?" Finally perking up, my partner asked as her glasses stopped reflecting the laptop's screen and revealed her ever-inquisitive amber eyes, "If so, we'd like to ask a few questions to get some additional data.

Ah, there's my cue.

"Oh, go right ahead." Sam quickly accepted though she turned to me a little confused, "Though I thought you were already doing that..?"

"Hmm? Nah, I was passing the time." I grinned with my eyes closed, acting blissfully innocent as I revealed my hand to her.

Well, kind of.

It was a simple system we'd devised and put to use for quite some time now. I'd start some banter with the client. At the same time, Myla handled our digital tools, getting the ball rolling until she was done, wherein she'd follow my tracks and focus on an area to start prodding our client on - capitalizing on me setting the mood and getting a general idea of how they wanted to engage with us on the matter.

And now to set it in motion.

...This is code for a chapter break here. Go on. The next one's waiting.

Come on, now. I'll be there too.