ALEC & SUSAN

It's You

Growing up in New York City with wealthy parents felt like living under a microscope, where I was expected to act a certain way just to maintain their social image. As the only son, I was suffocated by the pressure and disgusted by the snobbish, pretentious atmosphere of my private school. I hated the cliques, the elitist classmates, and the superficial people I was forced to hang out with. I wanted to be known for who I was, not for my family's status.

After two years of begging, I finally convinced my parents to let me transfer to a public school. On my very first day, I met John Daniels, and we instantly became best buds, finally giving me the genuine friendship I had been craving. John and I were inseparable, doing everything together for over a year before I finally revealed my true identity to him. Thankfully, he didn't care about wealth, status, or the trappings of 'rich folks.' I was always a playboy; my pursuit of girls started in middle school and never slowed down.

Week after week, a new face was by my side, a reputation that stuck with me through high school and University. I studied Business Management & Administration to prepare for managing my family's empire. Right after graduation, my father gave me a newly opened restaurant to test my potential. It thrived, and three years later, he entrusted me with Chez Nick, which is where I run the show today.

My sister handles the hotels, leaving the restaurants side of our empire entirely to me. When it comes to dating, a strict, impersonal code is followed to keep life uncomplicated. First, business is never mixed with pleasure; coworkers are off-limits to avoid inevitable messiness. Second, no one is brought home—private space remains private. Third, identity is protected, ensuring others never know who the individual truly is. Finally, pleasure is never offered, saving that level of intimacy for a future, far-off commitment. As long as these rules are followed, control is maintained.

I'm Alec Beck. At 23, I live in a shared apartment in the Bronx with my best friend, John. I take the subway to work, preferring anonymity over a private driver. My employees see me as just their manager, a role I carefully maintain. On weekends, John and I go to the pub to meet women looking for a fun night out.

John spent five months wasting away, pining over a girl whose voice he hadn't heard once. I honestly thought he was obsessed, telling him it was absolutely madness to lose his mind over a stranger. But the moment he actually spoke to her, he fell hard. Now he's a hopeless romantic, and I'm just looking on, convinced that trap won't catch me anytime soon. I've got too much living to do to settle down.

I'd slipped out the back to empty the trash, hoping to save the staff some trouble later that night. A sharp, desperate cry for help cut through the alley air. Heart pounding, I rounded the corner to find a girl being attacked. Adrenaline took over—I ripped the man away from her, giving him a few rough reminders of why he should never touch her before he fled into the setting sun.

The girl was curled into a small, shivering ball, her breath coming in ragged gasps. I extended a hand, whispering every assurance I could think of to let her know she was safe. The moment she took my hand, it felt like a live wire snapped between us. An electric shock vibrated through my chest, and as our eyes met, I felt myself falling into a trance.

She was hauntingly beautiful, the kind of vision that makes you forget how to breathe. Then, the magic died. She suddenly doubled over, emptying the contents of her stomach right onto the pavement. Red-faced and overcome with shame, she turned and disappeared before I could even offer a napkin.

I stood rooted to the pavement, my legs tracing her retreating figure until she vanished into the crowd without a single backward glance. A heavy, ringing silence settled over me. What just happened? I breathe the words into the cool evening air, my voice barely a ghost of a sound. I shook my head, pressing a trembling palm against the frantic thrumming in my chest before forcing myself to turn back towards the warm glow of the restaurant.

But the evening was already lost; I was haunted. Those ink-black eyes had sliced through my own, and in that one sharp, electric collision, the fortress I had spent years building didn't just crack-it began to dissolve. Who was she, and how did a stranger undone me with nothing but a look?

After the restaurant closed, I hurried towards the train, but realized I absolutely had to talk to John about this. I caught a cab, but the city traffic felt agonizingly slow, my mind consumed by the memory of her face. Finally, I pulled up to my building, jumped out before it fully stopped, throwing cash at the driver. Inside, the elevator button felt unresponsive—a cruel joke when every second counted. Panic raising, I bolted for the stairs, taking them two, then three at a time up to the third floor.

Panting, I fumbled with my keys, bursting into the apartment and rushing to John's room. He was already asleep, but I shook him awake; I knew he left too early for work to see him in the morning. I managed to blurt out what happened, but he just laughed.

"Well," he muttered, "now you know how I felt when I first saw Katie."

"Dude," I replied, stunned, "what are you saying?"

"I'm saying your cold heart has finally developed a soft spot," John mocked, his voice muffled before he threw the covers over his head. "You're completely consumed by a girl whose voice you haven't heard. Isn't that what you told me? It's love at first sight, dude. You're done."

I walked out of his room feeling absolutely defeated. For months, I had mocked him for falling for someone instantly, and now the same ridiculous, irrational thing was happening to me. This can't be real, I thought, refusing to believe it. I told myself I would just go on with my life as if it never happened.

But I didn't sleep a wink. The next morning, I stared at the dark, heavy bags under my eyes in the mirror. Even with a hot shower and black coffee, I couldn't shake her from my mind. Maybe, just maybe, I'd bump into her today.

Days bled into weeks, then months, and still, I couldn't find her. The crushing weight of her absence felt suffocating. While John was blissfully happy with his girl, I was merely ghosting through life, finding no joy in the familiar bustle of the pub. Even the flirtatious attention from other women, once a thrill, now left me cold. On the rare, desperate occasions I sought a release, I found myself entirely detached from the scene.

It was pathetic. Me—Alec Beck—utterly hung up on a girl whose name I didn't even know, haunted by those eyes from the alley. I could have anyone I wanted, yet here I was, barely sleeping, tormented by a memory I couldn't escape. I decided to bury myself in work, numbing the pain by letting my days and weeks blend into a monotonous, grey blur. That was exactly what I did, burying my emotions beneath spreadsheets, orders and payments.

Yet, I still found myself retreating to my parents' house every chance I got. During one visit, my mom noticed the lingering sadness in my eyes.

"What has you so down, honey?" she asked.

"I met a girl," I confessed.

'Really! Tell me all about her."

"That's just it, Mom. I know nothing about her."

I poured out the story of our brief, missed connection. After listening, she patted my hand and smiled gently.

"Don't give up hope. If she's the one for you, your paths will cross again."

"You really think so, Mom?" I asked, needing to believe it.

"I do, son. Mother knows best."

We both chuckled, a small, shared moment that finally made the grey lift.

It had been a little over three months since the encounter with my mystery girl. John, feeling sympathetic, convinced me to meet his girlfriend's best friend tonight. I was reluctant to leave the apartment, but John insisted I needed a distraction. When we arrived, my reluctance vanished as she opened the door. She was stunning—a beauty that justified her secrecy. As I stepped into the living room, Katie said,

"Susan, this is Alec." I froze.

MY breath hitched, and I stood flabbergasted, instantly unable to speak. We stared at each other, stunned into silence. Finally, as we shook hands, we mumbled in unison,

"It's you."