ElliotI’m not sure what it is about nights like this that make me want to disappear. Maybe it's the low hum of the city beneath me, the way the lights reflect off the glass and steel, creating a kind of illusion. Everything looks pristine and contained from this high up. Orderly. Perfect. But that’s not how it feels down there—at least, I don’t think it is.“Elliot, are you even listening?” My father’s voice cuts through my thoughts, sharp and insistent. I turn to face him, plastering on the polite smile I’ve perfected over years of family gatherings, charity events, and business dinners.“Yes, of course,” I say, nodding along even though I’ve tuned out his lecture about “responsibility” and “image” and “the importance of the Moreau name.” It’s always the same speech, with minor adjustments depending on the occasion. Tonight, it’s about the need to form alliances, to think about the family business. To solidify my place within it.As he drones on, I catch my reflection in the massive
ElliotI watch him walk away, feeling oddly… disappointed. It’s strange, but part of me had wanted him to stick around a little longer, even if he clearly had better things to do. He seemed grounded in a way I rarely see in the people I usually spend time with. There was a simplicity to him, a clarity. He looked at me like he could see through all the layers of privilege and expectation that surround me, and it was both unsettling and comforting at the same time.I get back into my car, staring at the spot where he’d been standing. He didn’t even ask my name, and I didn’t ask his. It was just a random encounter, a brief collision of worlds that would never cross paths again. But as I start the engine and pull away, I find myself hoping, strangely, that maybe I’ll run into him again someday.As I drive back toward the lights and luxury that make up my world, his face lingers in my mind a reminder that somewhere out there, life exists beyond the polished surfaces and curated spaces I’ve
LucaWork at the diner is busy today, the morning rush filling every booth and table. The familiar clatter of plates and chatter of customers creates a rhythm I’m used to. I slip into the routine of taking orders, pouring coffee, and refilling drinks. It’s a welcome distraction from my thoughts, but every so often, my mind drifts back to that rich kid.“Luca! Table three needs their check!” my manager calls, pulling me out of my daydream. I nod and hustle over, jotting down the total and grabbing the plates to clear away.ElliotI’ve never been particularly good at small talk. It’s one of those skills you’re supposed to pick up when you grow up in a family like mine, but I always felt like an imposter, faking smiles and nodding along as though I cared about the latest stock prices or who just got a promotion.The meeting with the investors is nothing short of excruciating. I sit there, my father leading the discussion with his usual bravado, while I doodle on the notepad in front of m
LucaInstead, I push the thought aside and make my way to the construction site. I take a deep breath, shaking off the day’s fatigue. I’ve got a job to do, and I’m determined to give it my all.The site is buzzing with activity when I arrive. The familiar sounds of machinery and voices fill the air, creating a comforting sense of purpose. I slip into my work boots and get to it, lifting heavy materials and working alongside the crew.As the sun begins to set, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, I feel the familiar rhythm of hard work wash over me. It’s grounding, and for a moment, I forget about everything else the stress, the worries, the weight of responsibility.But just as I’m starting to relax, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out, surprised to see a text from an unknown number.“Hey, this is Elliot. From last night.”My heart skips a beat, and I can’t help but smile.I stare at the screen, my fingers hovering over the keyboard. What do I say? Do I play it cool, o
LucaI watch Elliot walk away, a swirl of emotions battling inside me. Part of me is elated, buzzing from the day we spent together, but another part feels a pang of disappointment at the sudden end to our time. I wanted to ask him about more than just dinner, to explore this undeniable connection further, but I held back.The moment they called out to him felt like a jolt, pulling him back to the reality of his world. It’s not that I want him to abandon his friends, but I wish I could be part of that world he inhabits.I turn and head inside my apartment, the familiar surroundings grounding me. I throw my bag on the couch and sit down, my heart racing with thoughts of Elliot. The afternoon we spent together plays in my mind like a favorite movie—his laughter, the way he listened intently when I spoke about my dreams, the spark in his eyes that made me feel alive.But then the doubts creep back in. He lives in a different world than I do, one filled with expectations and responsibilit
As we finish our meals, the conversation continues to flow, each word building a bridge between our worlds. I find myself leaning in closer, captivated not just by what Luca is saying, but by the way he speaks, the passion in his voice, the way his eyes light up when he talks about his dreams. It’s infectious.“So, what’s your dream film about?” I ask, genuinely curious.He pauses for a moment, his fork hovering over his plate. “It’s about a kid who feels lost in the world, trapped in the expectations of his family and society. He discovers a hidden passion for art, and through that, he learns to break free and express himself.”“Wow, that sounds incredible,” I say, nodding enthusiastically. “That resonates with me. It’s like you’re telling your own story.”He smiles. “In a way, yes. I think a lot of us feel that pressure, don’t we?”“Definitely. Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever find my own voice, or if I’m just meant to follow the path laid out for me,” I confess, feeling a wave of
LucaI watch Elliot walk away, a swirl of emotions battling inside me. Part of me is elated, buzzing from the day we spent together, but another part feels a pang of disappointment at the sudden end to our time. I wanted to ask him about more than just dinner, to explore this undeniable connection further, but I held back.The moment they called out to him felt like a jolt, pulling him back to the reality of his world. It’s not that I want him to abandon his friends, but I wish I could be part of that world he inhabits.I turn and head inside my apartment, the familiar surroundings grounding me. I throw my bag on the couch and sit down, my heart racing with thoughts of Elliot. The afternoon we spent together plays in my mind like a favorite movie—his laughter, the way he listened intently when I spoke about my dreams, the spark in his eyes that made me feel alive.But then the doubts creep back in. He lives in a different world than I do, one filled with expectations and responsibilit
LucaInstead, I push the thought aside and make my way to the construction site. I take a deep breath, shaking off the day’s fatigue. I’ve got a job to do, and I’m determined to give it my all.The site is buzzing with activity when I arrive. The familiar sounds of machinery and voices fill the air, creating a comforting sense of purpose. I slip into my work boots and get to it, lifting heavy materials and working alongside the crew.As the sun begins to set, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, I feel the familiar rhythm of hard work wash over me. It’s grounding, and for a moment, I forget about everything else the stress, the worries, the weight of responsibility.But just as I’m starting to relax, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out, surprised to see a text from an unknown number.“Hey, this is Elliot. From last night.”My heart skips a beat, and I can’t help but smile.I stare at the screen, my fingers hovering over the keyboard. What do I say? Do I play it cool, o
LucaWork at the diner is busy today, the morning rush filling every booth and table. The familiar clatter of plates and chatter of customers creates a rhythm I’m used to. I slip into the routine of taking orders, pouring coffee, and refilling drinks. It’s a welcome distraction from my thoughts, but every so often, my mind drifts back to that rich kid.“Luca! Table three needs their check!” my manager calls, pulling me out of my daydream. I nod and hustle over, jotting down the total and grabbing the plates to clear away.ElliotI’ve never been particularly good at small talk. It’s one of those skills you’re supposed to pick up when you grow up in a family like mine, but I always felt like an imposter, faking smiles and nodding along as though I cared about the latest stock prices or who just got a promotion.The meeting with the investors is nothing short of excruciating. I sit there, my father leading the discussion with his usual bravado, while I doodle on the notepad in front of m
ElliotI watch him walk away, feeling oddly… disappointed. It’s strange, but part of me had wanted him to stick around a little longer, even if he clearly had better things to do. He seemed grounded in a way I rarely see in the people I usually spend time with. There was a simplicity to him, a clarity. He looked at me like he could see through all the layers of privilege and expectation that surround me, and it was both unsettling and comforting at the same time.I get back into my car, staring at the spot where he’d been standing. He didn’t even ask my name, and I didn’t ask his. It was just a random encounter, a brief collision of worlds that would never cross paths again. But as I start the engine and pull away, I find myself hoping, strangely, that maybe I’ll run into him again someday.As I drive back toward the lights and luxury that make up my world, his face lingers in my mind a reminder that somewhere out there, life exists beyond the polished surfaces and curated spaces I’ve
ElliotI’m not sure what it is about nights like this that make me want to disappear. Maybe it's the low hum of the city beneath me, the way the lights reflect off the glass and steel, creating a kind of illusion. Everything looks pristine and contained from this high up. Orderly. Perfect. But that’s not how it feels down there—at least, I don’t think it is.“Elliot, are you even listening?” My father’s voice cuts through my thoughts, sharp and insistent. I turn to face him, plastering on the polite smile I’ve perfected over years of family gatherings, charity events, and business dinners.“Yes, of course,” I say, nodding along even though I’ve tuned out his lecture about “responsibility” and “image” and “the importance of the Moreau name.” It’s always the same speech, with minor adjustments depending on the occasion. Tonight, it’s about the need to form alliances, to think about the family business. To solidify my place within it.As he drones on, I catch my reflection in the massive