There's no time for a meet-cute this morning, Norm. That's what I told myself.

I had finished my workout at the gym and was leaving when I noticed her. She was standing in the doorway, blocking my exit. She seemed to be inhaling me. In those few seconds, I lingered over the sight of her: tall and slim, with short curls surrounding her head. She wore a fitted electric blue tank top and black yoga pants. The woman was gorgeous.

At first, her eyes filled with wonder and awe as she took me in; then, a startled look blanketed her face.

I was accustomed to reactions like this. Ever since I transitioned my six-foot-tall frame from the woman I once was to the man I now am, I've continually attracted favorable attention from both sexes. Six years ago, I started hormone therapy and began working out, and my muscles added to my overall bronze Greek-god aesthetic.

I liked the attention. It was nice to know I had the physical goods, so to speak, in the eyes of the opposite sex.

As I walked past the woman, I gave in to a powerful urge to smile. I leaned towards her and whispered in a voice dripping with sex appeal, "Good morning, sunshine."

I made my way to my rental. That, too, was a virile indicator of desirable masculinity. My ride was a clean and sexy, obsidian Mercedes-Benz S-Class. I smiled as I slid behind the wheel and powered it up. When I glided that captivating machine out of the parking lot, I asked Siri to call my best friend, Marcus.

"Hey, man. Thanks for the guest pass. I just finished my workout."

"Norm- it's only..." he paused, no doubt to look at his timepiece, "... 7:47. The only people allowed to call me this early are my mother and the woman who just discovered she's pregnant with my baby. And the latter will never happen."

I chuckled. Marcus and I had met at an engineering conference five years ago. I was already passing through my life as a man. I didn't tell him I was born with female sex organs. I didn't feel the need to. He saw me as the male I identified as. I was myself with him.

"I know, I know," I said. "But I was blown away by the fine-looking women who prioritize their fitness up there. As I was leaving, I crossed paths with a stunning Nubian goddess. Man-wow!"

"I never go that early. I tend to exercise after work," Marcus said. "From what you're saying, I may have to consider changing my regime."

"That woman was everything, man. I might have lingered if I was going to stay in town longer, and if I didn't have to be on point for the conference this morning and all day."

"Yeah... business first."

"All the time. Anyway, thanks again, Marcus," I said before hanging up.

The "business first" mantra wasn't just talk. The guiding principle had propelled me from a shy, bookish teenager to the confident entrepreneur I was becoming.

Growing up, I felt like a 3D pyramid-shaped peg trying to fit into a round hole. Textbooks were my companions and science fairs were my social events. While other kids dreamt of prom dates and college football games, I yearned to build robots and solve complex equations.

But I'd only partially embraced that yearning. There had been a nagging dissonance between my dreams, who I felt I was and what society expected. It took a life-altering college experience to shatter those expectations and awaken the courage to unlock my true self.

During a semester abroad in Denmark, I met Breanna, a brilliant programmer with a fire in her eyes that mirrored my own. Together, we started tinkering with a prototype for an app that would revolutionize remote learning. This was years before COVID-19, a pandemic that would have made us rich.

But we were young and naive. We were fueled by ramen noodles and late-night coding sessions steeped in an undeniable passion. Unfortunately, the initial funding rounds were a brutal reality check.

Investors, mostly older men in pinstripe suits, would size us up: two young women with dreams bigger than our bank accounts. Their eyes would glaze over at our enthusiastic pitches, the "cute college project" dismissal hanging heavy in the air. As we pushed back, the conversation would shift uncomfortably. Subtle glances would be exchanged, a silent assumption settling over the room.

We must be lesbians, they would think. This judgment made it easy for these men to dismiss our ideas. It excused our refusal to join them in bed and let them shift their attention and money to other prospects.

It disheartened me, but with unwavering optimism, Breanna refused to let it break us.

"There's no point in dwelling on nos," she'd say, her voice laced with fierce determination. "We just need one yes."

That "one yes" came from an unexpected source: a retired teacher turned silent investor who saw the potential in our vision.

His name was Angel Santiago. I admired him so much- I wanted to be like him in every way. His belief in us and his significant initial investment were the sparks that kindled the fire of our dreams.

We named our company "Ignite Learning," a tribute to his support and the flame that burned within us.

Building the company was a rollercoaster ride. Days of product development, marketing campaigns, and sleepless nights debugging code blurred together. We dropped out of school within a few credit hours of finishing to concentrate on the company. It was hard labor and deep knowledge work. But there were moments of pure joy. The first was a positive user review. Then, a spike in app downloads. It felt like we were making something that genuinely helped people.

Through it all, Breanna and I held fast to our mantras. "Business first" kept us focused on the big goal. It did so even when personal sacrifices were needed.

HONK!

The blare of the horn from the vehicle behind me brought me from my reminiscing to the present. Just in time. I didn't need to remember the blight Angel turned into or the touch that tore a rift in my friendship with Breanna.

New faces, new beginnings.

There was a comfort in that, a chance to be seen for who I was now, minus the baggage of the past. The truth was, being trans wasn't something I advertised-especially as a Black man. This was not out of shame but a learned caution.

I'd broken free from the ties of my past, twisted relationships, and warped love to be myself and raise my own company. I refused to reveal who I was in my former life at work or in budding friendships because it might hurt my reputation and badly influence how others saw me. Society needed to be evolved enough to look past traditional biological markers. And, let's face it-in 2024, we're not there yet.

If I let my guard down, my carefully constructed image might shatter, and people might judge me based on who I have become physically rather than holistically or on what I do for this world every day.

My approach has worked for the past ten years. Ignite Learning gained traction, attracting users and a talented team of developers, educators, and fitness instructors. Though far from over, the journey was already an adventure.

I felt a quiet pride as I pulled into the conference center. But that woman from the gym this morning tore into my consciousness again.

I shook my head, trying to physically chase the memory of her away for the umpteenth time.

I glanced at my reflection in the rearview mirror, adjusting my posture, ensuring every detail was impeccable.

This conference wasn't a regular tech gathering. It was a launchpad for my revolutionary new app, Strive. The app aimed to be a one-stop shop for self-improvement, connecting users with fitness plans, healthy meal deliveries, and mindfulness coaches.

It was a twist on my original plans with Breanna, a fresh idea that came to me during a particularly bleak time in my physical transition. My drive to change myself to match my essence was fueled by an internal passion and a desire to live authentically in a body representing my soul. But there were dark days when self-doubt gnawed at me. Every day back then felt like climbing a mountain, and I craved a resource to streamline my journey toward physical and mental well-being. During one of those moments, the seed for Strive took root. I poured my struggles and triumphs into the app, determined to create the support system for others I had desperately wished for.

Despite my enthusiasm for my product, my hands trembled slightly as I clutched my presentation notes, and I could feel my heart racing as I stepped into the conference space and made my way to our booth.

I became increasingly reassured, though. Investors clamored to get on board, impressed by the app's sleek design and potential for disrupting the wellness industry. Suddenly, the grueling nights spent coding fueled by cold coffee felt worthwhile.

I was thrilled that they saw what it could be. Strive wasn't just my brainchild; it became a beacon of hope, a tool bolstering the power of self-belief and resilience.

Those eyes. There she was. Again.

Her face kept appearing in my mind. It interrupted my focus during quiet moments. It made it hard to be ready for visitors to my booth. I couldn't understand why she had affected me so profoundly after only a moment at the gym.

What time is it?

A wry smile tugged at my lips as I glanced at my watch. Next was dinner with some investors and a bright engineer I had met at the conference and wanted to recruit. I had to focus on directing the evening's play to get the investment and the team. This would undoubtedly chase the lingering image of the woman from the gym out of my head. I hoped it would.

I mentally filed her away under "Pleasing Eye Candy." I acknowledged the momentary appreciation on an otherwise business-only day.

You may have missed your chance with the Nubian goddess, but you're building something more significant that can touch countless lives. That's a thrilling prospect, Norm. You've got this!

There would be time for love eventually. But for now, my focus was building an empire that empowered others to become their best selves.

Tossing the keys to the Benz to the valet, I said, "Take care of her."

"Yessir," came his enthusiastic reply.

The air outside the high-end Thai restaurant was thick with humidity, starkly contrasting the cool sterility of the conference center I'd just left. Inside was a low clamor of clinking silverware, hushed conversations, and the delicate scent of lemongrass and chilies.

Ever the businessman, I took a moment to adjust my tie and scan the room. The clientele skewed heavily towards white men in their late forties and early fifties. All these years after I had made my first pitch, some things had not changed.

Most of the investors here had attended the same conference I'd just left. Their faces were stamped with jet lag and anticipation, in contrast to my reflection in the polished chrome door-I was pumped and energized.

My eyes landed on the table my assistant had booked. She had done well to reserve a large, circular one in a quiet corner, bathed in the warm glow of hanging paper lanterns. Five of the seven chairs were occupied, a sight that made me smile, satisfied. Ah, yes, the Bainard & Company crew was here.

I strode towards the table with good posture. I exuded a quiet self-assurance that had long replaced my teenage shyness. I was comfortable in my skin.

"Gentlemen!" I said with enthusiasm, taking care to ooze warmth and welcome. Four young men wore identical, perfectly tailored suits. They turned toward me, and their faces broke into practiced smiles.

"Norm!" chirped a man with a neatly trimmed goatee, standing to shake my hand. "Glad you arranged this for us. We were discussing the potential market share for your latest update."

For the next six minutes, I regaled them with tales of late-night code debugging and the exhilaration of watching our user base explode.

The conversation reached a comfortable lull. Then, the restaurant's door swung open. A man I knew from a morning panel discussion walked in.

It was Adrian Ripper, an experienced developer with a distinguished air about him despite the slight air of disorientation. During our brief encounter, I learned that Adrian had been out of work for a while, a casualty of the COVID-19 era's tech industry layoffs. But his credentials were impeccable, and his passion for technology was genuine.

"There you are, Adrian!" I roared, a genuine smile spreading across my face. "We were just starting to wonder if you'd gotten lost."

Why was I being over-the-top masculine?

Adrian, clearly surprised by my raised volume, offered a hesitant smile.

"Lost? No, no. I'm just... adjusting to the new surroundings, shall we say?"

He reached the table and extended his hand to me.

A strange sensation washed over me as we shook hands, a fleeting feeling of ... knowing, maybe-something was there.

I brushed it off, attributing it to the day's excitement.

Little did I know that that handshake had just set off a chain of events that would turn my world upside down. I could not have known then that the woman I met this morning was linked to the man standing before me.

The Bainard team was impressed. They expressed continued excitement about partnering with Ignite Learning. Their questions evolved from initial feasibility to growth strategies. Adrian chimed in well to offer angles we could exploit that I had not thought of before. The room was humming with a shared sense of purpose. We were building something special, and everyone around the table was on board.

The dinner meeting ended on a high note.

The valet hurried to retrieve our cars as we exited the restaurant together. The Bainard team, ever the picture of corporate efficiency, seemed to synchronize their entry into each door of their sleek SUV.

Emboldened by the enthusiasm, I offered Adrian a verbal employment offer as we waited for our cars. I promised to contact him the following week to formalize the agreement. He broke into a broad smile, his eyes lighting up with excitement.

"I can't wait to get started," he said, shaking my hand firmly. "This is exactly the opportunity I've been looking for."

But then, a strange silence settled between us.

I was relieved when my Mercedes pulled up, gleaming under the full moonlight that flooded the street. Next, Adrian's blue Kia Hybrid pulled up, its dented bumper contrasting sharply with the luxury lining the valet lane.

A part of me, conditioned by years of societal expectations, scoffed at the sight. Cheap and flimsy, I thought dismissively-things I will never be. Adrian turned towards me as I indulged in that unnecessary, fleeting judgment.

"Nice," he said, his voice tinged with unexpected admiration, "Real nice."

I straightened a bit, a defensive edge creeping into my voice. "Thanks, man," I replied. "It's just a rental but a nice ride."

"I bet it is!" he said, walking towards his car.

I didn't make a move for my car right away. Instead, I pulled out my phone and dialed Marcus's number, my eyes following Adrian's Kia as it disappeared into the sparse evening traffic.

"Hey, Norm," he answered.

"Hey, Marcus," I began, forcing a casual tone. "What are you up to this evening? Do you want to grab some drinks?"

"Don't you have a flight to catch in the morning?" he asked.

"Yeah, yeah," I mumbled, frustration bubbling within. "But listen, I just had this incredible dinner meeting, and... well, that woman from the gym, she's still stuck in my head. And I'm feeling pretty wired about both the deal and..." I trailed off, embarrassed to admit my lingering thoughts about the Nubian goddess.

"Dude, this is not like you," Marcus interrupted. His tone was a mix of concern and amusement.

"I know, I know," I conceded, the weight of my uncharacteristic behavior settling on me. "Look, where are you? I need a distraction to get that woman off my mind."

There was a short pause before Marcus replied, a hint of a plan forming in his voice. "Hmmm."

I said, "Tell me where to show up, and I'll be there," to alleviate any thoughts he may have had that I might not be up for what he could offer.

Moments later, I punched the address into my GPS, a knot of nervous excitement tightening in my stomach. Marcus had always been my wingman, my voice of reason dipped in a healthy dose of adventurous spirit.

The address led me to an unassuming building in what seemed to be a trendy part of town. Stepping inside, I was greeted by a bluster of sound and light.

It was an artist's studio converted into a vibrant, eclectic space for the night. I spotted Marcus at a table near the front. His short tumbler was half full of a dark, glowing liquid, which I recognized as his favorite top-shelf brandy. He greeted me with his familiar smile, and a hint of mischief danced in his eyes.

The center of the room housed a stage bathed in a stark white light. As I sat opposite Marcus, a figure emerged from the shadows, a guitar strapped across the back.

"This is the visiting artist for the night, Norm," Marcus said.

The artist's appearance was as unconventional as the venue. The music began with a solo set of fringe and avant-garde sonic landscapes. It was a heady mix of industrial, electronic, noise, punk, and hip-hop, a pulsating assault on the senses that strangely invigorated me. I nodded along to the beats. Marcus was a genius.

He and I fell into easy conversation; the music was a surreal backdrop. We talked about the day, the dinner, and the woman who wouldn't leave my thoughts. He listened intently. He shared insights and experiences to show he understood and reminded me of the many ways to connect. He encouraged me to go beyond a single, fleeting encounter. Our conversation seemed to melt away the minutes. Before I knew it, the initial set had ended, the silence punctuated only by the crowd's excited chatter. Glancing at my watch, I was shocked to see it was already 11:23 PM.

You have a 6:00 AM flight, Norm! Get out of here.

But the night wasn't over yet. Just as I started formulating my excuses to leave, a pair of stunning women materialized by our table. They explained that the establishment was packed and that they couldn't resist asking if they could join us. Marcus, ever the social butterfly, readily agreed before I could protest.

With her sharp wit and captivating smile, the brunette had already chosen who she'd be hooking up with-Marcus. That left me with the redhead.

She was a whirlwind of energy and curves. She immediately took over the conversation. Her touch was constant on the muscles of my upper arms, and her laughter was infectious. Despite my lingering thoughts about the woman from the gym, I was drawn into the spiral of this vixen's presence.

"That's quite a tattoo you have," she said, peering at my neck through her heavy false lashes.

I jerked my head back to avoid the long, gelled fingernails that reached towards me.

Her porcelain features tinged pink, and she said, "Oh, sorry. Did I breach the comfort zone?"

I forced myself to relax and replied, "That's okay, honey. The only person who will caress this ring is my true mate, and she'll do that after we marry."

The redhead's eyes widened, and she hooted with joy. "Let's make that happen!"

It was my turn to blush. For a moment, I didn't know what to say. To my relief, Marcus cut in.

"Ladies, can we buy you a round of drinks and some appetizers?"

This had the desired effect of distracting my suitor. I glanced appreciatively at Marcus, who winked back at me before returning his full attention to our companions.

By the time midnight rolled around, the atmosphere had shifted again. A free-jazz quintet now occupied the stage, instruments in hand, faces alight with a shared passion. Their music defied categories. It was profoundly improvised and rhythmic, full of tenderness, social commentary, and art. During this strange set, my thoughts drifted back to the woman from earlier that morning. My eyebrows tangled as I remembered something: She looked surprised as she stared at the tattoo the redhead had pointed out. Did my gym woman recognize the ring?

What's her name? I wondered.

Interrupting my thoughts, my present companion leaned in, her voice a sultry whisper in my ear.

"This music is begging to be danced to, wouldn't you agree?" Her body pressed closer, not touching, like a question mark hovering in the air.

My mind wrestled with conflicting desires. A part of me, captivated by the redhead's energy, yearned to give in, to lose myself in the music and her company for a fleeting moment. But another, deeper part ached with a different longing. The memory of the woman from the gym, her confident gaze, and the spark of recognition somehow pulled me away from my present situation.

The redhead misread my hesitation and misinterpreted my silence for disapproval of the music. "This isn't your thing, is it?" she pouted, her disappointment evident.

"Actually," I said, surprising myself, "It's...kind of growing on me."

The music's chaotic energy mirrored the conflicting emotions swirling inside me. Taking a deep breath, I stood and offered the redhead a hand. "How about a slow dance? A chance to appreciate the...intricacies?"

She chuckled, a flicker of surprise crossing her features before morphing into amusement. "Dance slow to this music? You're-interesting," she said even as she gave her hand to me.

As we swayed to the off-beat rhythm, the redhead kept up a steady stream of conversation, her energy knocking on the door to my spirit. Yet, with every passing moment, the image of the woman from the gym grew stronger. The redhead, sensing my withdrawal, leaned away and looked at me with a questioning gaze.

"Penny for your thoughts?" she asked, her voice laced with playful curiosity.

"Sorry," I mumbled, feeling a pang of guilt for my inattentiveness. "Work stuff. Busy mind." It wasn't a total lie. The thought of finalizing the deal with the Bainard team and adding Adrian to the company kept knocking on the door of my mind. The feeling of being in a tug of war was growing.

We danced for another song, but my interest did not keep up. By the time the set ended, I felt a sense of urgency. Logic dictated I needed to rest and clear my head.

"I hate to cut this short," I told the woman, "but I have an early flight tomorrow."

"Ah, business calls," she replied, a sad smile on her lips. "Well, safe travels, and maybe our paths will cross again sometime." She leaned into me as I escorted her back to the table where Marcus and the other woman were physically entangled and conversing. "Call me when you're back in town. Or, you can have me come to you," she said softly into my ear before sitting, crossing her legs seductively, and holding my gaze.

I smiled but said nothing in response because I knew I would not take either of those options.

The night's events, meant to be a distraction, had thrown my emotions into even sharper relief.

"Thanks, Marcus. It was great catching up with you," I told my friend.

"No problem, my brother. Anytime."

As I left the studio, the cool night air felt invigorating.

Climbing into my car, I started the engine and pulled away, my thoughts returning to the woman from the gym. This time, I allowed her to enter.

Is she thinking about me at all? Who is she? She lives in this city.  I'm thousands of miles away. Is she free to meet me where I am? Will I ever see her again?

The questions were maddening, an ongoing list playing in my mind.

Pulling into the hotel parking lot, I knew one thing for sure: This unexpected encounter had shifted something within me. The "business first" mantra felt hollow-a new desire simmered beneath the surface. I yearned for a connection beyond fleeting moments, constant work, and unspoken desires.

As I switched off the engine, I considered the real choices I had to make.

Are you ready for the unexpected? Are you prepared to chase something more? Or will you let this remain a fleeting interruption in a forgotten corner of your ambitions?

Seconds before I fell asleep, a thought torched my senses: The only way to get over the woman from the gym was by getting with the woman from the gym.

My eyes sprung open.

What?