Let's Try Again

Chapter 1

Alana

The doors hiss open and I step onto the platform at Hartford Station, wheeling my carry-on behind me. The familiar mix of coffee shops and newspaper stands hits me with an unexpected wave of nostalgia. Nothing has changed, yet everything feels different.

A gust of wind whips my hair around my face as I make my way through the station. The same weathered brick buildings line the street outside, their facades telling stories of countless Connecticut winters. My heels click against the pavement – a sound that used to be my daily soundtrack before I traded it for the bustling streets of London, England.

"Welcome back to Hartford," I mutter under my breath, adjusting my blazer. Seven years. Seven years since I walked these streets, since I left everything – and everyone – behind.

My phone buzzes with a message from my newest client. Another startup looking for guidance on their AI implementation. The work never stops, even when you're supposedly "coming home." The irony isn't lost on me that technology, the very thing that took me away from Hartford, is now bringing me back.

I pause at the corner of Asylum Street, where Mason and I used to grab coffee every morning. The café has been replaced by a sleek juice bar, but I can still see us there – him in his perfectly tailored suits, me fresh out of college, both of us drunk on ambition and possibility.

"You'll take over the whole world with your ideas," he'd said back then, his steel-blue eyes full of certainty. "And I'll revolutionize the tech industry here."

Half of that came true, at least. I did make my mark in London, building my tech consulting firm from scratch in a nation that's not my own. But watching Mason's family empire implode from afar wasn't part of the plan. Neither was ending things the way we did.

A city bus rushes past, splashing through a puddle, and I step back quickly to avoid getting soaked. The movement snaps me out of my memories. I'm not here to reminisce about Mason Frost or what could have been. I'm here because Hartford's tech scene is finally growing, and my expertise is needed. Simple as that.

If only my racing heart would get the memo.

I order an Uber that takes me straight to my modern apartment complex in downtown Hartford. Not exactly the brownstone I'd imagined, but the glass and steel structure has its own appeal. My temporary home sits on the eighth floor, overlooking the city skyline.

I wrestle with the keys that the landlord was kind enough to send in the mail – they're always stiff in a new lock – and push open the door. The apartment stretches before me, an empty canvas of hardwood floors and white walls. Sunlight streams through floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long shadows across the space.

"Not bad at all." My voice echoes slightly in the emptiness. The open-concept layout reminds me of my first apartment back in London. A sleek kitchen island separates the living area from the cooking space, perfect for spreading out work documents or hosting impromptu dinner parties.

I drop my bags by the door and walk the perimeter. Some strategically placed plants would add life to those window sills. Maybe a vintage record player in that corner – I've always wanted one. The bare walls are begging for local art pieces.

But decorating will have to wait. I unzip my largest suitcase and start laying out potential outfits for tonight's tech gala. The Hartford Innovation Summit is the perfect opportunity to network with potential clients, and first impressions matter.

I hold up a red power suit against my frame. Too bold? Maybe. The navy silk jumpsuit might strike the right balance between professional and memorable. Or the black cocktail dress with its subtle geometric pattern – classic yet modern.

"Come on, Alana. Channel your inner tech whiz." I pull out my favorite pair of stilettos – the ones that got me through countless pitches in London. They'll work with any outfit, and more importantly, they make me feel invincible.

My hands brush against the emerald green wrap dress at the bottom of my suitcase. I'd forgotten I packed it. The fabric catches the light, shifting like liquid between my fingers. Perfect for making an entrance without screaming for attention.

"This is the one," I whisper, grabbing the dress along with the stilettos before heading to the bathroom to undress. My heart's beating a little faster than usual - first impressions matter, especially in tech. And it's been years since I've been involved in the tech industry within Hartford.

I slip into the emerald dress, the silk cool against my skin. The fabric hugs my curves in all the right places, the wrap style accentuating my waist while keeping things tasteful. The mirror reflects back a woman who's learned to command attention rather than ask for it. My fingers work through my curls, coaxing them into the perfect balance between professional and natural – a skill that took years to master. Each twist and tuck is deliberate, a ritual I've perfected since my early days of corporate presentations.

"You've got this," I tell my reflection, reaching for my favorite leave-in conditioner. The familiar scent of coconut and shea butter fills the air as I work it through my coils. I take my time, making sure each section is properly moisturized. These little moments of self-care are my armor, preparing me for whatever challenges Hartford has in store. My reflection shows exactly who I want to be today - confident, capable, and completely in control.

Seven years ago, I was fresh-faced and eager, pitching my first AI consulting project to a room full of men who couldn't see past my gender or my skin color. Their dismissive glances and patronizing smiles only fueled my determination. I remember staying up until 3 AM, refining algorithms and business plans, surviving on nothing but determination and cheap coffee.

My hands steady as I apply my foundation, building it up slowly the way my mother taught me. "Your face is your war paint," she'd say, and she wasn't wrong. Every perfectly winged eyeliner, every precisely applied lipstick became armor in boardrooms where I was often the only woman, let alone the only Black woman.

The first year in London nearly broke me. Potential investors would love my proposals until they saw me in person. One actually asked if I was the secretary. I turned that rage into motivation, worked twice as hard, built a network of allies who saw my vision. Now those same investors chase me for meetings.

I blend highlighter along my cheekbones, remembering the night I landed my first major client. I'd sacrificed my sister's wedding to finish the proposal – a choice that still stings. But that contract put my company on the map, proved that a Black woman from Hartford could revolutionize how European tech companies approach AI implementation.

My hand trembles slightly as I apply my signature red lipstick. Tonight isn't just another networking event – it's coming full circle. The same Hartford business community that once seemed so impossible to crack now wants my expertise. The irony would be delicious if my stomach wasn't doing backflips.

I step back, smoothing down the dress. The woman in the mirror looks ready to conquer the world, or at least the Hartford Innovation Summit. Now if only my racing pulse would get the message.

I trace my fingers along my collarbone, studying my reflection. The emerald dress drapes perfectly, but my mind drifts to another dress – the midnight blue one I wore the night Mason first told me he loved me. We'd been walking through Bushnell Park, the city lights twinkling around us like fireflies.

"You did it, Alana," I whisper to myself, but the victory feels hollow. Building my company meant leaving behind the man who believed in me before anyone else did. Mason used to stay up late helping me refine my business plans, bringing me coffee when I was too wired to sleep. He'd massage my shoulders while I explained neural networks, genuinely fascinated by every detail.

My hands grip the marble counter. Seven years of achievements, awards, and accolades. Seven years of empty hotel rooms and quick flights between cities. Seven years of first dates that never led to seconds because no one else understood my drive the way he did.

I close my eyes, remembering our last night together. The way his fingers traced patterns on my skin, how his steel-blue eyes held such certainty when he said we'd figure it out. But the opportunity in London couldn't wait, and Mason's family company needed him here. We both chose our dreams.

"It was the right choice," I tell my reflection, but my chest aches with the familiar weight of loss. The truth is, I never stopped loving Mason. I just learned to live with loving him from afar, to celebrate his successes through industry news and LinkedIn updates. Each time his company made headlines, my heart would skip – pride and pain tangled together like headphone wires in a pocket.

A car horn blares outside, jolting me back to the present. My reflection shows a woman who's achieved everything she set out to do. Everything except keeping the one person who made all those achievements feel worth celebrating. He used to say my determination was both my greatest strength and my biggest weakness. Funny how time proves people right.

Seven years of climbing the corporate ladder, and here I am, back in Hartford, wondering if the view from the top is worth the altitude sickness.

My phone buzzes with another congratulatory message about my return to Hartford, with hopes that my consultant company will permanently stay here for the long-term. Another achievement to add to the list. Another moment I wish I could share with someone who truly understands the cost of success.