The Hourglass of Us

 Era: The Roaring Twenties, 1923, New York City

When Elizabeth Mason first stepped into the elevator of the Steinbeck Building in Manhattan on that fateful morning, she had no idea it would be the day her life was altered forever. At the time, it was just another day—a Tuesday, barely distinguishable from the hundreds of others before it. She had spent the last few weeks fumbling with her research, putting together articles about the grand social scene, and pretending she wasn’t terrified of disappointing the editors of The New York Times.

But that morning, as the elevator doors slid open, something shifted in the air.

A man was waiting inside. And though she didn’t know it yet, his presence would haunt her until the end of her days.

The man’s name was Charles Archer—tall, with an elegant air about him, and dressed sharply in a tailored grey suit that had seen both good fortune and rough times. His dark hair was slicked back with meticulous precision, his eyes the color of storm clouds—impossibly deep and wild. The way he carried himself was understated but unmistakably captivating.

And he wasn’t from her time.

Charles had been standing in the corner of the elevator, his posture stiff, as if carrying a weight far too heavy for his broad shoulders. When he saw Elizabeth, it was as if everything else around them faded into insignificance. The briefcase he held seemed to lighten in his grasp, and the heavy silence between them swirled with an unspoken understanding.

“Miss Mason,” he said, his voice low and almost unfamiliar to her, like a forgotten memory on the edge of her mind.

She blinked, startled. “Yes? Do I know you?”

“I don’t believe so,” he answered, though his gaze lingered on her, as though searching for something in her eyes that neither of them could quite name. “But I think we’re meant to.”

The words sent a ripple of discomfort through Elizabeth’s chest. She had been raised in an era where women were told to be sensible, to rely on logic and reason, not on romanticized notions of fate or chance encounters. But there was something about him, something in the way he stood so firmly in that elevator with an air of timelessness that unsettled her.

The elevator doors slid closed, and they began their ascent to the top floor. Neither of them spoke for the next few moments, though both of them felt the same thing: an undeniable pull that tethered them together.

When the elevator reached the top, Elizabeth followed Charles out, still unsure why her heart was beating faster than it should. She had seen men like him in the papers—wealthy businessmen with the kind of old-world charm that no longer existed in the modern era.

But there was something different about Charles. Something that went beyond wealth or appearances.

Elizabeth was about to say something when the sound of the elevator dinged and she froze.

Charles’s face turned white, his body going rigid as if struck by a sudden realization. “I—I need to go.”

Before she could respond, he turned abruptly and walked away, disappearing into the crowded office lobby. His sudden departure left her breathless, confused, and inexplicably heartbroken.

Days turned into weeks, and though she didn’t see Charles again, his presence lingered in every corner of her thoughts. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something more had been at play that day.

One evening, after a particularly frustrating day spent trying to chase down leads for a story, Elizabeth found herself walking down Park Avenue to clear her mind. The city was buzzing—alive with the clink of glasses, the raucous laughter spilling out of jazz clubs, and the constant hum of cars and streetcars. But the air seemed heavier now, as if a storm were brewing.

She was crossing a street when she felt a hand on her shoulder, warm and familiar.

She spun around, and there he was—Charles, his dark eyes filled with an emotion that bordered on desperation.

“Elizabeth,” he breathed, his voice barely audible. “I’ve been looking for you.”

For a moment, she couldn’t speak. The world around her faded as she stared up at him.

“You—you found me,” she whispered, a thrill racing up her spine. “But—why did you leave that day? What is happening?”

Charles’s face was pale, and there was a haunted look in his eyes. “Elizabeth… I can’t explain this. But we don’t belong here. Not in this time. Not like this.”

She stepped back, shaking her head. “I don’t understand. You’ve been on my mind for weeks, and now you say you don’t belong here? You don’t want me?”

Charles reached out, taking her hands gently in his. “No, it’s not that. It’s just that… I’m not from this time. I don’t belong in 1923. I belong… somewhere else.” His eyes darkened as if he were reliving something painful. “I’ve seen it—the future. I’ve seen how you’ll be. How we could be. But it’s not the same. And it’s not right for you to be here with me.”

Elizabeth felt her pulse quicken. “What do you mean? You’re here now. You’re here with me.”

Charles shook his head slowly, his lips pressing into a thin line. “You don’t understand. You’ll be trapped, Elizabeth. If you stay with me, you’ll lose everything. This world—your world—will disappear. And I’ll take you with me, but you’ll never be the same again.”

Tears stung her eyes, and she felt a lump form in her throat. The warmth in her chest—a warmth she had never felt before—turned cold and distant.

“You’re telling me to leave you? To walk away from what we have?”

He stepped back, the weight of his decision pulling him farther from her. “I’m telling you that love cannot survive the space between time, between centuries. You were meant for a different life, Elizabeth. A different path.”

Elizabeth’s breath hitched as she watched him, torn between the fire that burned in her chest and the reality he was offering her. He was right. But how could she walk away? How could she leave behind the love that felt as if it had been written in the stars?

Before she could respond, Charles took one last step away from her, disappearing into the crowd of New York City’s bustling streets, as if he had never existed at all.

Elizabeth stood frozen in place, her heart shattering, feeling a pull so deep it threatened to tear her apart. He had shown her a glimpse of a life they could never share, a love that was too powerful, too dangerous, to hold onto.

Years passed, but Elizabeth never forgot Charles Archer. Though she lived a full life—marrying, working as a writer, becoming part of the fabric of the city—she always carried his memory with her, the ghost of a love that could never be. She knew, in her soul, that she was meant to be with him, but the cost of that love was too great.

And as she lay on her deathbed, the world around her fading, Elizabeth felt the soft brush of a hand on hers, the familiar presence that she had missed so much.

Charles was there.

“You came back,” she whispered, tears in her eyes.

“I never left,” he replied, his voice warm, his hand holding hers tightly.

And in that final moment, as the ticking of the clock slowed and the room grew dim, Elizabeth knew: no matter where time had taken them, no matter how many lifetimes they had lived, their love had never truly ended.

It was timeless.