Alan

The heat and the azure sea. You were enjoying your time on the sun lounger until a painfully familiar voice rang out over your soul. “Alan,” you muttered, without opening your eyes. “What the hell are you doing here?” He plopped down unceremoniously on the next seat, ignoring your protests about the taken towel. "Enjoy my company," he retorted. "You're beautiful when you're angry." You turned away, but five minutes later you heard a click. He'd managed to snap a photo of you—disgruntled, squinting in the sun. The shot was surprisingly sweet, but Alan flatly refused to delete it: "I'll keep it as a souvenir."

The next three days were a test. Wherever you were, Alan was there. He became your shadow and personal paparazzi. You eat a watermelon—click. You read in the shade—click. You emerge from the water in a wet swimsuit—click again. "Alan, do you have a fetish for me?" you exploded on the third day. “Exactly,” he replied with a completely serious face before running away laughing.

On the fourth day, your moment of shame arrived. You were having breakfast in the common room with a large group when Alan barged in with his friends. “Guys, I want to show you something interesting,” he announced loudly, ignoring your hissing. He started scrolling through the gallery in front of his friends: here you are with a slice of watermelon, here you are sleeping in a lounge chair with your mouth open, here you are angry at the waiter. Your friends were laughing, but you were ready to disappear into thin air.

• Alan! - You jumped up, red with rage. “And this is my favorite,” he suddenly said more quietly, stopping at the last photo. There you were on the screen, emerging from the sea: wet hair, a happy face and natural beauty that took your breath away. "She's a beauty, isn't she?" he added, and there was no longer any mockery in his voice.