When I first met Jalen Brunson, I’ll be honest—I wasn’t sure about him.”** *By Ali Marks

 

**“When I first met Jalen Brunson, I’ll be honest—I wasn’t sure about him.”**
*By Ali Marks

Ali Marks remembers the moment clearly—not because it was dramatic or cinematic, but because of how *ordinary* it was.

“He wasn’t exactly my type,” she says, half-laughing now, sitting in a sunny Chicago café where she’s agreed to talk. “At that time, I was focused on my own life and career, and I didn’t really think much about relationships.”

Jalen Brunson, then a rising star at Villanova and now one of the most electrifying point guards in the NBA, wasn’t a stranger to the spotlight. He carried it with him—a confidence that lit up rooms, a charisma honed by years of high-stakes basketball. But for Ali, that spotlight didn’t dazzle.

“I wasn’t into the whole athlete thing,” she admits. “Not because I didn’t respect it—just, it felt like a world so far from mine. I had this picture of who I thought I’d end up with: someone quieter, maybe more conventional, less… public.”

But Jalen had a way of disarming people.

“He was outgoing, funny, and definitely had that basketball superstar vibe,” she recalls. “But it wasn’t the cocky kind. It was more like, he just made people feel at ease. And over time, I started to see the layers.”

—

They first crossed paths through mutual friends, in that liminal post-high school, pre-adult space where life is still forming but the pieces are starting to fall into place. Ali was pursuing a degree in occupational therapy—grounded, focused, with big plans and a clear roadmap.

“Jalen was this ball of energy,” she says. “He’d come into a room and the whole dynamic would shift. People gravitated toward him.”

That, at first, made her cautious.

“I had goals. A path. I wasn’t looking to be someone’s plus-one at games or to orbit someone else’s dream. I needed my own.”

But Brunson wasn’t interested in orbiting either. What began as light conversation slowly became something else—a pattern of presence. He showed up. Consistently. Respectfully. Authentically.

“He’d ask real questions,” Ali says. “Not just small talk. He wanted to know about my classes, my family, the things that mattered to me. And he remembered. That caught me off guard.”

—

In public, Jalen Brunson was already building a name: a cerebral point guard with a ruthless work ethic and championship poise. But away from the cameras, he was thoughtful, often introverted, and deeply loyal to a small circle of family and friends.

“He made me laugh all the time,” Ali recalls. “But what impressed me more was how he treated people. The way he spoke to the janitors at the gym, the respect he showed to fans, even the patience he had with kids pulling on his sleeve—it all told me something.”

Still, she was guarded.

“I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop,” she admits. “Because I’d seen the headlines, heard the stories—these fairytale romances with athletes that crash and burn because the foundation wasn’t real.”

But Jalen never pushed. Never played games. And slowly, a trust formed—one rooted not in glamour, but in the mundane.

“It was the texts checking in before my big exams. The FaceTimes at the end of long days. The fact that he never made me feel like I had to shrink to fit his world.”

—

As Brunson’s career took off—from Villanova championships to a solid NBA debut with Dallas and now starring with the Knicks—the couple grew in tandem. But it wasn’t without its challenges.

“There were seasons we barely saw each other,” Ali says. “Time zones, travel, media obligations—it was a lot. But we made a decision early on to prioritize communication. Honest, raw, sometimes uncomfortable communication.”

They became each other’s sounding boards. Ali, in particular, brought a balance to Jalen’s life—a kind of emotional gravity that kept him centered through chaos.

“He says I ground him,” she smiles. “But he does the same for me. He’s my soft place to land.”

Through the injuries, the trades, the pressure of performing on the biggest stages in Madison Square Garden, Ali was never just the supportive girlfriend in the stands. She was a partner.

“We learned to grow without leaning too hard,” she says. “To support each other’s goals, even when they pulled us in different directions.”

—

Social media eventually caught up. Photos of the couple began circulating—at charity events, on vacations, during quiet moments off the court. Fans were curious. Who was the woman behind the Knicks’ star point guard?

But Ali never chased the attention.

“I wasn’t trying to be anyone’s influencer or brand,” she says. “I just wanted to be me—Ali, who works with kids in occupational therapy, who loves baking, who still FaceTimes her mom three times a week.”

That authenticity became her calling card.

“She’s the realest person I know,” Brunson once told a reporter. “She doesn’t care about the lights. She cares about people. That’s why I love her.”

And for Ali, that kind of love—the unflashy, faithful kind—is what changed everything.

—

The turning point came during an off-season trip to Chicago. It was low-key, just the two of them walking near the lake, far from the media noise. Jalen turned to her, suddenly quiet.

“He said, ‘You’re the person I want to build my life with,’” Ali remembers. “And I believed him. Not because it was romantic—though it was—but because everything he’d done up to that moment had already said it.”

They got engaged in 2022, the moment marked with the same simplicity that defines their relationship. No grand gestures for the camera. Just a deep, shared knowing.

“When you know, you know,” she says.

—

Today, Ali Marks is a rising professional in her own right—working in pediatric OT, passionate about helping children regain function and confidence after injury or illness. Her patients don’t care who her fiancé is. They care that she shows up for them. And she does—every day.

“People ask if it’s hard to date someone famous,” she says. “But fame doesn’t define our relationship. It never has. It’s built on trust, respect, and a whole lot of laughter.”

She still doesn’t care much for the glitz.

“I don’t need the courtside seats or the Instagram followers,” she says. “I just need him to be kind. To be consistent. And he is.”

—

Looking back, she sees how her first impression was just that—a moment, not a truth.

“When I first met Jalen, I’ll be honest—I wasn’t sure about him,” she repeats. “But that’s the thing about love. Sometimes it doesn’t arrive how you expect. It doesn’t always sweep you off your feet. Sometimes it walks in quietly, makes you laugh, remembers your coffee order, and stays.”

She smiles.

“And when it’s real, it deepens. It stops being about first impressions. It becomes about the life you build together.”

 

Ali Marks: “When I first met Jalen Brunson, I’ll be honest—I wasn’t sure about him. He wasn’t exactly my type. At that time, I was focused on my own life and career, and I didn’t really think much about relationships. Jalen Brunson, on the other hand, had this effortless charm about him. He was outgoing, funny, and definitely had that basketball superstar vibe. But, I wasn’t sure how to take.

—

**“When I First Met Jalen Brunson, I’ll Be Honest—I Wasn’t Sure About Him”**
*By Ali Marks*

When I first met Jalen Brunson, I’ll be honest—I wasn’t sure about him. He wasn’t exactly my type.

At the time, I was in a phase of my life where relationships felt like a background thought, a minor subplot in a story centered entirely on my career and personal growth. I had just started a new position at Northwestern, was adjusting to the pressures of postgraduate life, and had made a silent pact with myself: no distractions, especially not the kind with perfect smiles and flashy sneakers.

Jalen Brunson had all the makings of a distraction.

We met through mutual friends at a gathering one warm summer night in Chicago. It wasn’t a party so much as a chill hangout—just enough music, just enough people, just enough space to retreat to the kitchen when small talk became unbearable. I remember standing near the fridge, scrolling on my phone, when I heard this warm, casual voice behind me: “You guarding that hummus like it’s a championship trophy?”

I turned around, slightly amused—and there he was.

Jalen.

I knew who he was, obviously. Everyone did. Villanova star turned NBA player, son of Rick Brunson, and one of the most talked-about young guards in the league. He was the kind of guy whose name popped up in sports bars, in group chats, in conversations you couldn’t quite ignore. But standing in front of me, he didn’t look like a headline. He looked like a guy in joggers, sipping sparkling water, trying to make a stranger laugh.

I gave a half-smile. “Maybe I’m just protective of good snacks.”

He grinned. “Noted. You’re serious about your hummus. Respect.”

We talked for a while, nothing deep—music, mutual friends, favorite spots in the city. He was funny. Like *actually* funny, not the forced type of funny you get from guys who are used to attention. He listened when I spoke, asked thoughtful questions, and didn’t once mention basketball unless I brought it up. It was easy. But I still walked away thinking: *Nice guy. Just not for me.*

That’s the thing about expectations—they blind you.

I thought I knew what I needed. A partner with a similar routine, similar ambitions, someone grounded in the same world I was navigating. Jalen’s life was so far removed from mine. Private planes, packed arenas, screaming fans. I imagined it would be chaotic, always moving, always public. And I didn’t know if I could—or wanted to—fit into that.

But he kept showing up.

Not in a pushy way. Not in the *”why haven’t you answered my text”* kind of way. Jalen was patient. He’d check in, send a meme that made him think of our first conversation, or drop a message like, “Saw something on your Instagram—are you designing spaces or building empires?” It made me laugh. It also made me curious.

Eventually, I agreed to go out with him. I told myself it was just dinner. A polite yes to someone who’d been nothing but respectful. We met at a low-key restaurant in Lincoln Park. No paparazzi, no fanfare, just two people in a booth, passing dishes back and forth and swapping stories about childhood, family, insecurities, and dreams.

That night was the beginning of everything.

I saw parts of Jalen that the world rarely gets to see. The boy who used to run drills with his dad in the driveway until his hands were numb. The teenager who cried after a loss but didn’t let anyone see it. The man who watched his teammates like a chessboard, always thinking two plays ahead. He didn’t just love basketball—he *respected* it. And it made me see his world not as something to avoid, but as something remarkable.

Still, I was careful. I watched how he moved through spaces. How he treated servers, strangers, fans. I wanted to know if the warmth I felt in private carried into the public. And it did. Jalen wasn’t performative—what you saw was what you got. Kind. Grounded. Curious. A little goofy. And deeply loyal.

What I didn’t expect was how seamlessly he made room for me in his life. He never tried to pull me into his spotlight, never expected me to revolve around his schedule. Instead, he found ways to show up in mine. If I had a big work event, he’d ask questions about it, cheer me on, sometimes even show up quietly and sit in the back. If I had a stressful day, he’d leave a note on my nightstand or send a surprise coffee delivery. Little things. Big meaning.

Of course, it wasn’t all perfect. We had challenges, like every couple. Long-distance stretches, conflicting schedules, outside noise. There were moments when the world felt too loud—when social media made it hard to breathe, when headlines speculated about us, when I’d read a comment thread and feel the weight of strangers trying to define our story.

But Jalen never wavered.

He had this calm about him. A calm that said: *We’re good. We’re solid. We know who we are.* And that steadiness gave me permission to be vulnerable, to trust, to soften.

One day, after a particularly difficult week—deadlines piling up, one of those “what am I doing with my life?” spirals—I came home to find him in the kitchen, apron on, attempting to cook pasta (and absolutely failing at it).

I laughed. “What… is happening in here?”

He looked up, flour on his forehead, and said, “I was trying to make dinner, but apparently, you’re supposed to boil the water *before* putting the pasta in.”

I hugged him from behind. “It’s okay. We’ll survive on takeout.”

He turned, serious now. “I just wanted to do something for you. You always do so much. I want you to know I see it.”

That moment stayed with me. Because it wasn’t grand. It wasn’t flashy. It was honest. And in many ways, it summed up our relationship—imperfect, real, built on intention rather than performance.

When we got engaged, it felt like a continuation, not a beginning. We’d already grown through so much together—personally, professionally, emotionally. Saying yes wasn’t a leap. It was a natural step on a road we’d already been walking, hand in hand.

And now, years into our marriage, I still think about that first night—the hummus, the harmless banter, the version of me who couldn’t see past the assumptions. I smile at her. She was cautious. Guarded. Maybe even a little scared. But she was also brave enough to give something unfamiliar a chance.

Jalen isn’t just a basketball star. He’s the man who holds my hand when I overthink, who dances in the kitchen on sleepy Sundays, who calls his mom just to hear her voice. He’s my partner, my teammate, my home.

And as much as I love watching him on the court—dropping dimes, leading huddles, hitting clutch shots—I love him most in the quiet moments. When it’s just us, no cameras, no crowd. When he’s sitting beside me on the couch, one sock on, scrolling through Netflix, asking if I want to rewatch a movie we’ve seen ten times.

When I first met Jalen Brunson, I wasn’t sure about him.

Now, I can’t imagine my life without him.

—