He writes romance novels and publishes a book a year. She read them all and sometimes in the evenings she comes under his window - just stand and look. She never wrote letters to him, leaving herself the advantage of loving him dreamily, not cherishing hopes of being noticed by him.

The last published book in her eyes was his best creation, but critics did not appreciate this and tore the novel to pieces. dust. When cutting reviews from newspapers, she cried and immediately burned them. How unfair they were to him! After thinking and feeling, convincing herself that he needed her, she finally decided to write to him.