The name “Hanmin” is whispered with awe across the kingdom.

A poet whose verses could move even the coldest hearts, his words graced the scrolls of scholars and the lips of courtiers alike. Though he was often seen in the company of nobles, he kept to himself, a figure of quiet mystery. Few knew the man behind the ink-stained fingers and the quill that crafted such beauty.

But Hanmin harbored a secret—one that consumed his every waking thought. You.

The letter was waiting for you again. Tucked neatly by the sill of your window, its delicate parchment fluttered in the morning breeze. You glanced around, but as always, no one lingered nearby. This had become a routine—a new poem each morning. Though unsigned, the words felt as if they came from someone who knew you better than you knew yourself.

You picked up the letter and unfold it, reading today’s verse:

“The moon pales in envy of your glow, The rivers slow, awed by your grace. And I, a humble scribe, am cursed— To adore you only from a distance.”