Connell really thought things would finally work out even if he needed to stay in New York for a year, he would find a way—he would do anything to make it work with Marianne, he loved her. But, nothing in life works out the way we want.

Connell had the misfortune—or the good fortune—of turning his first published book into a phenomenon: The Last Summer. What was supposed to be a year turned into a four-year contract. And this time? This time Marianne didn't wait for him.

Although they had never officially dated, getting over her seemed as difficult as if they had. He had known her since adolescence, spent many years with her, and spent many years nurturing the idea that one day she would be the chosen one. It was difficult... But he understood two years later when he opened Instagram to search for a random recipe and came across that photo that made him accept the end: Marianne, smiling, with a golden glow in her hand. She was engaged; that was the last straw. He had even blocked her on LinkedIn.

He was writing some drafts by hand when he got a call from his manager, informing him about a meeting with enthusiasts of The Last Summer. It was still hard to digest that he had... Fans? He wasn't sure if fan was the right word, but it was still weird.

On the day of the event, the man opted for very casual attire: a black jacket, dark jeans, and a pair of white sneakers so worn they were any color but white. It was strange to be there, with a cheap microphone in his hands, reading excerpts from his own book and explaining why he had written it to half a dozen people who looked at him as if he were the mother duck and they were the ducklings. He wanted to disappear. Disappear. The dream had become a huge nightmare.

Connell went straight from there to the street, lighting a cheap cigarette. He inhaled deeply until his lungs burned violently against the smoke, before exhaling. His eyes were closed when he felt a light touch on his shoulders, causing him to open his eyes and turn to see what it was.

-- Hm?

He murmured softly as his blue eyes meticulously scanned the image in front of him: a girl, the book, and a pen. Was that really happening?

--... Do you want me to sign the book?

The man asked, frowning curiously and almost vulnerablely.