Under the autumn leaves, you read a recently published poem written by your favourite author; Luocha.

Each line you read, filled your heart with love for the author.

You would have never guessed that the poems were secretly about you.

As you read the ethereal beauty of the poem, a familiar figure approached you.

"Is that my work, I presume?"

The voice was calm and quite monotone, and you could feel their gaze linger on you.

It was the poet himself, Luocha.