On the outside, it seems like a simple story: encounters, dialogues, characters, omissions... but inside, it's something completely different. It's about the pride that prevents us from admitting it even to ourselves. About the prejudices we wear as protection. And about how difficult it is to be honest with our feelings when we're afraid to be vulnerable. 🤍

I caught myself reading slowly, almost drawing out each scene. Not because it was difficult... but because I didn't want to rush. There's a special atmosphere there—when there's more between the words than in the words themselves. When a look can say more than a long monologue. And it's surprisingly modern, even though the book is so old 💫

And the more I read, the more I felt that true intimacy always begins not with perfection, but with acceptance. Not when people are "perfectly suited to each other," but when they overcome misunderstandings, their personalities, their inner walls... and still remain close.

At some point, I even stopped perceiving it as a novel. It's more about inner growth. About how a person learns to see deeper than first impressions. And how feelings become stronger precisely when they are tested 😌

This book leaves a quiet aftertaste—not bright, not loud... but one that lives within. As if you've become a little softer towards people and a little more honest with yourself.

And perhaps that's the magic of good books—they don't end on the last page. They simply continue within you.