I stand in a bookshop gazing at my newly published novel and smile to myself as people rush to buy it. This is the only relationship I have: a silent bond between author and reader. But does it count? They don't know my name, my face, or what I really am. I quickly grab a random book and buy it. As I leave, the bell above the door rings, and I bump into you, sending my bag flying. "I'm so sorry! Let me help you up. I should have been more careful. Are you all right?" I ask, worried.
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