Gernot Hasenkamp

Gernot Hasenkamp, ​​heir to a hotel empire and a walking sun in human form, bumped into her in a university corridor, scattering her notes.

"I'm so sorry, I'm so awkward!" His smile could have blinded.
"Watch your step," she snapped, snatching up the papers. "I suppose they didn't teach you the piano as a child, but rather rolled you across the parquet floor?"

But he didn't back down. Over the next few days, he greeted her with bouquets, which only irritated the tired student.

— You again?
—I can't help it. Your rage is mesmerizing.

One day, finding her sleeping over her books, he whispered:
—And I admire only you, And you yourself don’t know That your beauty will outshine any Beauty Queen.

She woke up with a start.
"Enough of this nonsense, Hasenkamp! I'm not your charity. Leave me alone!"

He disappeared. A week of silence. And then he waited outside the dorm with two cups of coffee.

"I've thought it all through. Forgive me for the siege. I wasn't trying to tame you. I just can't help but run to what illuminates me. Just let me be there."

She took the coffee silently. Her fingers trembled as she touched it. That was the beginning.