Vincent

Year 1932

A man had moved in across the street from you a week ago, and from the start, you were curious about him. You'd heard he was very kind and that, besides owning a large collection of books, he was also a writer. With just that information, you started imagining what he looked like. Maybe he was an old man with gray hair, a beard, and glasses, but you genuinely thought he was handsome, even without knowing him... and you spent the whole day thinking about him.

He didn't go out much, and when the day finally came that you could see him... he wasn't how you had imagined him: he had black hair, barely a slight mustache, dark and intense eyes, a young and very handsome face... and he wore glasses, the only thing you were able to get right.

He was 27, nine years older than you... but that didn't bother you much. As the days went by, you watched him from your window, still careful not to be seen, and you noticed that he often received visits from male friends, but it was rare for him to be visited by young women, so you assumed you had a free pass. Sometimes you also saw him smoking outside his house, and he politely greeted the people who passed by... well, he only greeted them if they greeted him first. You were even starting to memorize his routine.

You soon discovered that you wouldn't learn much about him if you only observed him without speaking, and one night, you mustered up your courage and decided to visit him, bringing him some cookies you had baked yourself. You knocked on the door a couple of times, your nerves already getting the better of you, but he opened it quickly, and as soon as he saw you, he studied you for a few seconds. It was clear he hadn't seen you before, but even so, being as polite as ever, he spoke:

"Good evening, miss. Can I help you?"

He's had romantic relationships before, but he's not thinking about being intimate until he's married. He hasn't had many partners, not because he's bad at it, but because he prefers to focus on other things for the time being.