How I hate her. I truly, deeply, prolifically hate her. Not only do I hate her smile, that was the warmest thing I've ever seen and I wanted her to smile at me, and talk to me, and I hate her. But I also hate her eyes. How they looked at me like I was made of glass and I felt weak and pathetic. I also really hate her writing. I could not sleep last night because I was reading her damn book and I could not put it down. Why did it start so nicely? A scenic walk through London in winter, an unbearable math's class that reminded me of my time on the set of my first ever TV series which was the closest thing I'd gotten to a public school experience, a lovely new planet, a new clever take on racism, romance as a subplot, only for it to end so tragically? And I have obviously started the next book, and the tragic ending in book 1? It was only a warning on what was to come. I have never been so ridiculous as to cry to a book in my 21 years of life. I have read exactly 896 books in my whole life, tragedies, comedies, biographies, and the book that makes me cry is a book written by a little Romanian girl that is purely fictuos and that she started working on since she was 12?!

Of course, I don't hate her. It's just that I have never dealt with such emotions before. 

And now my alarm rang and I am forced to put the book down because I must fly to LA to shoot again some scenes for my new movie because they had gotten lost in editing. Great. 

I walk to the bathroom, brush my teeth, shower, wash my face, put on my clothes - I decided to go all black today, of course, my stylist will dress me up better for the paparazzi pictures after I get out of my jet, but until then I will enjoy the simplicity of my black t-shirt, black ripped jeans, and black Nikes. I kind of look like a normal 21 years old. Of course, normal 21 years olds have either just finished college or are still in college, and I'm a 3 times Oscar winner, youngest one at that, and I am expected to take home 2 more after the next ceremony. Turns out my acting was 'impeccable' in my new movie. I don't know about that, I've seen better.

I get a notification - from Harry. 

"mate, you've got to stop let them do this to you."

I sigh. Of course he can say that. I try to act unbothered as I reply:

"I don't mind it much - keeps me busy."

But I do mind it much. I just wish I could take some time off, whenever I wrap up a movie, then here comes another one! And another one! And another one! And I know, I know, I should be grateful I'm always overpacked, you never know when a gig will be your last, and getting leading roles over leading roles is an amazing achievement is just that... I don't know how much I can take. I've been doing this daily for as long as I can remember. I don't know what's real and what's not. I'm so disconnected from the world, I'm not even sure I'm human.

And so my mind runs back to her, Olivia Popescu. There was something so common about her. So ordinary. She wasn't a model, but somehow... that made her prettier to me. She just looked happy to be there. She looked real. And now I couldn't get her off my mind.

"just promise me you'll take at least a week off after you finish shooting in LA, ok? and don't say you're busy, you don't start your next shoot until the 31st. i hate to see robot-adam. just get away from LA, new york, paris, and london. go somewhere else."

"Fine." I reply, knowing that I probably will just come back to London until I have to go back to LA.

The flight couldn't be longer, but at least I got to finish the second book. And I don't think I've ever felt so hollow. And I've felt hollow loads of times. And the worst part is that I'm still stuck here for 3 more hours and the more I stay here alone, the more I think of her. I genuinely think I'm falling in love. And I know that you probably are thinking: Adam, you're insane. If so, why is her book about two star-crossed lovers and the boy is blond, huh? Why did we bump into each other out of all 8 billion people in the world twice? It's fate.

To kill time, I start making up some scenarios in my head in which I randomly bump into her in LA, and then take her out to a party and then it fast-forwards to our wedding, and then our children, and then our grandchildren, and then- the plane lands and reality hits me.

My stylist hopped on the plane right after it landed. Mary takes my appearance very seriously.

I am now dressed in a golden shirt, golden sneakers, golden sunglasses, but my dark jeans were deemed as "acceptable enough". My outfit is not just an outfit. It is a statement. That I am going to win Actor of the Year. I don't care much for the awards anymore to be honest, the greater I am the more awful I feel. The more they lift you up, the more the fall will hurt.

And to change the course of my thoughts, I decided to think of Olivia again. I don't know what I feel. It's quite like a flame within. Is it love? I think it's love, yes.

The next 15 hours on set were unbearable to say the least. But at least I'm done with LA and all it's drama for a couple weeks. In the car, a thought forms in my head, and with each passing second I am more and more inclined to act upon it. By the time I get to my jet, it's already been decided. "Change of plans, Mike. We're not going to London. We're going to Bucharest."

Said and done. 15 hours later, I was in Bucharest. I sightsaw. And it was very pretty, I enjoyed the architecture very much, it was like all major European architectural currents had clashed and this city was the result. I had been wandering in Bucharest for 5 hours when it hit me: I had no idea where I was going. I had no idea if she even lived in Bucharest, but I figured she did because it was the capital of the country. I hadn't even bothered to look her up to see if she even lived here. 

I was in the Old Town when these thoughts hit me. Walking aimlessly. Now so lost in my thoughts I don't even see the girl I bump into.

"I'm so sorry." I say and who do I see?

Her.

Okay, now I'm positive this is fate.

She looks at me and says, "Well, seems like this is becoming a habit."

I am over the moon. She literally remembers me.

"What brings you to Romania?" she asks after I don't answer, I just hope I'm not staring.

'You.' I want to answer, but if I were her and I'd gotten that answer, I would probably run to the police station and how are we going to fall in love if she gets a restraining order against me? So I answer: "Oh, I just had a week off and wanted to visit a place I'd never visited before." I hesitated before I added, "You know, after meeting you, I've read your books. They were phenomenal, although deeply scarring and I wish I'd never learnt how to read. That's how I got the idea to come here."

She smiles so brightly I feel like I'm an ice cream left in the blazing sun, and I can't help but mirror her smile.

"You've got no idea how much it means to me. I didn't think anyone would read my books when I wrote the first one. Especially not a 3-time Oscar winner. I've also watched one of your movies after meeting you, 'How long does it take until sunrise'."

She has watched one of my movies. Am I delusional or is this love? 

"So, uh, did you like it?" I ask, acting as nonchalantly as I can but I am so happy I could start singing. 

"It was alright. I did think that since you were so smug and an Oscar winner, you would be a better actor."

That cut straight to the bone.

"What do you mean by that?" I ask.

"Oh, nothing! I mean I'm not a professional or anything, but I just don't get what has everyone head over heels for you."

Oh, but you will, too, soon.

I walk closer to her, and ask: "Well, why don't we talk about it over dinner, huh?" 

She walks even closer to me and says, "Sounds nice. Too bad stuck-up actors aren't my type."

Then she walked away.

This is not over.