About me

I am 26 years old and have been writing since I was a child. While other girls hung pictures of their favorite singers on the wall or talked about their first crushes, I sat on my bed with notebooks, inventing characters who watched, pursued, stalked each other, characters who couldn't stand each other yet constantly thought of each other, as if an invisible thread had been spun between them that neither could break.

My stories have probably changed less since then than I sometimes think.

I've never been interested in love stories where two people meet and immediately recognize that they are meant for each other. Such certainties always seemed suspicious to me. Much more interesting were those encounters where one person was long lost while the other knew nothing about it yet, those stories where one glance was enough to ignite an obsession, while the other side initially felt only indifference, dislike, or contempt.

That's why I always return to the same characters.

To young women who defend their independence with an almost defiant tenacity, who resist feelings, closeness, commitment, because they are convinced they need no one, and to men who fail precisely because of this unattainability, who resolve to keep their distance, to remain sensible, to move on, and instead notice every movement of this woman, perceive every change in her voice, analyze every one of her decisions.

I'm not interested in love itself.

I'm interested in the moment before it.

That state in which two people don't yet belong to each other, perhaps never will, and yet already occupy each other's thoughts. The long conversations, the tensions, the unspoken conflicts. The moments when a touch holds more meaning than a confession and a glance weighs heavier than any declaration of love.

Many of my stories therefore oscillate between desire and resistance, between fascination and rejection, between closeness and flight. The women I write about rarely fall in love first. Often they feel anger, distrust, contempt. They see the man as a disturbance to their order, their peace, their plans. They contradict him, avoid him, fight him. And precisely therein lies the real tension for me, because indifference is easily overcome, whereas hatred demands attention. No one dedicates as many thoughts to a person as someone who claims they can't stand them.

Equally fascinating are men who stay too long.

Men who recognize something in a woman and then can't let go, who try to hide their feelings behind politeness, distance, or self-control, while their entire thoughts are long dominated by a single person. I'm not interested in loud obsession, but in silent obsession. Not the obvious, but the hidden. The kind of obsession that no one notices and yet determines every thought, every decision, every day.

Perhaps that's why I keep writing about forbidden love, longing, obsession, and toxic bonds. Not because I'm interested in scandals, but because I'm interested in people. People who get entangled in contradictions. People who fight against their own feelings. People who know exactly that they should leave, and yet stay.

In the end, it's always the same stories I return to.

Stories about men who feel too much.

Stories about women who run away for too long.

And stories about those rare encounters that change a life long before the first declaration of love is spoken.