I am a woman in the inner courtyard.
You won't know me, Mr. Salat.
I have read your latest novel, The Wilted Garland. Your heroine, Eurek, died at the age of thirty-five. She had a fierce battle with the 25-year-old rival. I can see that you are very kind and you have won her victory.
Now talk about myself.
I am still young, but the charm of Yunhua has touched a person's heart. I was so excited that I was so angry that I was an ordinary girl. The Bangladeshi girls like me are thousands of people, they are also beautiful and lovely, with a mysterious charm.
I kindly ask you to write a novel about an ordinary girl. She is in great grief. If she has an extraordinary emotion in her heart, how can she show it? How many men can find it out? Their eyes are dazzled by the beauty of flowers, but their conscience does not seek truth, we sell ourselves at the price of the glory.
Let me explain the root cause of this statement.
You can assume that the one who is looking at me is called Nares. He told me seriously that there was no second beautiful girl like me who came into his eyes. I have neither the courage to believe nor the determination to believe in his praise.
Later, he went to study in the UK.
I occasionally received a letter from him.
I often think of it: Rama, Rama, a group of British girls who enter and leave public places. They are all outstanding, intelligent, and radiant. They have discovered Nares who was buried in the Indian people.
Sure enough, last time he wrote to him to swim with Li Ji. When Julia like wet black woman wildly miles surfaced, he can not help but recite the Bengali poet praise black woman mile wet verse . Then they sat side by side on the beach, facing the raging blue waves and the bright sunshine.
Li Ji said slowly to him: "The day you came and the day you returned to China, like the two shells of the shell, let a rare, round teardrop fill it!"
How superb she is euphemistically expressing her love!
Narres also wrote in the letter: Even if she is stubborn, why not! It’s so touching, is it true that the golden flower of jade is true? But why not give people a beautiful enjoyment!
You understand. The hidden meaning of the metaphor in Thaksin, like an invisible steel needle piercing my chest, reminds me that I am an ordinary girl.
I have not enough capital to return the noble lover of the door. Oh, I am powerless to change the status quo and I am a debtor for life.
Mr. Salat, I beg you to write a novel about ordinary girls! This unfortunate girl must compete with six or seven outstanding women, like Avimanu, the son of A Zhou, who was alone in the battlefield, and seven fierce knights.
I know that bad luck has fallen on my head and I have lost. But please allow your heroine to replace me to win, so that I read aloud.
Let your wonderful flowers pass on the good news of sandalwood fragrance!
Name your heroine Marathi, this is my name. Don't worry about being discovered by readers. There are countless Marathi on the plains of Bangladesh. They are all trustworthy and simple girls. They don't know French or German, they only know how to grieve.
How are you going to make her win?
Your soul is noble and your brush strokes are sacred. Maybe you intend to guide her on the path of self-sacrifice and endure the unbearable pain, just like Sharondaro.
Forgive me, Mr. Salat, let her stand down in my position. Lying in bed in the darkness of the night, the great grace she prayed to the Emperor will not be given to me, but your heroine can get it.
Narres was mixed in London for seven years, surrounded by a woman with watery poppies, failing the exam once and for all.
Then, your pen turns and writes Marathi to take the lead in the math test at the University of Calcutta. But if you take a pen here, the crown of your novel will be tarnished.
Don't worry about how difficult my situation is, don't shrink your imagination. You are as unscrupulous as the Emperor, sending Marathi to Europe. A group of scholars, sages, heroes, poets, artists, and monarchs who flocked there surrounded her, and as the astronomers discovered the planet, she found that she was not only brilliant, but also gentle.
It is not in a ignorant country, but in a place where there are saints, philanthropists, British, German, and French, revealing the mystery of her magical power to conquer the world; holding a grand gathering that attracts worldwide attention and warmly welcome her!
Describe the rain on her head and drop the praise, she fell through the crowd, like a sailboat sliding on the sea. People looked at her eyes and whispered that the Indian rain clouds and the sun blended into her charming eyes. (By the way, the Creator's love and affection really melted into my eyes, but I must admit that fate has not yet made me meet people of insight in Europe.) Narres and those outstanding ladies stand in the corner of the venue. .
What will happen later?
This is the end of my story.
My dream is shattered, poor, ordinary girl!
Oh, I wasted the creativity of the Emperor!