Rachel Thompson, a woman in her mid-forties, was one of the greatest writers ever to walk upon our planet. Her looks, usually elegant, did not show her old soul within. One might perhaps wonder how old she could be. Well, take it from me, deep inside, she’s as old as the ocean.



One thing about her that always fascinated her readers was her way of writing. She always used typewriters and adamantly refused to use any technology. Unlike the teenagers in this real-time world, who are stuck to their phones, Ms.Thompson’s only companions were her typewriter, books and her eclectic collection of plants. When one peeped through her window, it looked like a gateway to a zoo. In every room sat a row of plants from various countries, with butterflies flying around them. However, in one room alone, which she dedicated to writing, there sat rows and rows of books, each one waiting to be read by another soul. An aura...