"Sweetheart... you waited for a man?
You?
A woman who can bend reality with a sentence?"
This book isn't about heartbreak.
It's not about longing.
It's not about what Paolo did or didn't do.
It's about the absurdity of the whole premise.
It's the cosmic comedy of a woman like Saga -
a woman who can create worlds, shift narratives, and walk out of any room with her sovereignty intact -
sitting around waiting for a man to text back.
This is not a tragedy.
It's recognition.
Recognition of how human it is to wait.
Recognition of how unnecessary it was.
Recognition of how funny it becomes once you've outgrown it.
Saga doesn't collapse.
She doesn't ache.
She doesn't mythologize.
She laughs.
She learns.
She moves.
And the reader moves with her.
Saga had waited for many things in life -
buses, emails, divine timing -
but waiting for Paolo was the moment she realised she had officially lost her mind.
Not because Paolo was special.
Not because Paolo was destiny.
Not because Paolo was the great love of her life.
But because Paolo was... Paolo.
A man who could barely reply to a message without consulting the moon,
his calendar,
and possibly three of his ancestors.
A man who treated communication like a rare art form
and Saga like a side quest.
A man who, in hindsight,
should never have been waited for longer than the time it takes to boil pasta.
But there she was -
Saga, sovereign, brilliant, multidimensional Saga -
sitting in a caf? staring at her phone,
waiting for a man who didn't even know he was late.
It was the moment she realised the universe had a sense of humour.
A dark one.
A very dark one.
Because if she could fall into the trap of waiting for Paolo,
then truly,
no woman was safe.
Fast, funny, self-aware, and sovereign -
WAITING FOR PAOLO is the clarity-hit every woman deserves.
