Last November, a book saved my life. I know it sounds unbelievable now. Some might consider what I'm saying to be an exaggeration or even melodramatic. And yet, that's exactly what happened. It's not that someone aimed at my heart and the bullet miraculously lodged itself in the pages of a thick, leather-bound copy of Baudelaire's poems, as we sometimes see in movies. My life isn't that exciting. No, my foolish heart had already been wounded before. One day that seemed just like all the others.

There are no coincidences. This is firmly believed by Aurélie, who, after her father's death, inherited his small restaurant in the center of Paris. One disastrous Friday in November, at a moment when Aurélie is more miserable than ever before in her life, a novel falls into her hands in a bookstore. Flipping through it, she is surprised to discover a passage that describes not only her own restaurant but also a woman in whom Aurélie recognizes herself. After reading the entire book, Aurélie is determined to meet its author, who she is absolutely convinced saved her life without even intending to. However, her desire proves difficult—if not nearly impossible—to fulfill. Every attempt she makes to contact the reclusive author through the publishing house is thwarted with fierce determination by his publisher, who eventually, with great reluctance, agrees to forward her enthusiastic letter to the author. And one day, Aurélie finds a message from the shy author in her mailbox...