It was her smile that enchanted me, which may sound clichéd, but it is the truth. Her smile stimulated the deepest feelings of wonderment inside my being. Some people offer fake smiles, but a smile should never be forced. There is something incredible, infinite and indefinably good about a genuine smile. She was pretty, too. We did a quiz together, and I kissed her cheek when I left.

I invited her onto the BBC University Challenge team that I was putting together. “I don’t know if I’m brainy enough Rich,” she said.

“We need beauty as well as brains,” I replied.

She agreed to be on our team. “Don’t worry honey, I’ll get these forms filled out for you,” she said when I provided her with the paperwork, as though it was a privilege to have her on our team, which it was. She let me choose a picture of her to use on the form, since she was busy.

That evening, I went through her many Facebook pictures. “Maybe this one?” I asked in a chat message.

“It’s not opening,” she said. “What photo is it?”

“You’re wearing a low-cut black lace-trimmed top. On your pink lips, a mischievous smile is playing,” I described.

“Ermm, if you think I look smart enough,” she replied.

“Well, I can’t see any of you in your glasses,” I quipped.

“I hate wearing them!” she said. “There’s like 3 in existence.”

“You look pretty in them,” I said.

Determined to impress her and get our team onto TV, I intensively revised my general knowledge. I also frequented the student bar where she worked. I figured out what hours she did each day and went at those times.

A couple of weeks before our University Challenge audition, she unfriended me on Facebook. I was a little shocked and asked her why.

“You’re kinda freaking me out,” she explained. “You’re a good guy but you’re being far too forward.”

“Are you still doing University Challenge with us?” I asked.

“Only as a friend, but nothing more,” she replied.

For some reason, I then decided to tell her how I really felt; that I had become infatuated with her, and that I was in love with her. With hindsight, of course I wouldn’t have done that. In fact, I would have done almost everything differently but, at the time, I felt compelled to do what I did.

She pulled out of the team. We found a replacement and failed the audition anyway (I doubt that her inclusion would have made a difference). My dream of winning University Challenge and impressing the maiden was shattered.

Over the next few weeks, when it became clear that I had no chance with her, my behaviour became increasingly erratic. I would drink 2 bottles of wine and go into a club, climb over the fence after being kicked out, and get into fights. I got banned from my SU, which meant that I could no longer go to the bar where she worked.

Occasionally, I passed her on the street. Once, I saw her in the library, and she smiled at me. She was prolific on Twitter and it often felt like her tweets were directed at me.

I wrote love letters to her. I still had her address from the forms that she filled out for University Challenge. I felt a bit guilty using that information, but I wasn’t turning up at her door or anything. I sent a few love letters through the post, rose-themed cards containing poetry and drawings. I also left messages on her phone.

That might seem a bit much, but it felt like I would be denying my love if I did nothing. Eventually, she contacted the police. I was called by a policewoman and told that I had to stop contacting her.

I abstained for six months, but I learned that she was returning to Greenwich for her graduation, and I went to see her. As chance would have it, she was positioned at the far end of one row, in front of where I was standing. She saw me and tried to swap with the person next to her, but it was too late; as the photo was taken, I was standing near her.

After that, I thought long and hard about what I was doing. I think that is when I first accepted that I had become a stalker. Before, I had been an admirer. But what does stalking really mean? It seems to mean that you truly love someone who does not love you back.

Every great romance is about two partners who are utterly obsessed with each other. Romeo, Juliet, Tristan and Isolde are people who are so passionately and powerfully in love that nothing else matters to them. But what if that feeling was felt on only one side? What if Juliet had rejected Romeo? Would he become a stalker?

It seems that modern society drools over depictions of this intense, obsessional love, but only when it is mutual. When it comes from just one side, it is suddenly deemed a terrible thing.

When I was listening to The Beatles, I realised that a lot of their early music suited my mood. Much of it is about being utterly obsessed with a particular woman:

“I’ll get you, I’ll get you in the end,

Yes I will, I’ll get you in the end,

Oh yeah, oh yeah,

Well, there’s gonna be a time,

When I’m gonna change your mind,

So you might as well resign yourself to me,

Oh yeah.”

Are the Beatles creepy stalkers? Of course not. How about Sting?

“Every breath you take,

Every move you make,

Every bond you break,

Every step you take,

I’ll be watching you.”

These songs are about obsessional love, which is both natural and beautiful. Benevolent stalking is different to malevolent stalking. The latter is intended to cause harm or induce fear, but the former is purely an expression of affection.

On Valentine’s Day 2014, I sent her another card, with an elaborate drawing of a wild scene. In it, she became the character Ella Tundra, and that is how The World Rose began.

Seven months later, when it was complete, I decided to try to make my book known by getting into the national news. I found out that she worked in Glasgow, so I travelled there with a plan. I was going to tell her that if she came with me, and we faked a kidnapping, we would both become famous. We would go into the hills and camp out for a few days while the nation searched. I had brought the necessary supplies.

I would like to reiterate that I was not plotting to kidnap her. I was planning on asking her if she would be interested in pretending to be kidnapped, so that we would make the news and people would learn about our story.

Yesterday, I saw her on the street and approached her, and called her name, but she freaked out.

“How?” she said. “How are you here?” She turned and snapped me on her phone before hurrying away.

I didn’t even get to tell her about my plan. I didn’t want to make a scene because people were staring. I also realised that I didn’t have the heart to ask her if she would like to be kidnapped.

I left Glasgow, and I think our relationship is finished now. I gave it my best shot. I really thought that we would both become famous. We would have disappeared for a few days, people would have read my book, and she could have played the lead role when The World Rose is made into a movie. But alas; I’ll have to find another way.