Like most great romances, theirs borrows from others.

It’s “Sleepless in Seattle,” except they’re both blonds — sort of. Their feelings bloom long before they ever meet. They communicate across time zones, in words and wishes rather than caresses. Can reality match giddy expectation? The answer comes Friday, when they gaze into each other’s eyes for the first time.

It’s “Romeo and Juliet.” Their clans have long feuded, but they won’t be denied. Vladimir, Vladimir, wherefore art thou, Vladimir? In Hamburg, Germany, looking past the duller leaders of lesser countries to his chosen one.

You can regard the relationship of Putin and Donald Trump as purely odd and possibly corrupt, or you can see in it and in them a classic tale of affections strangled and at times set free. It’s irrepressible, international — part “Clueless,” part “Casablanca.” They have gone through all the usual phases of courtship. They have plumbed all the customary emotions.

At least Trump has. To be brutally honest and risk bruising his quivering heart, this has been a lopsided affair, unless you count Putin’s meddling in the 2016 election as the purest possible expression of ardor and fidelity, which I suppose you can.