By the time the lecture ended, the sun had shifted, pouring sharp light across the marble floors of the main hall. Students spilled out into the courtyards, clustering in groups, their voices rising and falling like waves.

  Tina and Marcin walked side by side across campus, weaving past bicycles chained to railings and notice boards plastered with fresh posters. The September air was warm, heavy with the smell of grass cut too late in the season.

  Tina glanced at him, hugging her notebook to her chest. “So… how was summer school for you? You never told me much. Honestly, I think it was a great idea. Getting a semester out of the way for next year… You’ll be ahead of all of us.”

  Marcin shrugged modestly, though there was a spark of pride in his eyes. “It was good. A lot of work, but worth it. I—” he hesitated, smiling to himself, “I made a good friend there, actually.”

  Tina’s lips curved down, and she puffed out her cheeks ever so slightly. “A friend?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “...Was it a girl?” she asked, tilting her head, her pout deepening just enough to be noticeable.

  Marcin blinked at her expression and then burst into laughter, the sound open and bright. “No! It was a guy, Tina. Don’t worry.”

  Her pout broke into reluctant laughter, cheeks warming. “You could have started with that, you know.”

  They both laughed together, the tension melting into something easy.

  Tina pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, still smiling. “Well, did he treat you right at least? You’re too nice sometimes, Marcin. People might take advantage.”

  He chuckled again, shaking his head. “Of course he did. He’s… honestly one of the nicest people I’ve ever met. You’d like him a lot.” He glanced at her, his grin softening. “Actually, I think you two could be best friends. You actually might've heard of him."

  "Huh?"

  "Many call him 'The Ocean boy'!"

  The sincerity in his tone made her laugh harder, though she ducked her head to hide the way her smile lingered.

  They passed under a row of tall chestnut trees, their leaves already curling at the edges, hinting at autumn. Around them, students hurried with schedules in hand, but for a moment, the two of them walked as if the campus were their own, their laughter carrying lightly over the courtyard.

  Tina let out a small sigh, content but thoughtful. “You always make it sound so simple, Marcin. Like people are just… kind, and that’s that.”

  Marcin shrugged, still giggling.

  They found a bench beneath the chestnut trees, half in shadow, half in sun. The chatter of students filled the courtyard, but here it was quieter, the voices muted by the rustle of leaves overhead.

  Marcin set his bag down and pulled out a folded sandwich wrapped in wax paper. Tina opened her own lunch, holding up a small container proudly.

  “Rice with vegetables,” she said, showing him. “Healthy, right?”

  He grinned. “Looks better than mine. Mine’s just ham and cheese.” He lifted the sandwich with mock solemnity.

  Tina laughed, then peered curiously at his lunch. “Classic. Very you.”

  They began eating, sharing bites back and forth without hesitation, like siblings or childhood friends who had long since grown comfortable with each other’s presence. The moment was easy, unremarkable — and yet, in its simplicity, rare.

  Partway through, Marcin swallowed a sip of water and glanced at her, almost sheepish. “Hey… would it be alright if my friend met us here? He said he might come by. I thought it’d be good for you to meet him.”

  Tina’s eyes brightened immediately. “Of course! I’d love that.”

  Marcin’s face lit up at her enthusiasm. He glanced past her, then lifted his hand, waving. “There he is!”

  Tina turned to look.

  A figure approached across the courtyard, moving with a grace that seemed almost out of place among the bustling students. His hair was pale blonde, fine strands catching the light, and his skin carried the kind of pallor that looked deliberate rather than sickly, like porcelain. His eyes — clear, cold blue — seemed both gentle and sharp at once.

  He wore a scarf draped casually around his neck despite the warmth of the day, paired with a neat blazer that gave him a look both polished and casual, as if he never needed to try to be elegant. His features were delicate, almost feminine, yet unmistakably handsome.

  Tina’s breath caught for just a second.

  Marcin rose halfway from the bench, his smile open and proud. “This is him!”

  Tina stood too, grinning, though something in her chest fluttered unexpectedly. She extended her hand with bright energy. “I’m Tina Fernsby. Bio major!”

  The young man stopped before them, his presence composed, his smile soft but measured. He took her hand lightly, his grip firm without force.

  “Casimir Bielska,” he said, his voice gentle, every word pronounced with deliberate calm. “Philosophy major. It’s my pleasure.”

  "Yeah. It's a pleasure!" Tina grinned.

  The Ocean boy... He was nothing less than beautiful.

  ***

  Casimir sat gracefully on the edge of the bench, folding his hands in his lap. Marcin leaned back comfortably, as if completely at ease in his company. Tina, on the other hand, felt herself straighten without realizing, as though she were suddenly in the presence of someone important.

  Marcin held up his sandwich. “We were just comparing lunches. Tina’s got the healthy option. I… do not.”

  Casimir’s lips curved in a polite smile. His eyes, however, rested on Tina.

  “Marcin told me you were thoughtful,” Casimir said, his voice calm and warm. “But I see he undersold it. It’s not just thoughtfulness. You take care of things. Even with something as small as lunch.”

  Tina felt her cheeks warm. No one ever put it that way before. “That’s… kind of you to say.”

  He inclined his head slightly, as if to acknowledge her modesty. “It’s only the truth.”

  Marcin laughed, elbowing Tina playfully. “See? I told you he’s great.”

  They opened their lunches fully. Tina offered part of her vegetables without hesitation; Casimir accepted politely, breaking off the smallest piece as though it were a gift.

  “Thank you,” he said, his tone earnest, almost old-fashioned. “It tastes better because you offered it.”

  Tina laughed despite herself. “You’re too polite.”

  Casimir shook his head gently. “I only try to give people the respect they deserve.”

  For a while, the three of them talked easily — about summer courses, the strangeness of returning after break, professors they liked and dreaded. Casimir never interrupted, never spoke too long. He listened, and when he did speak, it was always the right thing at the right moment — with a light touch of humor or a word of encouragement.

  Tina found herself relaxing, leaning in as though the air around him carried a calm she hadn’t realized she needed. He wasn’t just charming — he was disarmingly kind, in a way that made her wonder how Marcin had been lucky enough to meet someone like him.

  At one point, Casimir looked at them both, his expression touched with quiet warmth. “You two seem very close. It’s rare to find friendships that feel so natural.”

  Marcin smiled brightly. “We’ve known each other since our first year. Tina keeps me out of trouble.”

  “That's nice,” Casimir said smoothly. “It’s a good balance.”

  Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

  Tina felt her smile linger longer than usual. Something about his words — simple as they were — made her feel as though he had known her far longer than a few minutes.

  When their laughter carried under the chestnut trees, it felt easy, natural. And for Tina, sitting across from him, the unease she’d felt earlier faded. Casimir Bielska seemed, in every sense, like someone she could trust.

  They lingered beneath the trees after finishing their lunches, sunlight flickering between the leaves. Marcin was halfway through a story about a professor’s absurd grading system when Tina suddenly sat up straighter, remembering.

  “Oh yeah!” she said, digging quickly through her bag. “I wanted to ask you about this.”

  From between her notebooks, she pulled out a folded copy of the student newspaper, slightly creased at the edges. The front headline was still stark:

  “MISSING STUDENT OVER SUMMER—SEARCH CONTINUES.”

  She held it in front of her and the two boys, turning it so Casimir could see. “Have you heard about this? It happened during the break. People are still talking about it.”

  Casimir leaned forward gently, hands folded, his expression instantly grave without seeming rehearsed. His gaze scanned the article, but not in a rushed way — it looked like he was truly giving it weight.

  “Yes,” he said softly, after a moment. “I did hear. It’s… tragic.” His voice lowered with a careful sorrow, as though he didn’t want to unsettle them. “To disappear like that — and for the family, not to have answers… it must be unbearable.”

  Tina nodded slowly, her throat tightening a little. “It scared me. I mean… we walk around campus every day. And to think someone could just… vanish…”

  Casimir’s eyes flickered with concern, meeting hers. “You’re right to feel that way. It isn’t just a story in a paper. It reminds us that even in familiar places, we can’t take safety for granted.” He paused, then added gently, “But you’re not alone here. You have friends who look out for you. That matters.”

  Marcin shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah. It’s messed up. But they’ll find whoever did it. They have to, right?”

  Casimir gave him a steady look, then smiled faintly, though it was tinged with sadness. “I hope so. Justice has a way of taking time… but the truth has a way of surfacing, too.”

  Tina stared at him, surprised by the way his words calmed her. They weren’t empty reassurances — he spoke as though he understood.

  For a moment, the newspaper lay between them, stark and heavy. But Casimir’s voice softened the sharpness of it, and when Tina folded it back into her bag, she felt a little lighter than before.

  Casimir straightened, his tone lifting just enough to guide them away from the shadow. “Still… It’s good that people care. Talking about it, remembering. Silence is the cruelest thing.”

  Tina found herself nodding, even smiling faintly. She didn’t realize until then how much she’d wanted someone to take her fear seriously — without brushing it off.

  For a while, no one spoke. A breeze picked up, fluttering the pages of Marcin’s notebook. The silence could have grown heavy.

  “I agree.” Tina finally spoke. “You are a very empathetic person. I feel better now. That student was an acquaintance, and someone being as sincere as you really made me feel better.”

  He gave her a gentle smile, one that reached his eyes. “That’s good. Fear can paralyze us, Tina. But it can also remind us to value what’s right in front of us. And right now, that’s you, your friends, your studies, your life.” He tilted his head slightly, an elegant gesture. “You’re safer than you think.”

  The words were simple, yet spoken with such quiet conviction that Tina believed them without question. She leaned back against the bench, her fingers drumming lightly on her bag, as though she’d tucked away not just the newspaper but her unease too.

  Casimir let the moment breathe, then, with perfect timing, changed the rhythm entirely.

  “Speaking of studies,” he said, “Marcin told me you were working on a short story over the summer. I’d love to hear about it.”

  Her face lit up instantly. “Oh—yes! I almost forgot!” She pulled out a different notebook, the gloom of the newspaper now a distant shadow.

  Marcin groaned good-naturedly. “Here we go again, the great novelist-in-training…”

  Tina flipped open the thinner notebook — the one with a smudged pencil on the first page — and glanced up, suddenly shy. “It’s nothing big. Just… a scene. I was playing with an idea.”

  Casimir’s smile didn’t push; it invited. “If you ever want a reader, I’d be honored. Only if you want, and only what you’re comfortable sharing.”

  Marcin leaned in, grinning. “She’s good. She won’t say it, but she is.”

  Tina rolled her eyes, amused despite herself. “It isn’t finished.”

  “Most good things aren’t,” Casimir said. “They just decide to stop at the right time.”

  He waited, hands folded, eyes on the trees rather than on her, as if to give her space to decide. After a moment, Tina slid the notebook across the bench.

  “May I?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  He read in silence. The courtyard noise thinned to a low wash — bicycles, distant laughter, the slap of a door somewhere. Marcin finished his sandwich, content, the picture of a happy student on a sunny day. Tina watched the edge of the page in Casimir’s hands. He didn’t skim; he followed each line with an almost old-fashioned attention, careful and unhurried.

  When he finished, he closed the notebook gently, palms resting over it a second longer than necessary — as if thanking it. He looked up.

  “It’s clear,” he said softly. “You see the small things first. The heat warping in tram glass, a loose thread on a sleeve, the way someone laughs when they’re tired. That’s a rare kind of attention — not suspicious, not cruel. Just faithful.”

  Tina felt a warmth rise to her face. “Faithful?”

  “To what the moment actually is,” he said. “A lot of people look for what they expect. You look for what’s there. Readers trust that.” He paused. “There’s one place you could anchor even more — the smell by the river. You hint at it, but if you touched it again, near the end, the scene would feel like it has a pulse running through it.”

  It wasn’t criticism so much as a hand held out, steady and kind. Tina nodded, surprised at how easily the suggestion fit. “I can do that.”

  Marcin chuckled. “Told you he’s annoyingly helpful.”

  Casimir’s eyes shifted to Marcin with fondness. “You did most of the helping this summer.”

  “False,” Marcin said, but he was clearly pleased.

  A bee drifted close to the bench. Casimir lifted his wrist slightly, an open gesture, and the insect veered away on the next current of air. The movement was so small that Tina almost missed it. He turned back, the moment already folded away.

  “And your title,” he added, glancing toward the biology notes peeking from her other notebook. “You circled the word ‘Origin’ earlier. It’s strong. It carries responsibility, though. If you keep it, let it echo in the scene — not loudly, just… once more, in a way only you would notice.”

  Tina blinked. “You saw that?”

  “You left the notebook open for a second,” he said, apologetic but not embarrassed. “I only mention it because it seemed important to you.”

  “It is,” she admitted.

  Marcin stood, stretching. “I’ve got a lab in twenty minutes. I’m going to grab water. Want anything?”

  "Water!" Tina's finger pointed up.

  Casimir glanced down at his scarf, then up again. “I’m fine. Thank you.”

  Marcin trotted off toward the kiosk by the path, leaving the two of them on the benchlight. The quiet that followed didn’t feel heavy. It felt chosen.

  “If you ever want to write in the reading room,” Casimir said, his voice calm, “there’s usually a table free by the window after three. The light’s good there. I sit nearby most days.”

  Tina smiled. “You make it sound nice.”

  He nodded, as if that were the most natural thing in the world. “Then tomorrow, perhaps? I can bring tea. It helps with pages that don’t want to be written.”

  Marcin reappeared, breathless, holding two bottles. “They were out of still water, so I got sparkling. Sorry.”

  “Perfect,” Tina said, taking one.

  Casimir accepted his with a small thanks. He didn’t open it immediately; he set it by his shoe, as if even that small pop of carbonation might puncture the gentle balance of their bench.

  “Marcin,” he said, “are you free after your lab? I can walk you both to the tram. First days should end in good company.”

  Marcin’s face brightened. “Yeah! End at three. We can meet by the fountain.”

  Tina tucked the notebook back into her bag. The folded newspaper rustled underneath — that stark headline pressed between pages. Casimir glanced at the bag and then, purposefully, away. He didn’t mention it. He didn’t have to. The kindness of not looking was as loud as any reassurance.

  “You know,” he said lightly, “when I first came to Wroc?aw, I worried about not finding the right people. Places are simple. It’s people who make them kind. I think you two already did that for this campus.”

  Marcin groaned, mock-wounded. “Flattery? At lunch? He’s too smooth.”

  “It isn’t flattery,” Casimir replied, amused. “It’s observation.”

  Tina let the words settle. They made the afternoon feel a little brighter without making anything untrue. She realized, suddenly, that she trusted him — not with everything, not with secrets she hadn’t named yet, but with the present tense of herself: the page, the class, the worry that she was too careful, not enough. He met each of those small fears and returned them to her softer than he found them.

  “Here,” he said, taking out a small card — nothing dramatic, just a note-sized square with a name and a number written in neat blue ink. He set it on the bench between them rather than placing it in her hand. “If you want a reader, or tea, or the window seat tomorrow. No pressure. If you’d rather not, I’ll still wave from the aisle.”

  Tina reached for it, relieved by the space he’d left. “Thank you.”

  Marcin peered at the card and whistled. “Very official.”

  Casimir smiled. “Only tidy.”

  The bell from a far-off church chimed the half-hour. Leaves rattled faintly. Students burst from a lecture hall across the quad, the day shuffling to its next beat.

  “I should head to the lab,” Marcin said, slinging his bag over one shoulder. “Meet at the fountain at three?”

  “Three,” Tina said.

  Casimir stood when she did, not a second before. “I’ll be nearby in the library until then,” he said. “If you need a quiet table, look for the window and the scarf.”

  Marcin took a few steps backward, walking then pivoting, easy as always. “See you.”

  When he’d gone, Casimir turned to Tina. He inclined his head, that elegant half-bow he seemed to carry everywhere.

  “Until later, Tina Fernsby.”

  He left with that unhurried grace, scarf catching a stray sliver of sun, and the space he vacated felt immediately ordinary again — the bench, the trees, the clatter of bicycle chains. Tina sat for another minute, the little card cool in her fingers, and realized she wasn’t thinking about the newspaper anymore. She was thinking about the window seat, and the way his voice had made even the blank parts of her notebook feel useful, alive, possible.