Anna froze. Her hand hovered over the cobblestone as another hand—pale, steady—gently placed one of her notebooks into her pile.

  She looked up.

  Her breath caught.

  Before Anna could kneel, a shadow moved beside her. Casimir was already lowering himself gracefully, one knee touching the stone. With careful hands, he gathered the papers nearest him, stacking them with precise order, as though the disarray itself offended him.

  He wasn’t hurried. He wasn’t embarrassed on her behalf. He simply helped, moving with a composure that made the moment feel suspended in the air.

  Anna’s face burned crimson. Her heart thudded in her chest. She fumbled, clutching her notebook tighter as she whispered, “Th-thank you…”

  The young man gave a small, courteous incline of his head, his expression serene but unreadable. “Of course,” he said softly.

  He gathered another stray paper, held it out to her between two fingers. For the smallest moment, his blue gaze lingered on the handwritten word across the margin—

  Nihilism

  —before drifting back to her face, unremarking.

  Anna swallowed hard, unable to look away. To her, he was no classmate, no stranger with a name. He was simply beautiful, impossibly so, kneeling in sunlight with her scattered books between them.

  ***

  Casimir’s fingers brushed lightly over the edge of a book as he handed it back to Anna, the faintest smile curving on his lips. He wasn’t hurried, nor awkward, but graceful in a way that felt out of place on the cracked cobblestones of the square.

  Anna’s face flushed deeper. Her hands trembled slightly as she reached for her books. “I-I’m so sorry, I wasn’t—”

  Casimir’s voice cut softly through her stammer, low and composed. “There’s no need to apologize.” He placed the neat stack of papers into her hands, his fingers brushing lightly against hers. “Everyone stumbles when they’re rushing,” he murmured.

  She nodded too quickly, flustered. “Thank you.”

  Casimir straightened, his scarf shifting with the breeze,

  Casimir smiled faintly, tilting his head in that elegant way of his. “Be careful,” he said. “The stones here have a habit of catching people.”

  He rose smoothly, scarf trailing like a ribbon in the sun. Anna stayed kneeling for a moment longer, her pulse hammering, her mind empty.

  Casimir turned without another word. He walked toward the fountain with the same unhurried elegance, leaving Anna kneeling on the stones, staring at his back.

  Her face burned. She pressed the books to her chest as if they were the only thing keeping her together. She didn’t even know his name, but the image of him—the golden hair catching in the late afternoon sun, the calmness in his tone, the way his eyes seemed to pin her in place—lodged itself inside her.

  When he disappeared into the crowd by the fountain, she realized she’d been holding her breath.

  Anna stood slowly, dazed, her legs weak. She couldn’t explain it, but she knew she wouldn’t forget him.

  Not ever.

  Anna couldn’t answer. She was staring—captivated, embarrassed, caught between wanting to thank him and wanting to vanish.

  Beautiful. He’s… beautiful.

  ***

  Casimir’s pace never faltered after leaving Anna behind. The scarf at his neck swayed in rhythm with his calm steps, his eyes fixed on the fountain that glimmered under the pale afternoon sun.

  Tina and Marcin were already there, seated at the edge of the stone basin. Tina’s foot tapped anxiously against the ground, her notebook clutched tightly in her lap. Marcin sat slouched beside her, arms crossed, eyes darting between the water and the people drifting through the square.

  When they spotted him, both straightened, grins lighting up their faces.

  Casimir approached as if he were arriving late to a private performance, yet the way he moved made the fountain itself feel like it had been waiting for him. He carried no bag, no sign of hurry, just that same graceful calm that seemed to hush the noise of the square around him.

  “Casimir,” Tina said, standing quickly, cheeks red, her voice breaking the silence that had grown between them. "Hey!"

  He stopped just short of the fountain, the sunlight catching the pale strands of his hair, his expression serene. He looked at them with that same inviting calmness.

  “You came,” Marcin smiled.

  Casimir’s lips curved faintly. “Of course,” he said softly. “We agreed on three.”

  “You’re never late,” Marcin laughed, "Even during summer school. You would always come right on time."

  Casimir glanced at him, his gaze warm. “Why would I be late to see the two people I trust most here?”

  Marcin chuckled, shaking his head. “You talk like some old poet, you know that? But I’ll take it.” He pushed himself up from the fountain edge and offered Casimir his hand. Casimir accepted it with an easy grip, the kind of touch that felt like reassurance itself.

  The three of them sat together on the stone rim, shoulders close. Casimir rested his scarf neatly across his lap, posture straight but relaxed. He didn’t need to speak to command their attention—his presence alone did it.

  “So,” Marcin said, leaning back and glancing between them, “what’s next? I feel like every time we sit here, something new is happening.”

  Tina laughed under her breath. “That’s just because of him,” she said, nodding toward Casimir. “He makes everything feel… important somehow.”

  Casimir’s eyes lowered, as though embarrassed by the compliment, though his lips carried that faint, unreadable smile. “Oh, you are too kind, Tina!"`

  Tina looked at him, then at Marcin, and for a moment she felt something stir—a sense that their small trio mattered in a way she couldn’t explain. She thought of the long lectures, the crowded streets, the uncertainty of her studies, and yet here, at this fountain with Casimir and Marcin, it all felt anchored.

  Casimir leaned back slightly, turning his gaze toward the water as though it whispered something only he could hear. “The world can be loud,” he murmured. “But here, it feels… quiet. Safe.”

  And as he said it, both Tina and Marcin felt it was true.

  "Right. Allow me to walk you to the tram." Casimir smiled softly.

  ***

  The afternoon light was turning gold as the three of them left the square together. Casimir walked in the middle, a natural axis between Tina and Marcin, his scarf catching the late breeze and trailing with effortless grace. He didn’t hurry, but neither did he lag; his pace set a rhythm the others unconsciously matched.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Marcin, hands shoved in his jacket pockets, moved casually, talking to Tina. Tina laughed softly at his jokes, but her eyes strayed often to Casimir. He wasn’t even speaking much—just listening, his head tilted slightly, lips curved in that faint smile that seemed to promise patience, kindness, understanding.

  As they reached the tram stop, the crowd thickened, but Casimir cut through it as if the space parted for him. He guided Tina gently by the elbow when someone brushed too close, a simple gesture, but one that made her heart beat faster.

  “You should both take the number nine,” he said quietly, his voice carrying easily even over the shuffle of passengers and the hiss of brakes. “It's the best route to the shopping center. It’ll get you back before the evening rush.”

  "Even though we're sophomores now and I should know these things... I don't. " Marcin nodded. “You always know the routes better than I do. I swear, Casimir, you’re like… I don’t know, a guide through the city.”

  Casimir smiled faintly, eyes half-lidded, the kind of smile that invited trust. “No, no, I am nowhere near as advanced as a guide,” he said.

  The tram doors clattered open. Tina hesitated on the step, glancing back at him. Casimir’s gaze met hers.

  “Get to the store and back safe,” he told her.

  As the tram pulled away, Tina and Marcin found themselves staring through the glass at his figure on the platform—tall, composed, elegant, scarf stirring in the wind. He lifted a hand in a parting gesture, almost casual, and yet it lingered in their minds long after the tram had turned the corner.

  ***

  “An übermensch… huh?"

  Anna’s voice was soft, half-whispered into the dim air of her dorm room. The desk lamp was the only light, casting a sharp circle over the open book, leaving the rest of the room in dusky shadow. Her short, dirty-blonde hair fell over her ears, strands slipping into her face as she bent forward, pen twirling absently between her fingers.

  The word stared back at her from the page, underlined three times in her notes already. She’d written it in careful, looping script, then doodled a little question mark beside it.

  “Superman… or beyond-man,” she muttered, chewing the peppermint-flavored gum inside of her cheek. “A person who creates their own values… who lives beyond good and evil... Or, would it even be considered 'values' if even value has no meaning?"

  Her eyes drifted, unfocused, toward the window. Outside, the Wroc?aw skyline glimmered faintly in the early night, lights strung along the river, blurred by the glass. The city felt vast, untouchable.

  Anna pulled her knees up to the chair, hugging them against her chest for a moment before leaning down again, pen scribbling quickly:

  Nihilism = no inherent meaning → response: create one’s own.

  übermensch = someone who succeeds in this.

  Danger: falling into despair or destruction.

  She tapped the pen against the paper. “But… what if you can’t? What if you just… fail?”

  Anna frowned, pushing her circular reading glasses up her nose. She’d always loved the idea of questions more than the answers, but this—this felt different. Heavy. A philosophy that demanded she hold her own life up to it.

  "Gosh dammit, Ivanova... Out of all philosophies, I get this? Why is Nihilism even assigned to a freshman on the first day?!" Anna groaned to herself.

  Suddenly, her mind wandered—back to earlier that day, the fountain, the blur of rushing feet, the sting of the fall, and then—

  The boy.

  Her cheeks warmed at the thought. She hadn’t even asked his name, hadn’t thanked him properly. But the image stayed: pale blond hair catching the light, scarf draped neatly, eyes that seemed calm and infinite all at once. She’d seen beautiful people before, of course—actors, models, even a few students—but this had been something different. Not just beauty. Presence.

  She shook her head quickly, pressing her pen harder into the notebook. “Focus, Anna. You have a project to do. Not… daydreams.”

  Still, her handwriting grew distracted, curving into little spirals and loops along the margin. She wrote the word nihilism again, underlined it, then circled it with an almost obsessive flourish.

  “No inherent meaning…” she whispered. “But what if someone like that—someone who looks like he’s beyond all of this—already knows the meaning? What if people like him… are what Nietzsche meant?”

  She stopped, staring at her own words. A tiny chill ran through her.

  The room was utterly quiet, save for the scratch of her pen and the faint whir of the radiator.

  And yet, somewhere in the back of her mind, she could almost hear his voice again. Calm. Gentle. The way he’d said: “Careful.”

  Anna closed the book with a snap, leaning back in her chair. Her heart was beating too quickly, her face hot, though the room was cold.

  She laughed once, quietly, to herself.

  “God, I’m pathetic. I don’t even know his name, and I’m—” She cut herself off, pressing the heel of her palm against her forehead.

  But the image remained. The scarf. The smile. Those eyes that seemed to see further than anyone else’s.

  Anna hunched over the desk, the pages spread open like wounds. Her notes were no longer neat; they had turned into a storm of half-legible words, ink scratches, underlines, arrows pointing into nothing.

  Existence is meaningless.

  Life has no inherent value.

  All systems are lies.

  The words glared back at her, louder than the quiet room. They pressed into her mind like nails, each sentence peeling away something safe she thought she knew about the world.

  She whispered them out loud, trying to steady herself, but her own voice wavered.

  “Meaningless… value-less… lies…”

  She pressed her palm into the notebook, smudging the ink. Her breathing hitched. She forced her eyes to the next line, where she had written in cramped, frantic script:

  But what if someone creates meaning?

  Her mind leapt—unbidden, unwilling—to his face again. That strange, serene beauty. The soft lilt of his voice when he had said “Careful.” His composure, like he had already solved a puzzle everyone else was still fumbling through.

  The pen trembled in her hand.

  He is not like us. she wrote. He doesn’t look afraid. He doesn’t run from the void. He stands in it.

  Her throat tightened. She thought of Nietzsche, of the übermensch. A figure who rises above despair, who makes values in a dead world. The professor’s words returned in fragments: “A person who becomes their own law. Who carves their own morality. Who…”

  She couldn’t stop herself. She filled the page with comparisons, the black loops of ink carving deeper into her exhaustion:

  That ocean boy = übermensch.

  That ocean boy = meaning.

  That ocean boy = void.

  That ocean boy = beautiful.

  Her breath came fast, shallow. Each equation looked truer than the last, and that truth frightened her.

  She shoved back from the desk, the chair scraping against the floor. Her eyes burned from reading, from thinking, from drowning in this philosophy that no longer felt abstract but personal.

  “Stop! Just—stop!”

  Her voice rang sharp in the small dorm room. She snatched the notebook with both hands and hurled it across the room. The sound of it smacking against the wall, then slapping onto the floor, was louder than it should have been.

  She stood there, chest heaving, her hands trembling. For a moment, she thought she might cry. Instead, she laughed once—short, broken, like air escaping a crack.

  Her gaze fell to the notebook lying open on the floor. Pages fanned out, still covered with her scrawl. The ink marks seemed alive, twisting into shapes she hadn’t intended: faces, eyes, a smile she recognized.

  “No…” she muttered, backing away. "I'm going crazy... Why... W-what time is it?"

  Anna turned her gaze to the clock above her window.

  4:00 am.

  "If that boy is the one who rises above despair, who makes values in a dead world. A person who becomes their own law. Who carves their own morality. Who… Does that mean he is my meaning? He is oh, too beautiful to ignore. I must make him love me."

  ***

  Her legs hit the bed, and she collapsed onto it, burying her face in her hands. The room felt too small.

  Her thoughts began to loop, circling like vultures:

  Nihilism… nothing matters.

  If nothing matters, why does he matter?

  If nothing exists, why does his face exist so clearly in my mind?

  If life has no value, why does he look like he carries all the value left in the world?

  But if he is the übermensch, doesn't that give him meaning? Therefore, I mean, if we fall in love?

  Her eyes shot open, staring at the ceiling. “You’re not supposed to be here,” she whispered. “You’re not supposed to be in this. Why are you in my thoughts, when in reality, you have nothing to do with this?"

  But he was.

  He was in everything now.

  "The übermensch is not bound by morality. He does not inherit meaning—he makes it. He stands beyond despair," Anna whispered, reciting the textbook.

  What if he really is that?

  She pressed her hands to her ears, shaking her head violently, but his face wouldn’t leave her. His voice—gentle, measured, soothing. His presence—commanding without effort.

  She could feel it bleeding into her studies, twisting the philosophy into something personal, something dangerous.

  “No…” she muttered, rocking slightly. “No, it’s just… It’s just an idea. He’s just a boy. Just… just someone I met.”

  But her own words sounded hollow.

  But oh, what a beauty that boy is...