But no more dithyrambs! I'll just honestly admit to myself that, in fact, Cedric Morgan is a charming young man. I confess that I found it difficult to talk to him: I was afraid my voice would shake, so I tried to be brief and take care not to tell too much about myself. But that was at the beginning of our conversation: when it came to physics, I suddenly felt a surprising calmness, as if I had known Cedric all my life.

When I reached the stop to wait for my tram, I saw a black Toyota with tinted windows speeding past, and the people standing next to me grumbled disapprovingly. My first thought was that this daredevil was a real lunatic, but… Cedric Morgan has the exact same car. And he drives like that? Crazy. But maybe it wasn't Cedric, because his Toyota isn't the only one in Prague.

Soon my tram arrived. After travelling eight blocks, I found myself in a familiar neighbourhood where I had rented a flat. I loved the time I spent on the tram travelling to and from my studies. During these long minutes, I thought and dreamed. I didn't listen to music, but I was never bored: I enjoyed my reflections or a good book.

There was my house. I slowly climbed up to the fourth floor of the old building, which still shone with its old architecture, but was in need of restoration. There was no lift. It seemed to have stood untouched since it had been built a hundred or more years ago. Digging into my bag, I pulled out a key and unlocked the door of my small flat, which I was renting for the third year in a row, and which was costing me a lot of money. My parents sent me money, but it didn't do much for my needs, because almost all of it went to pay the rent. Sometimes I worked part-time at a cafe, but that money didn't help my situation. Fortunately, a rather high scholarship saved me: when I received it, I put aside money for food, tram, photocopier – that took up most of the money, but with the remaining money I bought myself books and all sorts of nice, necessary little things. I spent some money on clothes, but it was quite rare.

My wardrobe was rather modest: my upper autumn and winter clothes consisted of a long woollen jumper and a black coat, in which I often walked in the evening. Although I was a student at the University of Prague, which implied a delicate taste in the choice of clothes, my wardrobe was not diverse, as I had an unimaginable love for dark colours. But my clothes suited my mood: I was often in a serious reverie or simply in a flat mood. Cosmetics didn't appeal to me, and of all their variety I used only black mascara and pale bronze shadow, even though my classmates said I should hide my pale lips under a layer of bright lipstick, that I should get a perm because my naturally straight hair didn't suit me at all… And a thousand other little things I didn't pay attention to.

Entering the tiny hallway, I took off my coat, carefully hung it on the hangers in the wardrobe and, throwing my bag on the old cloth sofa, gladly took off my autumn boots, and then went straight to the kitchen to put the kettle on the fire: I was terribly thirsty for coffee.

After evening coffee I started my daily student routine: preparation of seminars, essays, reports, independent study of topics… And, although this evening I could do everything at once, but I decided not to burden my tired mind, and to do the tasks step by step. Study is study, but no one cancelled rest. And how could my brain, saturated with information and excitement, fix anything sensible? But I suddenly remembered that Monday was coming soon, and the knowledge of this inevitable event made me worry that when I met Cedric, my voice would rise to a second soprano.

No, enough of thinking about it! It's only Cedric Morgan. And it's a two-day weekend. But those two days flew by, and instead of building up my willpower, my mind went back to my conversation with Cedric.

Monday flew by like a second. I was inattentive in lectures, unable to concentrate on the lecturer's story, and I was even asked a couple of times if I was feeling well. The breaks were even worse: my classmates, who knew I was studying with Cedric and that we'd already had a class, were besieging me and terrorising me with questions, demanding to know how it went, what we'd talked about, how Cedric looked at me, and even what tone of voice he used. It was a mess! I didn't remember such little things, either, for all my thoughts and efforts were focused on trying to keep myself from looking at him.

For fear of being noticed by the gossipers again, as soon as the last class (an extra physics class for those who didn't understand the previous lecture well) was over, I literally flew out of the classroom and headed for the library. It was three minutes to five, and this time I could be late, and I didn't want to be late. I almost ran into the library, and as I looked around the room, I saw Cedric sitting at our table, reading a book.

I quickly walked over to the table.

– Hi," I said to Cedric, breathing hard after walking down the long corridors and stairs of the university.

– Hi. You shouldn't have been in such a hurry," Cedric said with a slight chuckle, pulling away from his book and glancing at me.

– I've had a crazy day," I explained, pulling out the physics textbook I needed. – I had an extra class, but I didn't want to be late. I'm punctual as Hell.

– I can see that," Cedric grinned again.

Today he was dressed extremely simply and did not look as dapper as when we first talked.

– What are you reading? – I asked: I was really curious about the book he was reading so avidly.

Cedric closed the book and showed me the front cover.

– Baudelaire? – I was genuinely surprised. – It was the first time I'd ever seen a guy who liked Baudelaire's poetry.

I thought guys like Cedric Morgan weren't interested in literature or poetry at all. And he's read Charles Baudelaire's Flowers of Evil. In the original.

Cedric squinted his eyes and put the book down on the table.

– Does that surprise you? – He asked in a mocking tone. His eyes lit up with an icy glow.