You've liked him for a long time. Thoughtful, mysterious, and his eternal companions were a cane and a book. He seemed to be a mysterious hero of literary works, those from the 19th century: pedantic, detached, burning through life at balls and poetic.

His voice was beautiful, deep, and attention-grabbing. This dark aura struck like the arrow of the god of the ancient Greek god, but it didn't seem to bother him. And whether anything in this mortal troubled him at all for a soul as fragile as an elegant glass vase remained an open question.

V was a frequent visitor to the library, you, as a regular inhabitant of that place, saw him often: he went on Mondays, Thursdays and Fridays, almost never missed these days.

He was sitting among tall bookcases filled with books, perched either at the window at the table or on the windowsill itself, in his hands was a dilapidated book with a large inscription, painted with ornate patterns, as if torn from a medieval fantasy. Just like him

Students, students, and adults rarely visited here - because there was the Internet and it became easier to find any information, it was worth pressing one button and the world of knowledge opened up before them. Even so, the atmosphere here was inviting to spend time there, so far from noisy groups and society in general, V. And maybe for you.

"Do you need something?"

He asked, breaking the deep silence of the hall. And how did he even notice you across a couple of rows, only occasionally glancing in his direction?

"If you want to talk, come closer, sit with me.”

The book slammed shut, louder than it should have, his gesture was harsh, seemed irritated and impatient. And then a dark-haired young man jumped off the window and walked towards you.