He’s reserved, polite, an art lover. He listens carefully, smiles, but keeps a distance.
At 11 p.m. I get a message: “It’s my birthday today. Want to stop by?”

I run to the supermarket and grab the last cheesecake. At the night shop I buy a small Indian firework. The seller smiles and promises it will be unforgettable.

I ring the doorbell. Dim light, candles, Egyptian statues. I give him the cheesecake and light the fireworks — and suddenly the birthday man starts clapping, climbs onto a chair, blows out the candles, then lights them again.

Maybe all he needed was a simple cheesecake and some two-euro fireworks.