By morning, we return to Rebel Girl. The night's coolness still lingers in the air, and the first light already flickers in the windows. She has, as usual, prepared a bed for me in the guest room — simple, but cozy, with the soft light of a table lamp and a rough blanket on the bed. Then she disappears into her own room, as if closing the boundary I am not meant to cross.
I lie there, feeling the coolness of the sheets, but sleep doesn't come. My mind keeps replaying the events of the last two days over and over. Katrin storms into my life, dazzling, but I can't look away. Her energy, ease, and courage to live in the here and now captivate me. I have never met someone who is so unafraid to be themselves.
Her voice still echoes in my head — husky, with that special intonation that can't be mistaken. "If you're so bored with life, why do you put up with it?" — her question strikes straight to the point, turning my routine inside out. Katrin doesn't just speak — she makes me think. And, worse yet, act.
Fragments surface in my memory: her laughter when we argue about the taste of coffee; her hand pulling me into the crowd in the night square; her eyes, sparkling in the light of streetlamps. Every word, every gesture leaves a mark on me, like imprints that can't be erased.
How would I spend this weekend without Katrin? That thought firmly settles in my mind. I see myself in my tiny dorm room — books, cups with remnants of tea, an old chair in need of repair. Outside, it rains, and I, wrapped in a blanket, sink into yet another book, trying to forget that there is life beyond this room.
It would be familiar, but... dull. Loneliness has become my shield — from disappointments, from the need to prove something. But, to be honest, this cocoon has long turned into a cage.
I have no friends. None at all. My reclusive behavior, my armor of polite restraint, pushes people away. If it weren't for Rebel Girl, I would spend my entire studies in my room, day after day, week after week, watching life as if it were a movie that can't be fast-forwarded or changed.
I remember how she looks at me when we head home. There is something in her gaze — something unclear, warm, yet so complex that I can't figure out this riddle. It both attracts and frightens me at the same time.
Something inside me whispers: "Be careful, you might burn yourself." But I can't stop anymore. Everything that happens in these two days seems to destroy the strong wall I have spent so long building around myself. With her, I suddenly feel that I can be different. Real. Katrin decides to enter my life, and she does it not to leave me the same.
She is my complete opposite. Rebel Girl... Even the very nickname I give her exudes so much boldness, strength, and fire. She is like a storm, unpredictable and untamable, capable of breaking any barrier and destroying any boundary. Yet, she knows how to get so close that my inner resistance, like a thin thread, can't withstand the pressure and snaps, leaving me completely open to her influence. Her gaze — calm and playful at the same time, as if she knows all my secrets. Her smile — mysterious, provocative, like an invitation to a world I can never leave. There is always a fire burning in her eyes, and it seems that the whole world is hers for the taking.
Rebel Girl lives in a whirlwind of events and is born for the spotlight. She knows how to gather crowds, attract people like a magnet, creating an atmosphere of fun and carefreeness around her. It seems that she is made for this — for noise, crazy adventures, and the whirlwind of events that she can turn upside down in an instant.
I wonder, would we become friends if it weren't for that first meeting? I still can't understand that. I just have to remember: I — tense, lost, like someone who has accidentally stumbled into another world, with a nervous smile as if trying to prove that I belong here. And she — confident, as if she knows every corner of the universe, as if she herself is a part of it, simply needing space to unfold. It's impossible that our paths would cross under different circumstances, because she is so far from everything I represent, it seems our worlds are like two different planets that will never meet.
Who am I? Not inside, but outside. Who notices someone like me? A gray mouse, a bookworm. Nerd — that's what she calls me. And that nickname, like a light tease, stays in my memory. Not mockery, but rather interest. As if she is curious to see how I will react. I am unremarkable, like an accidental stroke against something more significant. Without the bright light in my eyes. With neat, but boring hair, as gray as my life.
On the first day of school, I am an invisible guy in a wrinkled shirt, holding a book, like an observer, not a participant. Not the life of the party, not the one invited to the gatherings. I stay in the shadows, in my own world, where every step is cautious, every word carefully thought out.
But then she comes, like a bright flash in a dark room, breaking down my walls. If it weren't for her, I would never know what it's like to be noticed, to be part of something bigger, to be in the center of events, where laughter and noise replace solitude and silence.
But now… Now everything is different. And it's all because of her — Rebel Girl, who doesn't just come into my life but blows it apart, making it brighter and more intense. I'll never fully understand her, all her actions will remain a mystery, but one thing I know for sure — she changes me more than I am willing to admit.
I never put myself on display, never try to be someone else. But there is something paradoxical about it. Despite my introversion, I always long for connection, seek people I can be myself with, without barriers. It seems like everything around me is simpler, some open up, some make the world brighter, and I stay in the shadows.
Books are my salvation, taking me to another reality. I devour pages, seeking comfort, immersing myself in worlds where I can be strong and conquer. Every time I open a book, I dream of becoming part of those stories. But in the end, I always return to reality, facing empty rooms and silence, where my only companion is my reflection in the dim mirror.
Katrin... She is like a star to me, burning too brightly, illuminating my dark street, where I stand and look in her direction. She is smarter than me, but not just smart — she is the embodiment of what I cannot become. A straight-A student, able to enjoy life, the opposite of me. I remain outside her world, unable to penetrate this bright flow. There is room in her life for everything — studying, fun, adventures. She handles difficulties, and I stand there, watching, torn between the desire to be close. But something inside keeps me at a distance, like an invisible wall I have built myself.
My feelings... Why do they grow so rapidly? Why does she make me feel things I've never felt before? It is like a rapid fall into an abyss, out of control, unpredictable. If it weren't for that argument, her stubbornness, and the desire to spend time with me, maybe none of this would happen. We would stay on different orbits, never touching.
There are moments when I doubt, whether it is real, or just an illusion I have woven for myself. Without that argument, her stubbornness, and the desire to be near, we wouldn't spend so much time together. Maybe those feelings wouldn't even exist. But it doesn't matter, because we can't change the past. We don't know how things might have been. There is only the present, and it matters.
Katrin is another world to me, one I could enter, but don't. I see her confidence, her ease, her strength. She goes through life as if everything is under her control, and every step is a victory with a smile. I stay in my corner, watching her from a distance that seems insurmountable.
Rebel Girl. That's what I call her at first, and the word perfectly reflects her — independent, bright, and impossible to fit into any mold.
Now, there is an invisible thread between us, barely noticeable, but so strong that I can't help but feel its presence. This thread pulls me toward her, making me want to be not just near her, but close. I want to understand her like no one else, to delve into her thoughts, to feel her desires, to be the one by her side in moments when the world disappears, and it's just her and me. But what unsettles me is that she keeps her distance. Not the way I want. In her eyes, I read something that her gaze, her gestures speak — closed-off. She seems to build an invisible wall between us, and I don't know how to get past it. Perhaps it is due to our inexperience with each other, our unfamiliarity. We haven't had enough time to truly know each other. And now, when I try to understand her, I feel more and more the empty space stretching between us. But I have time — three and a half weeks. Three and a half weeks to figure myself out, my feelings, and understand what I want from us. And from her. After all, my desire also gives us time to be together.
However, deep down, there is fear. This quiet but persistent fear that, in the end, everything will collapse, that disappointment will be inevitable. That one day we will drift apart, returning to those old familiar roles where everything will remain the same. Where I will be alone again, and she... she will be as distant as ever. This thought weighs on my chest like a stone, but I try not to think about it, to push it away. Because if I think about it, I won't be able to move forward, be with her, understand what is happening between us.
I sigh, turning onto my side. In the guest room, despite its coziness, there is a silence, only interrupted by the wind howling outside the window. Somewhere in the distance, a crow caws—its cry sounds hoarse and ominous. And Katrin... She is behind that door, in her room, and I want to know what she is thinking. Maybe about us? Or about me, even for a moment?
This uncertainty gnaws at me. Right now, she is only one room away, and though I know she is asleep, I can't shake the desire to go to her. It is like a magnetic pull, drawing me toward her despite my fears and doubts. I want to go to her, but I don't know how to do it, how not to invade her space, how not to disappoint myself with my own feelings. I want to hold her, run my hands over her skin, feel the warmth of her body, the softness of her skin, to drown in her warmth, in her world, to be close until morning. To breathe in her scent—the mix of nighttime silence, her perfume, and something else that makes her... her. It is so close and yet so far. I just want to fall asleep next to her, feeling her breath and waking up knowing she is there.
I get out of bed, feeling the cool night air against my skin, a reminder that the night is not over. It is quiet, but thoughts of Katrin won't let me rest; they feel almost tangible, as if I could touch her. I step into the darkness, the world frozen, leaving me in this silent void. The air in the kitchen is growing colder, but inside, everything burns, restlessly, as though the fire inside me is not extinguished by the cold or the night. I grab a glass of water, feeling the icy liquid cool my fingers but not quench the inner flame. After a few sips, I realize that the water fills me, but it doesn't satisfy that longing, the one that can't be erased so easily.
I place the glass on the table and freeze, listening to the silence. In that silence, I can hear her. She is everywhere—in every corner, in every breath, in every movement of the air. Her image is elusive, but so strong that I can't shake it off. It pulls me, beckons, calls. I know she is near, in her room, hidden from me by the shadows of the night. She is waiting for me, though I can't be sure of that.
Uncertain but determined, I approach her door. The doorknob is cold as I quietly turn it, as if afraid to disturb the world she has built around herself. The door opens with a barely audible creak, and I step inside. Katrin's room is consumed by darkness, as if she herself is part of the night. But my eyes start adjusting to the dim light, and I see her. She is lying in the center of the bed, her figure so fragile, so vulnerable, that my heart clenches. The blanket has slipped slightly off her shoulders, revealing the delicate line of her neck, which seems so vulnerable, so beautiful. Everything about her is so calm, so serene.
I step closer, trying to move as quietly as possible, so as not to disturb her, not to break this fragile idyll. My heart is pounding in my chest, loudly, as if trying to break free, but I keep moving, step by step, getting closer to her. Carefully, I lift the edge of the blanket and crawl under it, immediately feeling her warmth. It is soft, as though inviting me to stay here, next to her, to feel part of this world.
Her hair spreads out on the pillow, the red strands glowing like flashes of light, even in the dark. I can't resist; I gently push a few strands away from her neck, uncovering her face. It is so peaceful, so silent, that my breath stops for a moment. I look at her, and a sense of peace, warmth envelops me, as if I am in the right place, despite all my fears and doubts.
I lie closer, pulling her toward me, hugging her, placing my hand on her stomach. She stirs slightly, and I see how her eyelids flutter, how she slowly, as if half-asleep, opens her eyes. Her gaze is sleepy, a bit surprised, but so warm, so alive, that I can't look away. I touch her cheek, run my fingers across her velvety skin, feeling how her body responds to my touch. Her lips part, and I lean in to gently touch the corner of her mouth with mine. It is a light, almost weightless kiss, that seems so insignificant, but it carries so much tenderness, so much warmth, that time seems to stop.
"I want to sleep in the same bed with you. Is that okay?" My voice is quiet, but there is still a hint of hesitation in it.
The girl squints, thinking over my words. Something deep flashes in her eyes, and a barely noticeable, yet expressive smile appears on her lips. It carries a slight reproach, as if I have done something wrong, but not judgment — just softness. I hold my breath, waiting for her answer.
"Well, if next time you don't sneak in and scare me, then yes."
My reaction is immediate — I feel my cheeks burning, and I lower my gaze, trying not to meet her eyes. Everything feels so awkward, but at the same time, so pleasant, as if she really wants me to be close.
"Sorry... I just can't bring myself to come here for a long time," I try to explain, but my voice still sounds confused, as if I can't find the right words to express my feelings.
She hums, tilting her head. There is a kind of mockery in her soft gaze — the kind that makes me feel guilty and at peace at the same time.
"You can do anything, you know that. But next time, think faster and speak up sooner, okay?" It is as if she is trying to remind me that there should be no barriers between us, but at the same time, there is care in her words.
Her hand gently touches mine — so naturally, that all doubts dissolve by themselves. Her warm fingers cover my palm, and peace settles inside me, as if the world itself has slowed down.
"Okay," I answer barely audibly, like a whisper, feeling how her touch leaves a warm trace on my skin, as if inviting me to trust this moment.
A silence hangs between us. I know — she is trying to understand what is on my mind. And then, slowly and cautiously, I lean in, touching her lips. A light, almost weightless kiss — but in it is everything. A promise. The touch of two worlds that merge in a single moment.
Katrin smiles, warmly, just slightly, and the light from her smile spreads inside me, bringing peace. I smile involuntarily in return, feeling a soft, warm flame ignite inside me.
"Now let's sleep."
In the darkness, with her warmth beside me, I close my eyes and feel all the tension leave. Everything around is calm, and I can forget everything, sinking into this moment, into her closeness.