The day Katrin has clearly been dreading arrives—her first day at the institute in her new look. She nervously fidgets with the edge of her sweater, her fingers trembling, her gaze darting around as if searching for something to anchor her in this new, unfamiliar world.
When we walk into the lecture hall, silence falls. Even the professor, who has been engrossed in a debate with the students, abruptly stops speaking and stares at us. Time seems to freeze. Every eye is fixed on us, and I feel Katrin squeeze my hand—her palm cold and damp with anxiety.
Because of me—or rather, because of Dima, who distracted me with his questions back at the dorm—we're late. Under the weight of the heavy silence, we take our seats, trying not to draw any more attention. It's pointless—everyone is already watching us. The looks vary: curious, surprised, judgmental. Katrin lowers her eyes, her cheeks tinged with pink from embarrassment, but she holds her ground. Though I know—inside, she's on the verge of panic.
The professor is the first to recover. Clearing his throat, he continues the lecture, but the students are no longer paying attention. Their focus is entirely on us, and they have plenty of questions.
First, why are we holding hands as we enter the room? The answer is simple: I've gripped her hand so tightly that, no matter how much she tries, Katrin can't pull away. No way, baby—we have a deal. You're officially my girlfriend now. So don't even think about running, since you promised to fulfill my wish. Her fingers tremble slightly, but she doesn't resist, only frowns, hiding her embarrassment.
Second, why are we dressed like this? Rebel Girl—in trousers and a sweater, and me—in black jeans, a T-shirt, and a leather jacket. It's as if we've swapped wardrobes. And it shocks everyone. Katrin, who has always looked like a rebel, now appears feminine and elegant. And I, accustomed to a more formal style, look like I've just come back from a rock concert. Our little rebellion. A statement to the world that we aren't like everyone else, and that we don't care what others think.
Katrin sits beside me, her shoulder brushing mine. Her breathing gradually steadies. She glances at me out of the corner of her eye, and a faint smile flickers in her gaze. Despite the stares and whispers behind her back, she knows she isn't alone. I'm right there, and that gives her strength.
I sit there, trying to appear unflappable, but inside, emotions are raging. Pride in her—for taking this step. A flicker of worry—about how this will affect her. And, above all, confidence. We've made the right choice. Let the world look on in surprise or judgment—we don't care. We're together, and that's all that matters.
Finally, Dima shows up, stumbling with every step because of his poorly laced sneakers. He's been so eager to see my girlfriend that he's sprinted all the way, arriving breathless and red as a tomato. But as soon as he catches his breath, he stares at Katrin and blurts out the first thing that comes to mind:
"Holy sh*t, girl, you're something else," he exclaims, so shocked that he forgets where he is, his voice louder than he'd intended.
The room freezes. The professor, who has just started to adjust to the strange atmosphere in the hall, turns sharply and glares at Dima. His eyebrows furrow, and his eyes flash with disapproval.
"This time, I'll pretend I didn't hear that, given the circumstances…" His tone suggests that a similar thought might have crossed his mind. "But one more swear word, and you're off to the rector's office. Understood?"
Dima nods silently, his face turning even redder, if that's possible. He quickly mutters something like "got it" and, lowering his head, makes his way to his seat.
"If you understand, then take your seat," the professor adds dryly before returning to his lecture, though it's clear the students' attention is still fixed on us.
My neighbor sits down, unable to take his eyes off Katrin. His gaze is full of astonishment, as if he's looking not at a person but at some inexplicable phenomenon. And, honestly, I'm not jealous. Seeing Rebel Girl in that outfit is akin to witnessing a miracle. The students aren't looking at her as a girl but as something extraordinary, something that defies their usual perception of the world.
Meanwhile, Katrin herself grips my hand so tightly that her fingers almost dig into my skin. Rebel Girl keeps her eyes down, fixed on the floor, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. Her discomfort doesn't come so much from their stares as from the feeling of being exposed, as if all her thoughts and emotions are on display.
I move closer to her, feeling her breathing quicken slightly. I decide to keep teasing her, whispering in her ear:
"My beloved Rebel, when we get home…"
"If we get home. If you survive that long," she interrupts, her voice carrying a faint threat, though her eyes betray a smile.
"Then I'll beg for your forgiveness with kisses. Where do you want me to kiss you?" I continue, speaking as softly as I can.
She lifts her head and looks at me as if I'm a complete fool.
"Do you really think your little kisses will make up for my humiliation today?" Her tone is skeptical, but there's curiosity in her eyes.
"Shall we test it?" I lean in and kiss her just below her ear.
She shivers, her entire body covered in goosebumps, and for a moment, she goes still. When I glance at her face, I see she's blushing. So that's where I should have kissed her from the start!
"When we get home, I'll start by kissing you here," I whisper, trailing my finger from her ear to her collarbone, feeling her tremble slightly.
"Don't tease me any more," she growls, though her voice holds a playful edge.
"Or what? You'll argue with me again?" I keep teasing, knowing it riles her up.
"Arguing with you is like losing to myself from the very beginning, so no."
"Then how will you threaten me?" I ask, smiling.
She thinks for a moment, puffing out her lower lip. How I want to kiss her, but I hold back, determined to wait at least until the break.
"No kisses for you. And no bed either," she says, her voice serious, though her eyes sparkle with mischief.
I chuckle at that.
"What's so funny? You should be scared, not amused," she says, frowning slightly.
"That punishment works both ways. You won't be able to sleep without me either. You'll come running to me faster than I'll come to you," I say, though I'm not entirely sure of my words. But I believe it.
"Don't poke the bear while it's quiet, so don't push it," she replies instead, her voice carrying a warning, though her eyes still hold that smile.
I decide that's enough for today. We both know it's a game, but there's something real in it, something that brings us even closer. And I'm willing to wait until she decides to take the next step.
The bell rings, shattering the silence like a funeral march.
The hallway, empty just a moment ago, is now filled with noise. Our classmates spill out from behind their desks like creatures infected by some invisible plague—their eyes glassy, their steps sluggish, as if their feet are stuck to the linoleum. Their hands reach out to us like the tentacles of hungry beasts, and the air is thick with the smell of sweat, cheap coffee, and despair.
"Not a chance, she's mine," I hiss through clenched teeth, feeling adrenaline surge through my veins like burning nectar.
Katrin.
Her fingers tremble in my hand, delicate as butterfly wings, but I hold them tightly, as if I can stop time itself. We bolt for one of the exits, but the door slams shut with a metallic clang that sends shivers down my spine.
"Over the desks," flashes through my mind.
Desks, sharp corners, scattered notebooks—it all blurs into a kaleidoscope of panic. I vault over the nearest desk, hearing my backpack crash to the floor. I turn—Katrin jumps after me. Her laughter, bright and defiant, cuts through the heavy air like a ray of sunlight through storm clouds.
"Didn't expect that, huh?" I shout, catching her by the waist as we race away, leaving behind a chorus of bewildered groans.
The hallway.
An endless strip of light from flickering lamps, our shadows—two black birds straining for freedom. I pull Katrin into a dark alcove, where a door stands slightly ajar like a tempting trap. The room smells of dust and old books, but her breath—sweet as ripe strawberries—drowns out everything else.
"Quiet," I whisper, pressing her against the wall, cold and rough under my fingers.
Her lips meet mine with a hunger that feels like we're breathing each other in. My hand slides under her sweater, finding the warmth of her skin beneath the thin fabric of her blouse.
"Her bra… damn," the thought flickers, but her low, broken moan burns away all rationality.
I kiss her neck, savoring the salty taste of her skin near her collarbone, feeling her heart beat in sync with mine—a frantic rhythm that drowns out even the fear of being caught.
Rebel Girl arches under my touch, her nails digging into my shoulders, leaving marks—promises. The world narrows to her sighs, to the tremor in her voice, to this moment where nothing exists but us.
"Don't stop…" her lips plead as she bites them to keep from crying out.
The ringing. It slices through the silence like a knife through butter. Katrin pushes me away, her eyes—two wide pools—filled with confusion and unspoken words. It's not over yet.
"You… You're going to get it when we get home," she exhales, adjusting her sweater with trembling fingers. I can see her cheeks flush, her chest rising and falling with ragged breaths.
"I hope I get all of you, since you're promising me so much," I murmur, pressing my lips to her temple. She snorts, pulling away, but a smile dances at the corners of her mouth.
"You're a bad Nerd," she says, wagging her finger as if it could stop the storm raging between us.
"But I'm your Nerd," I reply, nipping at the tip of her finger, feeling the tremor of her laughter.
We step into the hallway, where the light seems dimmer and the air less alive. But somewhere in the pocket of my memory, a plan is already forming: Home. Silence. And not a single ring to save her.
We return as if nothing has happened. The classroom is quiet, save for the monotonous drone of the professor, who seems oblivious to our absence. His gaze skims the textbook, his thoughts likely wandering far away. Katrin and I sit side by side, trying to appear composed and studious. Our backs are straight, our eyes fixed on the professor, like perfect students who never get distracted. I don't touch her, though every moment beside her stirs a storm of emotions in me—tenderness, a flicker of excitement. But inside, I'm boiling. I feel her closeness, her warmth, and it drives me mad.
When the bell rings, I'm about to slip away quickly, but a heavy hand lands on my shoulder. It's Dimka. My "friend," who always seems to appear at the worst possible moments. He sits down beside me, leaving his hand on my shoulder, and I feel the tension rise. A crowd of curious classmates begins to gather around us. Their eyes are full of questions, and the atmosphere grows as tense as the air before a storm.
"Max, don't you want to tell us something? You two keep showing off, but we don't understand what's going on," Dimka begins with a sly grin. His voice is a provocation, and I know he won't let it go. I decide to play dumb and shift the focus to Katrin.
"Darling, don't you want to tell them something?" I say, trying to sound as innocent as possible.
But Katrin's gaze is deadly. She looks at everyone like a tigress ready to defend her territory. I'm glad her anger isn't directed solely at me, but at everyone else. She clearly isn't going to stay quiet.
"WE'RE TOGETHER!" she shouts so loudly it seems the walls shake. Everyone freezes, and I feel my heart skip a beat. It's so blunt and honest that even I, accustomed to her sharpness, am slightly stunned.
"Well, that's as official as it gets," I think, holding back a smile.
The crowd, stunned by her bluntness, slowly disperses. Their faces show a mix of shock and admiration. But Dimka, as always, can't let it go.
"What's with the outfit?" he sneers, pointing at her clothes. It's clearly too much.
Katrin, the true rebel, sees his words as a challenge. Her eyes burn with fire, and I know things are about to get heated.
"What's it to you, you piece of trash? Do I have to report to you personally, you half-witted moron? Come here, and I'll teach you about personal boundaries, you scumbag!" Her voice thunders like a storm.
She lunges forward, trying to climb over me to get to Dimka. I wrap my arms around her waist, feeling the tension in her body—like a coiled spring ready to snap. If I let go, my girl will either punch him or scratch his face off.
Dimka realizes he's gone too far and bolts out of the room like a bullet.
"Let me go, he's already gone," she says, still trembling with anger.
"Why? I like this position," I say, feeling her body gradually relax in my arms. Her anger gives way to mild irritation, but her eyes still hold a readiness for battle.
"Stop talking nonsense with so many people around. Let me go, come on!" she tries to break free, but I kiss her left shoulder instead, then release her. Her skin is soft and warm, and that kiss is my way of saying I love her, despite all her outbursts.
After that, no one bothers us. The day passes quietly, but that evening, I'm in for a surprise. I gather my things, don't find Dimka, and leave him a note: "You're a jerk." Everything seems peaceful. But I haven't accounted for one thing—my Rebel. She decides to punish me after all. And it hurts. Really hurts. And it's final for our relationship.