We step out into the street, and the silence of the night engulfs us. Katrin wastes no time: her hands instinctively reach for her phone to call a taxi. I, however, stand still, as if in a trance, not fully aware of what is happening.
Why didn't I ask the simple question of whether we could walk to the dorm? Why didn't I think of it? But now, it no longer matters.
Everything happens so quickly that my thoughts can't keep up with the events.
My mind remains in a stupor, my head full of sounds — echoing those words, glances, that moment which still hurts like a heavy stone in my chest. Everything happens as if in slow motion, where each second turns into endless agony.
I step aside, trying to pull myself together, to breathe, to calm down, but I can't. My body moves mechanically, and my mind races, trying to understand what has just happened.
I can't take my eyes off Katrin. She stands a little to the side, her face down, as if she is hiding something from those around her.
The light dress she is wearing seems out of place for October — the cold wind slides over her body, but she doesn't even notice it. How could she have gone outside dressed like that? In moments like this, everything seems inappropriate, as if reality itself is pushing her toward it.
I can't stop looking at her face, which is more vulnerable than ever. The wet traces of tears still remain on her cheeks, they cannot be wiped away completely.
Her makeup has nearly disappeared, and her eyes are full of pain, exhaustion, and something else that makes me feel incredible pain for her.
That look is like a cry for help — she needs something more than just support — she needs salvation from herself, from the world around her, from these endless expectations.
I don't hesitate when I take off my jacket and drape it over her shoulders, trying to pass on at least a little warmth, at least a little safety in this raging world.
I don't know what to say, how to comfort her, but my heart demands actions, not words. I hug her tightly, feeling how her body reacts to it — she is so fragile, as if any moment could break her, and I am just a weak attempt to stop this process.
"Don't worry, everything will be okay. He won't touch you anymore," I try to say these words confidently, but my voice trembles from the anxiety that I can't hide.
I am here, with her, and I want her to feel at least a small fraction of the warmth I can give her. She lifts her head, and I see how hard it is for her to breathe.
This moment is like a blow to the heart — her eyes carry such a heaviness, as if the whole world has fallen onto her shoulders.
"I know... it's just..." she tries to continue, but her voice gradually fades, like the light at the end of a long tunnel. "I called a taxi, but I'm dressed wrong for the season. Look how stupid I am! I should have thought earlier... Well, you know..."
With each word, her lips tremble, and tears roll down her cheeks like rain that cannot be stopped. I press her closer to me, feeling how her body tenses from what she has experienced.
I don't know how to take away this pain, how to comfort her, but I am near, and that is all. I hold her, hugging her the best I can.
My lips touch her hair, and I remain silent, hoping that my presence will ease her suffering. Sometimes silence is stronger than words, and I want her to feel my support through every touch.
We stand on the street for only a short while. Not even five minutes pass before the taxi arrives. Without saying a word, we get into the car.
All words, all thoughts remain on the street, and in this moment we find ourselves alone in a world where there is no need to explain anything to each other.
Katrin gives an address that is unfamiliar to me. I know where this place is, but I have never been there.
We sit in the car, hugging each other, and remain silent. This silence does not press on us, does not become heavy. On the contrary, it is like a safe island in the ocean, where one can find comfort and strength, even if the words don't come.
Rebel Girl doesn't cry anymore, and that is already a relief. Every sigh of hers, every movement — everything seems less tense than before, and at least this makes me believe that things aren't so bad.
We arrive in one of the most prestigious neighborhoods of our city. I can't believe my eyes — does Katrin really live here or rent an apartment in such a place?
This neighborhood is famous for its high prices, and I increasingly doubt that she can afford such luxury.
Maybe she lives with a friend or shares an apartment with a roommate? Among students, it's not uncommon to rent a place together or with three people to save money.
When we get out of the car, the girl leads me to one of the entrances that clearly stand out from the rest. The surrounding area is well-maintained, and everything around indicates that this place is not just good, but elite.
The building's facade confirms my thoughts: this is the real elite of the city. We enter the building and take the elevator to the fifth floor. Katrin opens the door, and we step into a cozy hallway.
Here I experience a shock: it is a spacious and bright three-room apartment. The atmosphere is cozy, and it is immediately clear that a woman lives here.
The space is filled with light, creating a sense of spaciousness and comfort. A faint scent of fresh flowers and a vanilla candle lingers in the air.
When my eyes adjust to the light, I notice how carefully each detail is selected. There is nothing superfluous here — everything, from the painting on the wall to the rug by the sofa, is chosen with such taste that it seems every item is in its place, like part of one big story.
The space is filled with harmony: modern style combines with elements reflecting the individual preferences of the hostess. Modernity intertwines with retro, creating a cozy yet not overcrowded feeling.
I look around, and there is a sense of her personal traces in the room. Books with open pages stand on the shelves, as if her gaze constantly returns to them.
On the nightstand next to the sofa lies a half-closed cosmetics bag with lipstick, throwing a bright accent on the light wood of the furniture.
On the table stands a cup with tea remnants, as if she has just set it down, absorbed in something important, and promises to return.
The things aren't folded neatly — they are arranged with a slight disorder, which adds life to the apartment. They don't create chaos, but on the contrary, fill the space with her energy. It seems the apartment itself is full of her presence, even when she is absent.
My gaze lingers on the soft cushions on the sofa, ready to welcome anyone who sits down, and on the open shelf with decor, rare figurines, elegant cups, and framed photographs are visible — she keeps the bright moments of her life here.
Every detail in the apartment reflects her taste, habits, and inner world. I feel that here reigns not just comfort, but real life, generously shared with this space.
The apartment is an extension of her, a living, unique reflection of her essence. All of this isn't just decor or furniture, but parts of her "self," reminding me that this is her personal space, her little universe, where no one can intervene.
"Do you rent it?" I ask, unable to hold back my surprise.
"No, this is my apartment."
"How does a freshman have a three-room apartment?" I can't help but ask the question, stunned by this fact.
"From my dad. When my parents were getting divorced, he transferred the apartment to me so as not to give it to my mom. My mom and I lived in another city, and I decided that I would use this apartment when I got into the institute."
"Now it's clear where you get such a mansion from," I say, walking deeper into the apartment and sitting down on the large soft sofa. The situation is strange, but at the same time, it becomes clearer.
Katrin sits opposite me, and a heavy silence hangs between us, filling the room with a tense atmosphere. I feel awkward, but I don't know what to say.
She sits calmly, as if she doesn't notice the silence, but I feel how it presses on both of us. The questions I want to ask get stuck in my throat.
Do I really know so little about Katrin? And what does she need from me in this expensive and chic place?
"Forgive me. I ruined everything," these words escape her lips with such heaviness that I can't help but feel how hard it is for her.
Rebel Girl, this bold and independent girl, is embarrassed, and I hear it in her low, almost inaudible voice. This confession, full of sincerity and regret, seems like her last stronghold, after which she, perhaps, hopes that everything will become easier.
"You didn't ruin anything. I was having fun the whole time, until one jerk started getting handsy."
"I shouldn't have forced you to go there with me. I'm just very stubborn — if I decide something, you can't stop me."
"I noticed that."
I smile, replying with ease, as if these words are part of our usual communication. The scene pops up in my memory again, when she sat at the exams with relentless stubbornness, despite all the difficulties, as if the world couldn't stop her when she decided something for herself.
"I cancel my wish. And I am ready to fulfill yours."
These words pierce me, and a strange anxiety arises in my chest. How can she change her mind so abruptly? How can she abandon her goal, which has pursued her for two weeks, in just one evening?
At the same time, I understand that I can't do that. Honesty is the most important thing that remains between us, and I can't betray myself, my promises. It would be unfair not only to her, but also to myself.
"No, I haven't fully had my fun yet. So I am waiting for your new ideas tomorrow, Rebel Girl."
"Well, you signed up for this yourself, don't forget," her laugh is light, and I feel all the tension leave, as if laughter is a medicine for the heaviness that hung over us.
This is the moment when she returns to her playfulness, and I realize that everything becomes not as scary as before again.
"Why exactly Rebel Girl?"
"What?" I am a little confused, realizing that I pronounced this nickname without any ulterior motive. It weaves itself into our conversation on its own, as if it is naturally a part of our chat for us.
"Why exactly do you call me Rebel Girl? Just don't tell me you didn't say it. I am hearing this nickname for myself for the second time tonight."
I understand that I need to be honest, that there is nothing to hide. She has already noticed everything, and I can't hide anything anymore.
"You know, I've been calling you that for a long time, at least in my thoughts. But after I drank, I stopped controlling myself and started calling you that out loud. If you don't like it, I can stop."
"No, I like it. It suits me. But why exactly this word, and not something else? Mischief-maker, hooligan, for example?" the girl suggests other options with a light smile on her lips, as if she is curious what other nicknames I can come up with.
"Because you are always rebelling against something. You go against the rules, your clothes are often informal for our institute, and the makeup — all this somehow doesn't fit into the general style.
Who else would dress in all black on the first day of school and line their eyes with a black pencil when it's twenty-five degrees Celsius outside?" I am not judging her when I say this.
No. On the contrary, I admire how she manages to be herself, despite the people around her and their judgment for the fact that she doesn't follow the standards. There is something mysterious, wild, and independent in her appearance.
I feel that her look contains not just clothes or makeup, but a whole philosophy, which would be too difficult to give up.
Her freedom from the rules, her individuality in every movement and glance captivate me, and I can't help but admire it.
The courage to be herself, despite the circumstances, challenging the norms, gives her image not only external attractiveness, but also internal strength. This attracts me to her more and more each time.
"Really?"
"What are you laughing at?" I can't understand what exactly amused her so much, but the laughter becomes louder, and it's something exciting, captivating.
I suddenly want to laugh along with her, even though I don't know why. It's like the lightness I so often lack in my life. Everything she does seems natural and effortless, and I feel less constrained in her presence.
"I actually thought you were a goth at first."
Maybe I really do look at her as something unusual, as a person who doesn't fit into the usual boundaries. And yet exactly such people, who are not afraid to be themselves, often turn out to be the most interesting and attractive.
"Really? No, no, I just love this color. I'm not a fan of all that stuff, you know, what goths like: walking around strange places and being sad. I'm rather cheerful, and being a goth definitely wouldn't suit me."
"Well, now I know."
I look into her eyes, and she meets my gaze. It is strangely comfortable, as if we could understand each other without words. She is not the same as she seemed before, now she is much brighter, more energetic, and more cheerful. And this is surprisingly pleasant.
"You really are a very cheerful girl who loves fun, parties, and also dancing and, of course, mischief. Well, what is life without mischief!"
I see her true self, alive, full of energy and sincerity, and I want to fix this moment in my mind. There is strength in her eyes, not from her appearance, but from the fact that she doesn't hide herself.
Without masks and pretense, she remains herself, and this is magnetic. I realize that she is not just a girl, but a personality with whom I want to be, who can influence you, and you won't even notice how.
"That is an exact description of me," Katrin agrees, laughing. "Alright, let's go to sleep, otherwise we still have many, many different plans."
"Will you tell me at least a little bit about them?"
I can't restrain my curiosity, I want to know at least something, although I understand that she won't reveal all her cards. It is more than just a desire — it is curiosity about her world, about those secrets that she is going to reveal, but only in due time.
"No, otherwise if I tell you — I'll ruin the surprise. Although it will be next Friday. And before that, we will visit all the beautiful places in the city, where there will be a lot of music and a lot of alcohol. Are you ready for such a tour?"
She winks, and a mischievous spark flashes in her eyes. This is not just an offer — it is as if part of some grand plan in which I am included, and I feel that it will be something special.
"Well, if you will be the guide, then yes."
We both laugh, and this laugh is not only joyful, but also liberating — we find a common language, we are on the same wavelength. Everything around becomes lighter, brighter, and I feel that this evening seems like something special.
Not only because of what is happening, but also because of how we communicate, how everything seems simple and natural. It's not like with others, it's deeper, as if we have known each other for a long time, and it doesn't matter how much time has passed — there is a feeling that we share not only space, but also a part of our thoughts and feelings.
Katrin makes a bed for me in the guest room, and I, despite the turmoil of this day, feel at home.