I wake up to an unusual cold. My hand reaches across the bed — its warmth is gone. I open my eyes, and emptiness engulfs me.
For a few seconds, I can't believe she has left. Anxiety fills my mind. I turn to my side and see her place is empty. It is that moment when you wake up and can't tell how long you've been lost in that dream, in her embrace. A light confusion spreads through my body, and I get up.
My steps lead me to the kitchen. The light from the window plays on her face, reflecting the morning glow.
Sitting by the window, Katrin looks incredibly beautiful. Smoke curls from the cigarette in her hand, swirling through the air.
She doesn't notice me, lost in her thoughts. Her features, highlighted by the cold light, seem especially delicate, and her figure, wrapped in smoke — almost unreal.
I stand in the doorway, watching her, feeling my heart beat faster. It is impossible not to notice her grace and the atmosphere she creates even in the simplest moments. She turns her head, and when she sees me, she smiles.
"Good morning, night troublemaker."
Her laugh, full of confidence, bursts out as if she holds her own world in her hands. I feel her energy pull me in. I don't need words or questions. I just know I am happy with her. Something in her eyes makes me forget everything else.
"Well, yeah, that's me."
She finishes her cigarette, drops it into the ashtray, and stands up. Walking over to me, Katrin wraps her arms around my neck and pulls me close. Our lips meet in a long, passionate kiss. I feel her breath drown out everything around us, her body pressing against mine.
I forget everything — there is no time, no space, just us — two hearts beating in unison.
The smell of cigarette smoke still lingers on her lips, but it doesn't matter. What matters is how everything converges in that moment. Everything else fades away — only she and I remain, in that kiss without a beginning or an end.
When we finally pull away, our lips still search for each other, but we lack air. Our eyes meet, and we gasp, trying to catch our breath, as if this moment could last forever. Katrin hugs me, and without thinking, I start stroking her hair. We stand there, while the world around us simply disappears.
"What are your plans for today?"
"None."
"How come my Rebel Girl has no plans? That's strange. Or did someone swap you while I was asleep?" I squint, laughing with a playful hint, teasing her impulsive nature, full of ideas enough to fill dozens of days.
The girl laughs, a spark dancing in her eyes, but they quickly turn mysterious, hiding more than they reveal.
"I have plans, just not for today. For now, let's spend time in this apartment."
"I don't mind spending time alone with you at home. What should we do?"
"Let's go to the store, make dinner, and then watch a movie together. How does that sound?" Smiling and tilting her head slightly, she waits for my answer with a special kind of interest.
Her eyes gleam with sincere curiosity, like a child who has just come up with something significant but doesn't yet know how the world will take it.
"I like it, but..." I drawl, but before I can finish, her expression changes. A shadow of worry appears in her gaze, as if she senses I have stopped speaking for a reason, as if I am hiding something unknown to her.
"And what doesn't the night troublemaker like about my plan?" her voice sharpens.
"I want to know you better," I say, and as soon as the words slip from my lips, I feel the silence suddenly grow too dense, as if swallowing everything around us.
"What do you mean?" Rebel Girl pulls away from me, her body tensing, and the look she gives me is full of subtle anxiety. I see her close herself off, retreating into her inner world, and I feel the distance between us grow — a distance I might have created myself.
"I want to know you as a person. What do you like? What was your life like before you met me?" I don't know how she will take my words, but deep down, I hope she will reveal what she is hiding — her true feelings, the ones she has been carefully concealing.
"I'm not sure I can answer all your questions," her voice carries obvious doubt, as if she isn't ready to share this with anyone — maybe not even herself.
In her skepticism, I catch something fragile — a softness that hides vulnerability, openness, and a fear of what might be revealed. I can't let this moment pass, can't leave her with her doubts.
I gently take her hand, as if afraid that a sudden gesture might shatter the delicate world she lives in. I place her palm on my chest, feeling her fingers barely graze my skin, trembling slightly. It is so intimate and sincere. I feel her breathing steady, as if she realizes I am there, ready to support her without demanding answers.
My gaze meets hers softly, and I hope she will feel how much it means to me for her to open up — when she is ready.
"I'm not demanding answers to the questions you don't want to answer," I say quietly, trying to convey calmness in my voice. "We don't know each other that well yet, and I understand that you need time to get used to me. I won't ask overly personal questions, I promise. You can refuse to answer at any moment. And in return, I'll be happy to answer your questions, if you have any," I add, not wanting to create pressure. I look at her, hoping she will sense the sincerity in my words.
Her gaze, guarded and cautious, shows she isn't used to such openness, and the stretching seconds of silence only intensify the feeling that the girl is hiding something. I feel how her inner world is walled off by an invisible barrier, but I know that if we try, maybe we can break through it.
"We just have to start somewhere," I try to find the words that can break through this tense silence.
"Okay, let's try," Katrin says reluctantly but with clear effort. I understand how hard it is for her to take this step, but something in her tone tells me she is willing to try. And I feel that this first, even small, step is still important.
"Then the questions will be about who you are now, okay?"
"Now? Right now?" Her eyes widen, and her face reflects a slight panic, as if she's been caught off guard.
It is visible that she didn't expect it to start so swiftly. She probably thought I would give her time to prepare. But it all happened too fast. Her voice sounds confused, as if she found herself in an unfamiliar world.
"Yes, why wait?" I can't let her back out, can't allow myself to doubt her willingness to continue.
Despite this, I see the struggle in her gaze. She tries to hide her uncertainty, but her look betrays her — a fight rages between the desire to retreat and the longing to stay, to be heard. I can only hope she will find the strength to trust me.
"Okay," the girl looks lost, as if she didn't expect to agree herself, and I notice her lips twitch slightly as her gaze drifts aside. I don't rush her, but continue looking at her with anticipation.
"You mentioned food. What's your favorite dish, or what do you usually like to eat?"
Suddenly, Katrin laughs — a bright, joyful laugh that sounds like a release. She exhales, taking off a heavy burden, and her body relaxes. That laugh shows that her fear isn't as terrible as she imagined.
Maybe all this time, she had a shadow of anxiety in her head, but now she realizes it isn't so dangerous. The knife she imagined at her throat turns out to be a toy.
"Is that all you want to know?" she raises an eyebrow, as if expecting the questions to be more exciting, more complicated. "I thought it would be something scarier."
"No, I want to know more about movies. Are we going to watch your favorite movie? If not, what is your favorite movie? What genres do you like? I want to know so much about you! I want to know everything concerning you: your hobbies, your preferences... how you became so smart... everything you're willing to tell me about your life. But... I don't want you to be afraid of me. Answer at your own pace and level of trust in me, please."
"Physically, I trust you. I know you won't harm me. But talking about the past is difficult."
"Then let's talk only about the present. About what's happening here and now. Are you ready?" I try to make my voice sound more confident, but inside, I feel a slight fear that I might hurt her feelings.
"Then I'll gladly answer them!" Her eyes light up with sparks of interest again, and I realize everything will be fine. "I'm not picky with food. I love eating everything. I have no food allergies, or at least I don't know about any. I love eating traditional dishes from our country. Sometimes I cook, but rarely, only when I have a special desire. Today, I have that desire, so let's make meat with a side dish. Or do you want to cook something else?"
"Honestly, I don't really care what we eat either. As long as it's tasty. I'm not allergic either," I say, glad we matched on this. "See, we've found something else that unites us."
I feel the space between us grow a little warmer, as if we're really starting to understand each other.
"Maybe we really are a good match?" The question escapes me unexpectedly.
My words hang in the air, and I suddenly realize how important it is for me to hear her answer. But I don't know how she will take it. There is a lot of hope, but even more uncertainty, like the moment when winter gives way to spring, when the air fills with the promise of something new.
Every word, every movement in this conversation isn't just an exchange of information, but something much deeper.
Katrin sighs heavily, her shoulders tremble, and she turns away. In that movement, there is despair, as if she is trying to hide from the overwhelming feelings inside her. I stand still, not knowing what to say, but I understand — I need to take a step forward. I already want to approach her, to ask what happened, but before I can, she suddenly turns back around.
"You understand that you're tying yourself to me and pressuring me to reciprocate?" Each of her words burns me from the inside, and I don't know how to respond. "I can't do that."
I take a step closer but still remain a few steps away from her, afraid of scaring her even more. I know what is important to say, but the words won't come. However, I force myself to speak, slowly and confidently:
"I don't want to pressure you. I've said it, and I'll say it again: I don't want to pressure you. It's just sometimes I can't hold back what's going on inside me. It's more than just a desire..." I clench my fists nervously, feeling my chest tighten. "Do you think I'm not shocked by the last three days myself? I didn't think I was capable of such feelings, especially towards you."
Her eyes, filled with doubt, grow even colder. I see her close off from me internally, as though her soul is building an invisible wall. Her words cut through the air like a blade:
"I'm not right for you."
It becomes hard for me. Despair floods my thoughts, and the desire to keep her close becomes almost physical. Katrin takes a step back, preparing to leave, but as she passes by, I can't let that happen. Without thinking, I grab her by the elbow, feeling her body tense from my touch.
"My mind is screaming about this," I say with deep desperation, "and my heart... my heart wants to hold you close and never let go. Do you feel it? I can't just let you go."
Pain flashes in her eyes, she clenches her lips and tries to break free, but I hold her firmly. We are both on the edge. I see her struggling with her own feelings, how she cannot believe what is happening.
"And who will you listen to? Who is right?" Her voice trembles, and in it sounds a mix of anger and despair.
Everything inside me is boiling, and I don't know what to do, but I understand — letting her go is not an option. There is no turning back. I can't just forget her or walk past.
"I want to find out. And I'm sure I will, once we sort out our desires."
But she, as if not hearing me, tries again to break free. I can feel her tension, but I don't release her hand. And suddenly, she speaks:
"Let go. I'm going to get ready for the store. If you want to come with me, put your shoes on."
Her words sound brief, but they carry pain and a desire to leave. I feel helpless. I release her hand — and she disappears through the door.
I stand, watching her go, filled with doubt and anxiety. I don't know what will happen next, but I feel — this isn't the end. The situation is escalating, and something needs to be done. I can only wait, hoping to find the right path, but deep down, I fear it's already too late.