The girl stops, no longer circling around me, and freezes right in front of me. Her gaze is deep, her eyes like mirrors reflecting an entire world. Sparks of emotion glimmer in them, emotions she holds back but keeps within herself until the last moment. She studies me as if unveiling a sealed book hiding the answers. But what does she see? What is she thinking? Perhaps she is tormented by doubts, trying to decide whether to give me a chance?
I know that, most likely, we are not meant for each other. We are from different worlds, different planets, almost like two poles that can never meet, despite the force of magnetic attraction. Yes, we are both intelligent, but that is where our similarities end. She is bright, energetic, explosive, like a spark capable of igniting everything around her. Her laughter can light up even the grayest corners, and her soul is like a spring day — unpredictable, turbulent, like a river rushing forward, never stopping, swallowing everything in its path.
And I... I am completely different. Inside me is a sea of tranquility, a preference for solitude, logic, and quiet contemplation. My world is as silent as a nighttime lake, where every word echoes, where there aren't many movements, but each one is significant and meaningful.
Our personalities are opposites, like two continents divided by an ocean. It is hard for me to imagine how two such worlds can coexist. For example, when I sink into dreams filled with silence, she is already in a club, searching for fun, her energy awakening those around her. During the day, when I study, she dreams of sleep to restore her strength.
Can these worlds meet in one space? Or is it just a coincidence that will disappear, leaving only memories? Is it possible to combine such different rhythms of life, such disharmonious existence? Or is this just a fleeting encounter, like all the stars we have ever seen — vanishing from sight, fading into the endless sky, leaving only these moments as a memory?
I try to find answers in her gaze, in her silence, and realize that we have a long way to go to understand if we have a future. And right now, at this very moment, everything depends on what she will say. But her words, when they finally break the silence, shake me to my core.
"I'm not who you think I am. I'm not like that at all," something in her tone tells me she doesn't want to be understood through someone else's expectations, that beneath her outward appearance lies something much deeper, hidden from view.
I understand: she isn't just revealing herself to me — she is challenging everything I think I know about her. In that moment, I feel my walls begin to crack, as if I am on the edge of something new, something capable of changing everything. Katrin is opening a door to her inner world, a world that remains a mystery to me. This moment is fragile, like an invisible thread between us, upon which everything depends — whether we will continue our conversation or let it all collapse. It is as if she is trying to share not just words but a part of herself, her true essence.
"Do you think I think badly of you? No, that's not true. After the Olympiad, my feelings change. I no longer see you in a negative light. On the contrary, I've come to the conclusion that you're... a good girl."
Rebel Girl looks at me, and there is a spark in her eyes — something I might not be ready to understand yet. And then, like lightning, her words tear through the silence:
"A good girl for whom? For you? Or maybe for myself? Do you think I am what you imagine me to be? What do you see me as? Flighty. That's how you see me. But I'm not like that," she speaks without pauses, as if each word has been prepared in advance, ready to burst out. "Yes, I love fun, I love spending time in clubs, dancing, and enjoying life. But that doesn't mean I'm a slut! Do you really think I sleep with everyone?"
Her eyes sparkle, and there is something bold in them, yet at the same time something piercingly vulnerable. She is open, but her entire posture says she won't let anyone impose their opinion on her.
"What you saw in your room..."
Her words reveal another facet of her personality to me. She isn't the girl I had imagined. I feel my perception of her shift. I stand there, not knowing what to say, because every moment is filled with new revelations. There is a struggle in her voice — a struggle against perception, against being seen only through her appearance, without understanding her essence. These words are like a cry she tries to stifle, but they burst out, becoming her sincere response to misunderstandings. I can hear her pain, how she tries to tear down old walls, building new ones — less vulnerable, yet no less fragile. Her emotions pulse in the air, and every word she speaks scorches my heart. She isn't seeking pity, but I can see how her inner world wrestles with how others see her, and she remains the only one standing in the center of that chaos.
"Wait, wait!" I rush to stop her, feeling panic tighten in my chest.
Katrin is already veering in the wrong direction, and her words are losing meaning. This moment is fragile — I have to interrupt her stream of thoughts before she drowns in the foolishness she has conjured up herself. I feel her getting lost in her words, and I need to bring her back to reality, if that is even possible.
"First of all," I begin, trying to stay calm to make her understand me, "I talk to Dima. He says he chased after you for three weeks before you even got to your first kiss. Secondly, I never — do you hear me? NEVER — think of you as an easy girl! To me, you are always… so much more than that. You've always been different in my eyes. How can you even think that?"
"Because of our dances and kisses," her words are so vulnerable that I feel them pierce through me.
I realize she isn't just upset — she doesn't believe in my sincerity. For her, dancing and kissing mean more than just physical moments. It is significant for her, and I might not fully grasp that weight.
How can I explain this to her without losing everything? I know it isn't just about the dances and kisses. It is about her freedom, her desire to be herself without looking back at others' expectations. But no matter how hard I try, I still can't completely understand her struggles.
"So what? Yeah, things move fast between us, but that doesn't mean you're a bad girl. You're bad, but in a different way..." I pause for a moment, searching for words that won't break her even more. "I mean, you like to tease people, have fun, sometimes without thinking about the consequences — the parties, the excitement, and all that."
A flicker of surprise crosses her eyes, but then her usual, enigmatic smile appears — the kind that makes it impossible for me to understand what lies behind it.
"It's nice to know you don't think badly of me like others do."
In her eyes, I see an entire world, where I am just a small part. But I try to grasp the meaning behind her words, where there is not just gratitude but a quiet confession. As if she is waiting for me to notice something important in what she has said. And maybe I am starting to understand.
"I get it. You're talking about Ivan, right? The fact that a girl goes to a club and has a drink doesn't mean she's there to please someone. You go to have fun, not to hook up with a guy."
I have already learned to see past her actions to what she is trying to hide. There is nothing shallow in her desires — everything is much more complex. She is someone who isn't afraid to be real, and I like knowing that.
She looks a little thoughtful, and then, with a touch of lightness, as if slipping back into her usual element, she says:
"I have an answer to your question."
"What question?" I hesitate, not immediately understanding what she means. "Oh… You mean the question about what happens next between us?" It finally clicks for me.
Katrin slowly swims closer to me, her movements confident, as if she already knows exactly what she wants. Every motion carries determination and an invisible pull I can't explain. She places her hand on my chest, and that simple touch makes me feel her warmth seep into me, filling the space between us. I haven't expected her touch to be so powerful, so intense, making my heart beat faster and my thoughts scatter.
"I don't want to rush. We haven't known each other that long. Let's just stick to talking, having fun, and kissing, okay? Are you okay with that?"
Her gaze is direct, but there is something more than just a request. She wants to control everything that is happening between us, but I see the vulnerability hidden beneath her resolve, as if she herself isn't entirely sure of her decision.
I feel a tightness in my chest, not from fear, but because her words make me think about the beginning of our unpredictable yet significant steps forward. I understand that I'm not ready for everything she might offer, but at the same time, I want to be honest — with her and with myself.
"I wasn't planning on anything more," I say quietly. "And it's not about you, it's about me. I'm not ready for that. Today was my first kiss, and now going further... It's just not me. I have different principles."
I hope my words resonate with her and aren't taken as rejection. I don't want her to think I'm pushing her away, but I can't lie. My heart is sincere, and I know I'm not ready for something deeper if our feelings aren't genuine. I don't want it to be just about physical pleasure. I want real closeness — one that encompasses passion, yes, but also emotions. And I'm not sure how to explain that in a way that shows her how much more I value her than just her body.
Her eyes stay focused on mine, and I can feel her trying to understand my words. There is no disappointment in her gaze, only attentiveness and... something profound that makes me relax. She is listening, as if trying to understand not only what I'm saying but also what I can't put into words. And in that moment, I realize: she, like me, is searching for something more than just a fleeting moment to forget.
"What kind of principles?" she finally asks, her voice softer now.
"I don't want sex without feelings. I want my first time — and every time after — to be with someone I'm in love with," I say, my voice quiet but steady. There is no judgment or regret in my words. It's just an honest explanation.
I know the first time doesn't have to be some eternal love story, but I don't want to lose that moment without the depth of something real. I want it to mean more.
"I want to make love, if you understand what I mean," I add, my heart pounding at my own honesty.
Katrin is silent for a moment, and I notice how her gaze softens. It's as if she is contemplating something profound, processing everything that has just passed between us. In her silence, I don't sense tension — rather, it seems like she is searching her own thoughts for an answer that can make sense of what we have just shared.
"I understand," she finally whispers.