"Have you ever hit another girl before?" My voice is soft, but inside, I'm still reeling from what happened at the club. I'm trying to keep myself together, but my thoughts are tangled, and a slow, creeping anxiety is tightening its grip on me.
"Yes."
She sits on the edge of the couch, her hands resting on her knees, her gaze fixed on the floor. Her fingers tremble—she clenches and unclenches her fists, as though trying to cope with the tension inside her. The room is silent, the faint light of the lamp casting shadows across her face, highlighting the pallor of her skin and the slight quiver of her lips.
"Do you want to talk about it?" I move a little closer to her, careful not to invade her personal space but letting her know I'm there to listen. I want to understand her, to be there for her, but I'm afraid of saying something that might hurt her even more. Katrin sighs, her fingers tightening slightly on the hem of her dress.
"It happened once in school and twice at the club…" She hesitates, but I don't rush her, giving her time to gather her thoughts. Her eyes are filled with pain, and I can see her struggling with herself, trying to find the words. There's a vulnerability in her gaze that she usually keeps carefully hidden.
"In school, there was this bully. We were fourteen. She found out my parents had divorced and started picking on me. I put up with it for as long as I could, but one day she crossed the line. She said horrible things about my mom… and I snapped. I started a fight with her."
I quickly notice her eyes filling with tears, but Katrin wipes them away just as fast, unwilling to show weakness. Her lips tremble, and her voice carries a mix of bitterness and anger. In that moment, my heart aches for her. I want to hold her, to protect her from anyone who has ever hurt her, but I know—right now, she just needs to talk.
"You did the right thing. She had no right to say anything about your parents. Did anything happen to you after that?"
Katrin nods, her lips still trembling.
"They called my grandma to the school. My mom wasn't living with us by then. I got scolded, but Grandma… she praised me. She said I acted like a real woman, someone who protects her family."
I cover her hand with mine and gently run my fingers over it, trying to offer some warmth and support. Her skin is cold but gradually warms under my touch.
"You're strong, and I'm proud of you. But remember, you're not alone. I'll always be here to protect you if you need it."
Katrin gives a faint smile, her eyes glistening with tears, but there's gratitude in them. She squeezes my hand in return, and I feel a sense of trust and closeness growing between us. In that moment, I realize I'm ready to be her anchor, no matter what.
"The first fight at the club happened because some girl didn't like the way I glanced at her idiot boyfriend," she says, tilting her chin up slightly, as though reliving the moment, her eyes sparkling as if she's back in that scene. "I won, by the way, and even slapped the guy for good measure, telling him he wasn't my type in a million years."
I can't help but smile, feeling her story ease the tension in the room.
"Wow, you're quite the fighter," I say, giving her a playful wink.
I'm amused by how calmly she recounts it, as though it's just another day. Her confidence and determination impress me, and I can't help but feel proud of her. Katrin smirks, her eyes shining as though she, too, enjoys the memory.
"I don't like fighting, but I'm not about to let anyone walk all over me," she says, leaning slightly toward me as if sharing a secret, and adds, "But you know, sometimes it's better to show once that you're not a doormat than to spend the whole night listening to someone else's nonsense."
I laugh, but then I ask, trying to keep the tone light:
"What about the second time?"
"That was in the summer. I was kissing this guy, and suddenly his ex showed up. They started arguing, and it turned into a fight. It ended with them kissing and walking away together. There was no winner in that fight. It was more like… a performance. He held her and told her how bad I was and how good she was, and that she was the only one he needed."
"You really have a knack for these situations," I say, and Katrin smirks, though there's a hint of sadness in her eyes.
"Yeah, lucky me. Like winning the lottery, except the prizes are the kind you'd rather not have," she jokes with a sigh, but I can tell the memory still leaves a bitter aftertaste.
Her fingers tighten slightly on the edge of the sheet, and I notice how hard she's trying to hold herself together despite the pain inside. I place my hand on her shoulder, hoping to convey my support.
"Well, at least now you know guys like that aren't worth your time. You deserve so much more."
"Thank you," she says, her hand resting on top of mine. I feel a deeper closeness growing between us. "What do you think of me now?"
"That I was wrong about you."
Her head drops, as though weighed down by an invisible burden. Her shoulders hunch, and she seems so fragile, as if she might shatter into a thousand pieces at any moment. I watch her fingers clench into fists, trying to hold herself together, but despair has already wrapped around her like a dark cloud. Katrin is ready to disappear, to hide from the world, from me, from this pain. But I won't let her.
My hands reach for her instinctively, and I gently lift her face, feeling her skin tremble under my touch. My lips brush against hers softly, almost reverently. Her split lip, slightly swollen, is a reminder of what she's been through. I feel her shudder, but she doesn't pull away. Her breath mingles with mine, and in that moment, the world around us fades—it's just us, two people trying to find solace in each other.
"I was wrong to think badly of you. I do know you. I thought fighting was normal for you, that you were okay with it. But now I realize I was wrong. You don't like it—unless someone pushes you too far."
"Thank you. I'm glad you think that, because it's true," she says, smiling. And that smile, despite her bruised lip, is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. It holds all her strength, all her vulnerability, and it makes her even more radiant.
We go to bed, but morning comes earlier than usual. When we wake up, we have breakfast together, and everything feels so simple, so natural, as though we've always lived this way. We sit side by side, watching TV, and I can feel something warm and real growing between us. Every laugh, every glance from her fills me with a feeling I can't put into words. It's more than attachment. It's something deeper, something that makes me want to be by her side forever.
"Today's Monday, which means your wish will expire by Friday."
We both know it's the end of something important, but also the beginning of something new.
"Yeah, it's sad. But on the other hand, I'll finally find out what your wish is," she says, looking at me, and I can see her trying to guess what I have in mind.
"I think I'll surprise you, my little Rebel," I smile, feeling the nickname I've given her sound warm and affectionate. She laughs, and the sound fills the room with light.
"Have you already decided what you want? No, I'm not trying to pry. That's not what I'm asking. I'm just curious… do you know what you're going to wish for, or are you still figuring it out?"
"I know. I came up with it back when I dreamed of winning the Olympics, and it hasn't changed since then," I say confidently. I've kept this secret for so long that it's become a part of me. I'm talking about a dream that's taken root in my soul, something bigger than just a goal.
"Wow, now you've really intrigued me!"
"Well, my intrigued one, what are your plans for this week?" My question is playful, as I can't predict her answer but am eager to hear it nonetheless.
"A party."
"What kind of party?" I barely hold back a smile, imagining her explaining, knowing full well her mysterious grin will only lead to more questions.
"A house party."
"So we're going to someone's house?" My gaze searches for clarity, but Katrin is evasive again, and I can almost feel her teasing retreat.
"No, we're throwing the party."
But as soon as the words leave her mouth, I know the moment has come—she's taking control again.
"We? You're inviting strangers here? No!"
My outrage is genuine. My eyes widen in disbelief, and my voice rises slightly with anxiety. I can't believe she would suggest something so unexpected. I think she understands how unbearable this would be for me.
"It's the first time in a long time you've objected to something I want. What's wrong with it?" she asks, waiting for an explanation. Her eyes hold a mix of hurt and curiosity. I notice her fingers nervously fidgeting with the edge of the pillow, betraying her inner tension.
"They'll wreck the place," I say bluntly, not holding back my concerns.
The thought of strangers invading our space fills me with resistance. I don't want our sanctuary to turn into a noisy, chaotic mess. My hands clench into fists, and tension builds in my shoulders. I know she won't understand, but I need to voice my fears.
"Not our place. My place. And since it's my house and my wish, I get to decide," she says firmly, putting an end to the discussion. Her voice carries a resolve that makes it clear she isn't backing down. Her eyes flash, and I see that stubborn spark in them—the one that always drives her to see things through, even when it isn't wise.
I sigh, feeling the tension between us grow. The air in the room thickens, heavy with unspoken words.
"And how many people are we talking about?" I ask, trying to keep my tone calm, though irritation is already bubbling inside me. My fingers tap nervously on the table, betraying my unease.
"Besides us, five people," she says with a smile that tells me she knows she's taking a risk but can't stop herself.
"Five? And who are they? More of your so-called friends?" I'm annoyed by her habit of calling people she barely knows "friends."
My words come out sharper than I intend, and I see her face twist briefly with hurt. But she quickly composes herself.
"Yes and no. The truth is, I don't have friends—just acquaintances. Calling them friends doesn't mean we know each other well," she admits. Katrin always tries to appear strong, but in that moment, I see her vulnerability. Her voice wavers, and she looks down, as if embarrassed by her own words. I feel sorry for her, but I can't just agree to her plan.
"I see. And when is this shindig happening?"
"Wednesday. We'll prepare everything tomorrow. Clean the house, buy alcohol, and that's it," she says, as though it's the simplest plan in the world.
But I know there's more to it than she's letting on. Katrin is always a master of improvisation, but sometimes her ideas go too far. She knows I don't approve of her plan, but it seems to only fuel her determination.
"I have a bad feeling about your 'not-friends,'" I say.
I don't want things to go sideways, but it seems Katrin has already made up her mind, and there's no stopping her.