Today is Monday—a day that usually drags in boredom and fatigue, but not today. Today, it's filled with light, warmth, and a kind of magic, as if the world has softened, brightened, turned kinder. Katrin and I go to classes, but it isn't just lectures—it's our little adventure, where every glance, every touch speaks louder than words.
The energy between us makes me feel like I could fly. My heart hammers wildly in my chest, as if trying to break free and carry me high into the sky, where there are no worries, no fears—just her and this endless thrill. Like a lovesick fool, I keep catching her eye and can't stop grinning—stupidly, widely, impossibly happy. But I know I'm not alone in this madness. Katrin glows just as brightly. Her eyes sparkle, her lips keep curling into that funny, familiar expression when joy just won't stay contained.
We kiss between classes, and every time her lips meet mine, time seems to freeze. I want to stretch those seconds into eternity, but the bell for the next lecture always yanks us back to reality. Reluctantly, we pull apart, her fingers lingering on my shirt for one last second, as if refusing to let go, while I—fighting off the sweet dizziness—whisper, "See you soon."
Today, everything is different. Last Monday, I had to gently but firmly keep her hand in mine because she'd shyly try to slip away. Now, Katrin laces her fingers through mine and squeezes tight, as if afraid I'll vanish. She walks beside me proudly, a soft smile on her lips, and I feel like the whole world can see how beautiful she is. How… mine.
She shines. So brightly that the air around us seems charged with her energy. She doesn't want to let me go for a second—not even for Dima. Only when she steps away briefly does my old roommate slide into her seat, curiosity written all over his face.
"You two are practically glowing today. Something happen?" His voice wavers between envy and genuine interest. His gaze scans my face like an X-ray, and I know—he senses it. The shift. That faint, almost imperceptible but very real radiance inside me.
I freeze for a second. Yesterday's memories flash before me—vivid, warm, still fresh. Her laughter, bright and melodic, like crystal chimes. Her whisper, barely audible but seeping under my skin. Her fingers, trembling slightly, as if afraid to touch yet unable to stop. Her skin, warm as if holding sunlight within. Her eyes, a mix of tenderness, shyness, and something else—something I couldn't quite decipher but already loved with my whole soul.
"Yeah," I answer dreamily, barely holding back a smile. Warmth floods me—not just from the memories, but from the sheer fact that it all happened. That it wasn't a dream, a fantasy, an illusion. She's here. Really here.
"And?" He leans in, as if proximity could extract more than I'm willing to give.
"And what?" I play dumb, though I know exactly what he's asking. His eyes gleam with impatience, like a kid promised a gift but left guessing what's inside.
"Come on, what happened?" Dima presses, envy creeping into his voice despite his attempt at casual curiosity.
I frown. This is ours. Only ours. Not his, not anyone else's. Everything about that night was woven from threads of trust, emotion, and quiet awe. To share it would be to cheapen it, to turn it into just another story—and it's not.
"That's between us," I say firmly, meeting his gaze. My tone is calm, not aggressive, but edged with a certainty that's hard to shake.
I don't want anyone intruding on those sacred moments, as if an outsider's gaze could taint them. Yeah, Dima and I are friends, but that doesn't give him the right to dig into the most private corners of my heart. He never told me everything either—just that he used to chase after Katrin, that he liked her, but left out the details. And I never held it against him. So why should I hand him the most precious thing I have?
Besides, the thought of Katrin sharing us with anyone stirs a sharp jealousy in me. Even if it's her friends—no, I don't want it discussed. Announcing we're together is one thing. Putting this on display? That stays between us.
"Fine, keep your secrets," Dima huffs, his voice tinged with hurt. "But when she dumps you, don't come crying to me."
His words land like a challenge, and a chill runs down my spine. Like an icy wind slipping under my skin, making my chest tighten with unease.
And of course, Katrin hears it.
When she returns, her eyes are dark, guarded. The softness I've grown used to is gone—replaced by a sharp edge of suspicion and tension. Her shoulders stiffen slightly, her lips press into a thin line, as if holding back words. The air between us grows thick, almost suffocating, like the calm before a storm. It's hard to breathe—from guilt, fear… or maybe the inevitability of what's coming.
Dima stands up abruptly, his movements sharp, as if he's trying to sever invisible bonds tying him to this place, to us. His face, usually so open, is now closed—like a book snapped shut, its pages forever unread. He doesn't even glance my way—just turns and strides off, his footsteps echoing down the hallway, merging with the distant voices of students.
"What did he mean by that?" she asks quietly, and there's a faint tremor in her voice.
The world around us seems to freeze.
"What was that? Did you tell him something? About us…?" Katrin's voice wavers, and real fear flashes in her eyes.
She squeezes my hand so tightly her nails dig into my skin, but I barely notice. All of me is focused on her gaze—wide, anxious, full of vulnerability. She's afraid. Afraid our secret, our most intimate truth, has become fodder for someone else's curiosity.
I shake my head immediately, feeling warm relief flood my chest at being able to reassure her.
"No. It's something else. He's upset because I wouldn't tell him why we've been so happy today."
Her body relaxes instantly, as if someone cuts the invisible strings holding her tense. She leans closer, her fingers curling softly around my elbow, then—a light, almost weightless kiss. Her lips brush mine for just a second, but it's enough to make my heart pound wildly again.
"Thank you for not telling him."
Her voice carries such genuine gratitude that I want to pull her into my arms and never let go.
"I wasn't going to. It's private, and some things aren't meant to be shared," I whisper, touching her cheek. "There's nothing shameful in what we do—all adults do it. But… I don't want others to know. To me, it's sacred. Something that should stay just between us."
Rebel Girl smiles, and her eyes reflect perfect understanding.
"I completely agree."
Her head drops onto my shoulder, and we just stand there, silent, savoring this moment of peace. Today, there's no anxiety, no doubt—only lightness and certainty that everything is as it should be.
When classes end, we head home. Tonight, another beautiful date awaits us—just as warm and cozy as everything has been lately.
I walk to the closet and start sorting through Katrin's clothes. Her wardrobe has changed a lot over the past two weeks—it used to be all black, gray, navy… Now there are pastels, bright accents, even a few pieces I gifted her myself. I love how she's changing.
And it's not just the clothes.
Katrin still loves mischief—she might suddenly pinch my side, hide my mug, or break into a silly dance in the middle of the room, laughing so contagiously I forget everything else. There's still that childlike playfulness in her actions, but now there's something more beneath it—a tenderness she doesn't always let show.
But there's a new depth to her, too. She's calmer, as if a fragile but steady balance has settled inside her. More confident—in herself, in us, in the future. She doesn't explode over little things anymore, doesn't let emotions control her like before. There's a strength in her now, the kind that comes after storms—mature, quiet, but no less powerful.
And I'm changing with her.
I used to doubt every step, replay awkward words in my head, agonize over every tiny mistake. I thought I had to be perfect to deserve love. But now… Now I feel different. More free. More alive.
Like someone loosened a tight knot around my throat, and I can finally breathe fully. I'm allowing myself to be me—not perfect, not flawless, but real. And maybe that's our magic: we're growing together, slowly, messily, but never letting go.
Finding what I am looking for, I carefully lay the clothes on the bed and leave the room.
Katrin stands by the window, wrapped in an oversized sweater, a coffee cup in her hands. Outside, the first snow falls—light, almost weightless, swirling hesitantly, melting the instant it touches the ground. The world holds its breath, draped in a crystalline silence where everything feels a little more magical.
"Look…" Katrin whispers, not tearing her gaze from the street. There's tenderness in her voice, as if the snow is touching something deep inside her, too.
I walk over and wrap my arms around her from behind, slow, as if afraid to break the fragile spell of the moment. I rest my chin on her shoulder, feeling the warmth of her body through the sweater. She smells like coffee, vanilla, and something unmistakably her—like comfort, home, safety.
"Beautiful," I agree, though I'm not looking at the snow but at her reflection in the glass. Her eyes hold a calm I could drown in, and just a hint of sadness, faint as a cloud's shadow on a clear sky.
The weather grows colder every day. Soon, we'll need thick coats, hats, gloves… But there's a charm to it.
Because Katrin in winter clothes is unbearably cute—her nose pink, her hair tangled in her scarf, snowflakes mirrored in her eyes.
Because I can take her hands in mine and warm them with my breath as we walk down snow-dusted streets.
Because when it's cold outside, we press closer, sharing warmth, saying without words: I'm here. I'm yours.
And that doesn't just make winter warm. It makes it ours.
"I'm ready."
My hands slide around her waist, as if memorizing every curve. My lips touch her temple—gentle, reverent—and I breathe in her scent: sweet vanilla, with something exotic lingering beneath, like the whisper of distant lands.
Rebel Girl presses herself against me in response—quietly, firmly—and in this moment, there's not a shadow of doubt between us, not the slightest gap. Only warmth. Only trust. Only this strange, aching feeling that steals my breath and makes me want to freeze time so it lasts forever.
"Me too. So, what's the plan?" Her voice is playful, but deeper in her eyes lurks something more: a spark of curiosity, the fluttering wings of excitement, and a silent question—what happens next?
I grin—wide, a little daring—feeling goosebumps race down my spine from anticipation, as if the air around us is charged with electricity.
"Right now, you're going to the bedroom and putting on what I laid out on the bed. Then you'll come back—and I'll tell you what I've got planned."
Katrin holds my gaze for a second, studying my face as if making sure she can trust me completely. But this time, she doesn't argue. Doesn't tease. Doesn't demand explanations. Just nods—slowly, almost ceremoniously—and disappears behind the door.
Like a wild kitten finally learning to trust.
My kitten. My fragile, fearless, unpredictable Katrin.
Meanwhile, I quickly change into fitted black trousers and a red shirt—the one we once danced the tango in. The fabric slides over my skin, reminding me of that evening, of her hot breath on my neck, of how her body mirrored my every move…
"I'm back. Now explain, because I'm burning with curiosity!" Her voice rings out from behind me, light and breathless.
I turn around—and freeze.