"What are the plans for tomorrow?" Emotions still churn inside me. My words hang in the air like a thin thread, ready to snap at any moment.
I look at her, searching her eyes for even a glimmer of warmth, but her gaze is distant, as if she is somewhere far away, lost in thoughts I cannot reach.
"Tomorrow, we're going to a club. You and I will lose ourselves in the noise of the music and the haze of alcohol," her voice carries a determined edge, as if she has already mentally escaped there, far from all our problems. Her words sound like a promise of escape, an attempt to drown out everything that torments us. I smile at her, pretending everything is as it used to be. But deep down, I know this is just a temporary reprieve, a way to run from the reality that will eventually catch up to us.
"Sounds like a perfect plan, and I'm all for it," I say, trying to sound convincing.
My gaze falls on the shards of glass scattered across the floor. They glint like fragments of our shattered emotions, reminding me of how I lost control, how anger consumed me. Each shard is a symbol of what was broken, and I feel the weight of guilt settle over me again.
"I'll start cleaning today. I'm sorry about the glass. I was so angry when you went to him. My anger wasn't at you—it was at the thought of what he could've done to you," the words feel heavy as I speak them. My hands tremble as I pick up the broom and dustpan. I want her to understand that my anger wasn't directed at her, but at the situation, at myself, at everything that was happening around us.
Rebel Girl wraps her arms around me from behind, her hands gently encircling my waist. Her touch is warm and calming, as if she is trying to say, "It's okay, I'm here." The tension eases slightly, and I close my eyes, savoring the moment. Her breathing is steady, and I wish this moment could last forever.
"It's fine. I understand you, and I'm not upset. I knew why you were angry, and that it wasn't directed at me," her voice carries a deep weariness. She lets go of me, and I feel her warmth fade, leaving an emptiness behind.
"Let's not talk about him or what happened—or what's going to happen," I say, steering the conversation toward calmer waters. I want us to forget about our problems, even if just for a little while, and simply be together.
"Okay," she agrees readily, and there is a lightness in her voice that has been missing for days. Her smile is faint but genuine, and I feel something warm stir in my chest. "Now come on. I'm hungry, and you still have to clean up after yourself," she adds, heading toward the kitchen.
While Katrin reheats the food, I sweep up the glass shards and throw them away. They remind me how easily something fragile can be destroyed—whether it is a glass or a relationship. A wave of regret rises in my chest, but I hold onto the belief that we can fix things if we stay together.
By the time I finish cleaning, Katrin is already plating the food. The aroma fills the room, and I feel a little lighter. We sit down at the table, and I try to see in her eyes the same Rebel Girl I fell in love with. She smiles, and there is something familiar in that smile—something warm and hopeful.
"Thank you," I say.
She nods, and we begin to eat, savoring the moment of quiet and peace. I know challenges lie ahead, but for now, I just want to be with her, to bask in her presence and the warmth she brings.
"I'll buy you a new mug, I promise!" My words carry a hint of guilt and hope, as if this small gesture could somehow make things better. I look at her, searching for even a trace of warmth in her eyes, but her gaze remains distant, as if she is far away in her thoughts, somewhere I cannot reach.
"Don't bother. It wasn't my favorite," her voice sounds tired, as if she has long accepted that things break and feelings fade. Katrin doesn't even look up, continuing to eat slowly, as if every movement requires effort.
"Next time I decide to break something, I'll make sure to ask you what's your favorite and what's not," I try to joke, hoping that even a hint of humor might melt the ice that is forming between us again. The joke comes out awkward, like trying to patch a crack in the wall with a paper bandage.
"Are you planning to break something again?" she asks, her voice tinged with anxiety. Finally, she looks up at me, and in her eyes, I see fear—not just for the things that could be broken, but for something more fragile, something that could shatter at any moment.
"No, I wasn't planning to. I just wanted to cheer you up with that joke, but I guess it didn't work," the weight of guilt settles on my shoulders again. I want things to be like they used to be, for us to laugh together like before, but now that seems impossible.
"I just… I'm not really in the mood for jokes or laughter today," her voice is so quiet I can barely hear her. There is a sadness in her tone that fills the room. Silence falls between us, heavy and oppressive, just like it did a few days ago. I had hoped it wouldn't return, but here it is again, like an unwelcome guest at the worst possible moment. The silence presses on my ears, growing heavier, like a wall dividing us.
"I'm done eating," Katrin says, pushing her plate away.
"Let's go," I try to take control of the situation, even though I can feel that things aren't going the way I want.
"Where?" she frowns slightly, as if she doesn't want to go anywhere but isn't in the mood to argue either.
"To a café."
"Why? I already ate at home," she sounds slightly irritated, as if she doesn't see the point in this idea.
"We'll go, relax, have some ice cream or cake. Something sweet," I try to smile, but it feels forced. I don't want to sit around all day in this tense energy that hangs in the air. We need fun, we need to bring back the old Rebel Girl who loved to laugh and find joy in the little things.
"Alright. Let's go," she stands up from the table, her voice lacking enthusiasm, but I decide to count it as a small victory. Maybe at the café, we'll find a piece of what we've lost, and the sweetness and laughter will bring back at least a part of what we used to have.
We step outside and walk toward the city center, where the streets are always bustling. The sidewalks are crowded, voices mingling with the sounds of cars and music from nearby cafés. It all feels distant, like background noise that can't touch our little world. Katrin holds my hand tightly, her fingers intertwined with mine, as if she is afraid I might disappear if she lets go. Her touch is warm and reassuring, though I can feel her hand trembling slightly, which makes me squeeze hers tighter in response.
We enter the café, and the cozy atmosphere immediately envelops us. The smell of fresh pastries and coffee mixes with a hint of vanilla, creating a sense of warmth.
"Katrin, sweetheart, what do you want to eat?" I ask playfully, trying to sound light and carefree. She looks at me, and for a moment, a spark of laughter flickers in her eyes. Rebel Girl laughs, and her laughter is as bright and infectious as ever. Her smile makes me want to smile too, as if her joy is a warm ray of sunshine passing through me.
"I want three of those little pastries and two slices of that cake," she points at the display case, giving her order to the waitress.
"Someone's got an appetite today," I tease, carrying her order to the table.
We choose a table by the window. I help her sit down, then take my seat across from her. I watch her, so beautiful, so alive, and I wish this moment could last forever.
"I always eat a lot when I'm in a bad mood. Or drink," she admits, tilting her head slightly.
"Better to eat," I say, choosing the lesser of two evils, trying to keep the tone light. I don't want her to sink back into her thoughts, into her worries.
"Do you want me to get fat?" she raises an eyebrow, looking at me with a hint of challenge.
"Why not? Your cheeks would get even rounder, and they'd be even more fun to kiss," I gently pinch one of her cheeks. My fingers feel the softness of her skin, and I can see her blush slightly under my touch. "You're beautiful in any shape. I'd love you even if you were fat," I confess.
Honestly, she'd look adorable pregnant. I can already picture her glowing, holding a baby in her arms. A part of me involuntarily adds the word "ours."
"How do you know you love me?" Katrin asks suddenly.
"What kind of question is that? I don't know, I just feel it," her question strikes a nerve, and I feel a wave of anxiety rise in my chest.
"It's not a stupid question, and that's not what I mean. Maybe it's just a childish infatuation that'll fade in a few months? Don't you think?" she presses.
Is Rebel Girl trying to push me away again? I look at her, and in her eyes, I see uncertainty, fear that this might all be temporary. I take her hand in mine and squeeze it tightly.
"Katrin, I don't know how to explain it, but I feel like you're mine. You're a part of me. And it's not infatuation—it's something deeper. I can't imagine my life without you," my words are sincere.
I want her to understand that my feelings aren't fleeting infatuation—they are deep and real. She looks at me, doubt flickering in her eyes, but then she smiles—warmly, as always.
"Alright, I'll believe you… for now."
Rebel Girl picks up a piece of cake and takes a bite, her eyes sparkling with playful mischief. I smile back at her, feeling the anxiety slowly fade. We are together again, and that is all that matters.
"No matter what you say, it doesn't change how I feel. I've already told you that," something inside me twinges. Her words strike a nerve, and a wave of unease rises in my chest. I look at her, trying to figure out what she wants to hear, what she expects from me.
"I'm not trying to talk you out of anything. But have you ever thought that you might be confusing your feelings?" Her voice is serious, and she looks at me with a hint of uncertainty, as if she's afraid I might be mistaken. "Have you ever been in love before me?"
"Not like this. I liked girls at my boarding school, but nothing ever happened because I never confessed my feelings to any of them. Though I did kiss one of them," I admit, feeling my cheeks flush slightly. I don't want to bring it up, but she has a way of making me talk.
"Who did you kiss before me?" she asks, her voice tinged with a hint of jealousy. Is she really jealous of some little girl from my past? I look at her, trying to figure out if she's joking or if she genuinely feels something.
"Are you jealous?"
"Who said that?" Katrin turns her face away innocently, but I can see her cheeks turning pink. She's trying to hide her emotions, but she isn't doing a very good job.
"It's written all over your face," I tease lightly.
"No, it's not. So, what happened with that girl?" Her voice drips with such disdain that if that little girl were here, Katrin probably would've pulled her hair out.
"She was my friend. I liked her, though at the time, I also liked another girl," I begin, feeling my words come out a bit clumsily. I don't want to go into detail, but she has a way of making me spill everything.
"You're quite the ladies' man, huh? Couldn't decide between the two?" Katrin laughs, her laughter as bright and infectious as ever.
"Well, they were both pretty, and I couldn't choose. But you, of course, are more beautiful than both of them combined!" I want her to know that, to me, she will always be the most beautiful.
"Smooth talker! Alright, go on."
"She saw one of the teachers kiss and decided to try it herself. We stood there and pressed our lips together. But neither of us liked it, and it made me lose interest in her. It was a childish kiss—just lips pressed together, that's all," by the end of the story, my cheeks are burning.
"Did you kiss the other girl too?"
"No, that was the end of my romantic adventures. Nothing else happened with anyone."
"Good. Alright, let's go home. We've got a big day tomorrow, so we need to get some sleep," Rebel Girl says, standing up from the table, clearly satisfied.
We leave the café, and she takes my hand again. Her touch is warm and reassuring, and I feel a wave of warmth rise in my chest. We walk home, enjoying the quiet and peace around us. I know challenges lie ahead, but for now, I just want to be with her, savoring her presence.