I don't know the reasons why she is acting this way. Not the slightest clue, not a hint. It feels as if everything we have built, everything we have been through, is fake. As if she has simply decided to perform a play with a final scene where I am the audience, not an actor. But I know: she can't just stop loving me so easily. I feel it in every nerve. She is mine. She always is mine. My Rebel.
Katrin knows this. And I know she knows. Everything happening feels... unnatural somehow. Like she is trying to force herself to prove something. Not to me — to herself. As if she is fighting something inside. But what?
I want to give her time. Just wait. Let her cool down. Let her rethink everything. I keep telling myself that I just need to be near, not to lose control, not to rush in recklessly. I'm a man. I can handle it. We'll discuss everything tomorrow.
But tomorrow — she doesn't come to the university. I wait for her like a fool. Watch the door every five minutes like a loyal dog who knows the owner will walk in any moment. I think she is just late. She always is late — a classic. She would come, hair messy, eyes sparkling, breath uneven, and say from the doorway, "Max, you won't believe what happened!"
But she doesn't come. And the next day neither. Exams are just around the corner. She is a straight-A student, damn it, even if she loves skipping classes. She can't just ignore everything like that. I wait. Make excuses. Try to find logic where there is none.
But time passes. And when exam day comes, I sit all day, barely breathing, as if her coming depends on it. But she doesn't show up. I think my girl will at least come after the exams, but silence. She seems to have disappeared from my world forever.
Inside me, a cold fear grows. Something heavy, sticky, wrapping around me. Not just worry — paralyzing terror. As if I am standing on the edge of a cliff, and behind me is emptiness.
I can't take it anymore. I approach the professor. I probably look pitiful. Dim, confused, like a boy left without explanation.
"Excuse me, do you know where Katrin is? Why isn't she taking the exams?"
The man looks at me a little strangely. Almost pityingly.
"You'd better talk to the rector. I'm not allowed to talk about it."
I go pale. The rector? That means it is serious. Not just a quarrel. Not a grudge. Not emotions. Something happens. Something important. Possibly irreversible.
I walk to the office like in a fog. Scenes flash before my eyes: her laughter, how she squints at the light, how she hugs me from behind, how she whispers quietly, "I'm not going anywhere..." And then — her cold voice when she pushes me away. Those words I don't believe.
What has my beloved come up with this time? With hidden anxiety, I knock on the door. An image flashes in my mind — at the beginning of the school year, she had opened this door for me herself. I come with a complaint. About her. Funny, right? But inside me, a storm rages then — resentment, anger, confusion. And she — calm, a little mocking. And now, standing at that same door, I feel the past and present merge in one moment.
What now? What does she throw at me this time?
My heart starts pounding — dull and anxious, as if it guesses that something unexpected awaits me behind this door again.
"Excuse me, may I come in?"
"Yes, come in. How can I help?" The man lifts his eyes to me, calm but cautious. There is neither irritation nor warmth in his tone — only business politeness, behind which seems to hide something else.
"I wanted to ask you... about Katrin. She didn't show up for the exam. That's not like her..." I feel a tight knot of anxiety inside.
He looks at me for a long time. His gaze is heavy, as if the words refuse to come out. Several seconds of silence stretch into eternity. There is no surprise or sympathy in his eyes — only caution.
"You're her boyfriend, right? I thought you knew about this."
My heart twitches — sharply, painfully. As if someone punched me in the chest from the inside.
"What should I know?" My voice becomes quieter, almost a whisper. My fingers clench into a fist convulsively.
"She took her documents and left our institute."
Silence crashes down like thunder. The world freezes. The air becomes thick, as if there is suddenly no air to breathe.
"What?" My breath breaks from my lips. "When? How did this happen?"
"The last time she was in our classes. Right after them, she came in and wrote a statement. Without explanation."
His words strike my consciousness like sharp blades. I can't believe it. Just can't. My head spins, and my chest feels empty. So empty it feels like my heart is ripped out.
I leave the office, and it feels like the floor disappears beneath me — not a step, but a fall into the void. Everything around loses its shape, as if I fall out of reality itself. The world shatters into pieces: sounds become muffled, as if through cotton, as if someone turned off the volume of life. The walls press too close, squeezing my chest, squeezing my heart with an icy hand. The air becomes thick like syrup, hard to breathe. I stagger like after a strong blow. Panic grows in my chest, piercing my body more and more every second. I want to stop, close my eyes, disappear. The world ceases to be safe — it becomes foreign, hostile, not mine.
Katrin is gone. Just gone. Without words. Without goodbye. Without explanation. Without me. And it isn't just a run-away. It is disappearance. As if she is cut out of my life with a rough blade, not leaving even a shadow. As if every trace of her existence is erased — by the fingers of fate that don't care about pain. Forever.
I stand in the corridor, staring at the window, behind which life goes on — cars pass, people hurry, and the sun shines brazenly, as if nothing happened. But inside me everything screams. A wordless, deaf, desperate scream tears from within, devouring the remnants of my mind. I don't understand. Why? What did I do? We aren't just a couple. We are everything to each other.
Or am I wrong? If she wants to leave — she could've just said so. Calmly. Harshly. Painfully, but honestly.
Not this — deception, a play, strangers' hands before my eyes.
Katrin is different. I know her. Not just know — feel her down to the last molecule. I know how her heart beats when she presses against me at night. I feel how she looks at me as if I am her home. I see how her lashes tremble when she can't lie. She is real. Real to the point of pain. Mine. And then — she seems like an empty shell. As if she has been swapped. As if her soul is pulled out, leaving a body that no longer looks at me, breathes me, recognizes me.
And I swear — I will find her. I will learn what happens. And I will take her back.
If she thinks love can just be erased — she doesn't know me well. Love doesn't leave quietly. It screams. Breaks. Burns. And I will burn for her, if I have to.
I can't sit idle anymore. Every minute without her turns into torture. As if the air becomes heavier, my chest — a vice, and my thoughts... they tear me apart inside. I am simply going crazy. She is nowhere. Neither at the institute, nor online, nor in this world, nor in another. She disappears as if torn out by the roots and taken into the unknown.
And I — left behind. Confused. Lost. Empty. Broken. At some point, I just throw my textbooks down, rush out of the building, and without thinking, run to her. The home where we once laughed together. Where I stay on her couch, then in our bed. Where she steals my t-shirts, and I — her breath. Where we... are happy. I run there as if it is my last chance. My last door. My last breath.
Reaching her apartment, I pound on the door like a madman. As if her life depends on the knocking. Or mine. My knuckles are scratched, but I don't feel the pain — it is already inside. Spreading through veins, bones, every cell.
If only she opens. If only she is there. If only she hasn't disappeared. Not completely.
"Katrin, my love... please, open..." My voice trembles like a little boy who lost his mother in the crowd.
I don't recognize myself. I, Max, strong, confident, unshakable — stand with a broken voice, tear-filled eyes, banging on her door, begging as if it is the last chance to save her.
"My dear... just talk to me. Tell me what's going on... I love you! Like no one else, you know that!" The words break out like bullets — desperate, helpless, hurting only me.
"Why are you doing this to me, Rebel?"
Silence. Deaf. Dead. Hopeless.
"You're my Rebel... my girl... For you, I am ready to give everything. Just everything! Love, soul, life. I'm ready to give my life for you just so you'll be happy. Open up, please!" — my voice breaks, hoarse, turning into a scream, a plea, a moan.
"Let's talk, my love!"
I scream. I plead. I fall to my knees, press my forehead to the cold door, whisper her name like a prayer, like a spell, like the only truth that still makes sense.
"Please don't leave me like this, I love you! You're the most precious thing in my world, I beg you!"
Nothing. No rustle, no sigh, not even the reflection of her breath on the other side. As if she had died. As if this world had decided to erase her from my life, wiping away not only her face but all traces.
The neighbors peek out from their doors. At first with worry, then with irritation. One calls security. They drag me out by the hands — roughly, without words, like a stray dog, like a madman, like someone unwanted. I don't resist. I just step out, staggering, as if I have just been run over.
It is cold outside. Snow falls fine and prickly, like needles, piercing the skin. And I feel neither cold, nor wind, nor pain. Only emptiness. It settles inside like a hole in my chest and grows with every second, swallowing the last remnants of warmth.
"The subscriber is temporarily unavailable…"
I try calling. Again and again. Dozens, hundreds of times. My fingers tremble but keep pressing the same numbers as if that could change anything.
"This number is not in service…"
As if she hasn't just disappeared.
As if she had never existed.
As if she were a dream — too vivid to be a fantasy, and too fragile to be real.
And with her, I begin to vanish too. My tastes. My habits. My life. My "self." Everything is tied to her. To her laughter, to her fingers, to her whims. To the way she wrinkles her nose when angry, and how she whispers "silly" when I worry too much. Without her, everything loses color. Meaning. Shapes blur, the world dissolves before my eyes.
I know where to look for any clue. Anything at all. The club. The very one she sometimes appears at — just to feel free. I don't care. I go there like to a hunt. My eyes burn. Everything inside burns. My heart pounds in my chest like a beast trapped in a cage, about to explode. I don't know what I'll find. But I know — if there is even the slightest chance… I'll bite into it with my teeth. To the blood. To the last.
The club is as always — loud, drunk, stupid. The stench of alcohol, sweat, and cheap perfume stings my nose. The music roars so loud it feels like my skull will burst. Bodies on the dance floor move in rhythm as if it is their last chance at life. But I am already dead. Slowly. Painfully. Without chances.
Through the flickering silhouettes, through smoke and light, I notice familiar faces. Those she once laughed with. Only she is gone. Neither her nor Ivan. Empty. But Vlad is there. He sits at the bar, laughing, drinking whiskey, and his carelessness burns my eyes like acid. As if nothing has happened. As if it isn't his fault. As if his "help" is not a setup, not betrayal, but just an episode. And I am a suffering spectator in a play where no one even thinks to ask my consent.
I don't think. Don't even blink. I walk up to him — without words, without warning. Everything inside tightens into a point, and that point becomes my fist. A punch. A dull crack. His head jerks back like in slow motion. Laughter freezes. His eyes fill with shock, pain, fear. He opens his mouth — whether to say something or to cough — but I have already grabbed him.
I seize his collar. Drag him out like trash. His crew — those who are used to hiding behind others' backs — are silent. Not one stands up. Not a peep. Cowards. Pathetic, glossy dolls.
Outside, I throw him into a snowdrift. Hard. Without mercy. Like a dirty rag, a traitor, a man who destroyed everything.
Now I am going to get the whole truth from him.
"Where is she?!" I yell, fire bursting in my voice, notes of madness breaking through. "Where, Vlad?!"
He tries to get up, spits out snow, his face already covered with blood and abrasions. The same look — panic, fear, like a wounded beast.
"I… I don't know… I don't…" he stammers, raising his hands as if those empty gestures could stop me.
I grab him again, squeeze until he groans. He is in pain, but that doesn't stop me.
"Wrong answer!" I growl, and with that phrase, kick him in the stomach. He curls up, coughs, but I don't let go.
"Again, Vlad. Where. Is. She?"
He whispers, barely breathing, his voice cracking with pain, but apparently, he has no choice.
"Please… don't hit me. I really don't know where your girl is. She… she called me herself then. Asked me to help break up with you. Just… said she couldn't tell why. Not even me. I didn't know it would be like this…"
My hands loosen, and my legs feel like they don't touch the ground. Everything in my head flips as if icy water is poured directly into my heart. He is telling the truth. There is no lie in his voice — only fear and regret. And suddenly I realize: she planned everything. She cut me off from herself. And not just me — everyone. I am nothing. I am an empty man in her life.
What are you hiding, Katrin? What are you protecting me from? Why did you leave like this? Without a trace.
"Then another question. Who could know the answer?" My voice no longer trembles, no longer begs. It becomes icy, like a blade drawn at midnight.
"Guy, I… I really don't know." Vlad slides away from me like a wounded beast, clutching his stomach, covered in snow, drops of sweat, broken but alive. I look down at him like a condemned man.
But suddenly his eyes freeze. He remembers something.
"Grandpa Vi. He might know. He knows everything. He was always with Katrin."
"Do you have his number?"
He shakes his head like a child caught in a trap.
"No. But today is the race. If you're lucky — you'll find someone from them there. Or… or the answer to your question."
I feel my body tense. I have to find her. I have to understand what happened.
"You'll take me there."
"You're serious? Like I have nothing to do? I'm already feeling bad because of you!"
I step forward, and his eyes widen with fear. One more step — and he recoils, holding his hands up.
"It's going to get worse now—" I start advancing on him, frightening him.
"Okay-okay! Fine. Call a taxi, I'll tell you the address, and we'll go."
My eyes don't leave him. His words mean nothing. I just look at him, and in my head is only one thing: to find her.
And I know that at this moment, nothing else matters. I can't stop anymore. Now everything depends on what I'll find at the race. All that is left — to tear answers out of this world.