After the meeting with grandfather Vi, Katrin starts behaving strangely. Although, to be honest, it begins even earlier — a couple of days before that. At first, it is little things. Her gaze becomes distant, as if she is looking right through me. She laughs less often. She withdraws into herself more frequently, as if something gnaws at her inside, as if she is fighting something I can't see.
I try not to pay much attention, blaming it on fatigue, stress, even the change in weather, but somewhere inside, a growing sense of unease creeps up on me. It comes quietly, like the shadow of a passing cloud. Everything still seems bright, but something is off. Something is wrong.
The recent events throw both of us off balance. Especially the appearance of my mother. I don't want her back in my life. Not because I'm angry — I have long forgiven her, if I'm even truly capable of being angry with her. I just… don't want to go back to the place I painfully climbed out of.
For the first time, I am able to say at least a little of what I have always kept hidden behind silence. All the pain, disappointment, emptiness she has left inside me since childhood. Before, I held it all in, swallowed the resentment, pretended everything was fine — because I was afraid of losing even the little I had. But now… now I have Katrin. My person. My protection. My family, even if unofficial for now. And suddenly I realize: I no longer want to cling to the cold shards of something that was never real. I no longer need a love that never existed. Because I already have a real one.
The one who warms me with her gaze.
The one who kisses my temple and makes everything inside fall into place.
The one who frowns when I eat too little, and smiles when I quietly touch her fingers.
Sometimes I wonder — how did it even happen that she is with me? With me, with my burdens, with my pale shadow of the past, with my unloved inner child who still sometimes seeks approval. But she is there. And I want to be the one she wants to stay with. Not to hold her back — no. I don't want to keep her by force, with reproaches, or obligation. I want to be her choice. Every day. And that's why images of the future are born in my head more and more often. Our future. With her.
I imagine us finishing school. How we would build something of our own. How she walks down the street — still stubborn, independent, in jeans and with a daring look. How she rushes off to work in the morning — getting ready at the last moment, as usual. And still remains the most beautiful. I don't need her to become a housewife. I want her to live the way she wants. I'm not afraid to take on more — if she decides she wants to work, create, build a career — I'll find a way to support her. I don't want to repeat my father's mistakes. I don't want her to ever look at me with the eyes of a tired, broken woman whose dreams were taken away for the family. Family should be a place of strength, not a prison.
Sometimes I imagine us with a child. Small. So… unpredictable. From her — stubbornness and eyes. From me — gentleness and silence. Katrin and I make love often. Out of love, passion, habit — all mixed together, and sometimes it seems like our bodies know each other better than we do ourselves. And, of course, it's not always protected. I know what could happen. And… I'm not afraid. I'm ready. If tomorrow she says she's pregnant, I won't run away. I won't panic. I'll say: "Okay. I'm with you." And I'll switch to evening classes. And I'll find a job. And I'll come home tired but happy. Because at home there will be her — my girl, my Rebel, and the baby in her arms. I don't even know what could be more beautiful than this picture.
But… I also know it's not my choice. It's ours. And most importantly — hers. I don't know if she wants children, if she wants them now. And I don't know if she's ready. But I know one thing for sure — if she wants to be a mom, she will be the best. Because she has a heart. A big, sensitive, sometimes closed heart, but so strong. And even if someday she decides motherhood is not for her, I'll still be there. Because her choice is always my choice. Because I don't love a hypothetical "wife and mother of my children," but her — just as she is. And as she will become.
But lately, my girlfriend acts strangely in her usual behavior. On dates, and even at home, she is quiet. Only constantly pressing close to me and sitting silently like that. And now, on the date, she quietly sits next to me, holding my hand and looking at the stars.
"You are my star, without whom my world is dark. You alone light up everything around with your presence. Before you, my world was so dull and uninteresting, and now it plays with all the colors for me."
Already lying on the floor in the panoramic room, I decide to tease her a bit, but she is clearly more interested in the film. Pulling her away from it, I take Katrin to the corner of the room, where I kiss my star on the lips. For some reason, the kiss is bitter, as if filled with grief and sadness. It is the first time we kiss like that. And my attempts to fix the situation don't change it. When the light comes on, I see my girlfriend crying.
"Are you crying?" I ask, not believing my eyes.
Katrin silently looks away, her shoulders trembling slightly as if hiding her pain. She looks as if the world around her is collapsing, and all she can do is hide from it alone.
"Why are you crying?" I repeat, no longer able to hold the worry in my voice.
She doesn't answer. Pushing me away with such force that I don't have time to understand what is happening, she rushes to the door. Without hesitation, I run after her. I almost catch up, but Katrin, like a real hurricane, rushes into the women's restroom and slams the door, leaving me standing there completely confused. I stay by the door like a fool, trying to figure out what is going on.
Why is she acting like this? What has happened? If before I could ignore her odd behavior, now it is no longer a small thing. Something is wrong, and I need to find out exactly what. I can't let her do something foolish if there is even the slightest threat.
Minutes drag like hours. More than twenty minutes pass, and I start to get worried. I don't know what to think. Damn, she doesn't even come out to give me the slightest sign. What if she is inside again, locked within herself? I don't like this feeling of anxiety that only grows stronger.
Finally, the door opens, and I feel relief — but it is short-lived. She comes out as if nothing has happened. She passes by me, ignoring my gaze.
"Katrin?" I try again, hoping she at least stops and answers.
She keeps walking, as if she doesn't hear me, her steps quick and confident, as if she is trying to avoid this conversation at all costs.
"Wait, damn it!" I can't hold back any longer. I quickly approach her, grab her hand, and turn her to face me. I see her eyes clouded over, her lips pressed tight. She clearly doesn't want to talk, but I can't let her leave without an explanation. "What was that?"
"Nothing," she replies, her voice cold as stone. Calm, but hiding a pain she carefully conceals.
She tries to free her hand and walk away, but I don't let go. At that moment, I know if she doesn't speak now, it will only get harder.
"Let go, I want to go home," her voice is almost a whisper, but it carries such exhaustion that it crushes me even more. I see how she has changed, how her inner world is falling apart before my eyes.
"Okay," I say with a heavy heart, feeling everything inside me tighten. "We'll talk at home."
But at home, it's the same. She goes straight to her room, saying she is tired, and I am left alone in the living room. The silence is deafening, as if carrying a heavy tension that can't dissolve. I don't know what to think or feel. Dozens of questions spin through my mind, but not a single answer. Why is she acting like this? Why is she silent when everything demands words? I sit on the couch, staring into emptiness, feeling the anxiety filling me completely.
I try to understand what happened, but all I can do is wait. Wait until she decides when and what she is ready to tell me. That awful, suffocating moment when you feel there's an abyss between you, and you don't know how to fill it. She remains behind the closed door, and I — like a shadow stuck to the spot — can't find a way to her.
When we meet in the morning, everything is different, but there are still no words. I lie next to her, staring at her face, trying to find the slightest reflection of what is hidden behind her silence. She isn't awake yet, but I already know I have to break this silence. I can't stay quiet anymore. I need an answer, and this feeling is no longer just anxiety — it has become a real, almost physical pain. I lie there waiting for her to open her eyes and finally share what she is hiding. But the answer I am waiting for never comes. We still remain on the edge of that emptiness, where neither words nor gestures can change anything.
"Hi," she says cheerfully, as if there have been no tears, no pain, no cold walls, no sleepless night between us.
I silently look at her. My heart beats dully, as if there is no air left in my body. Her smile — forced, fake — hurts my eyes.
"Are you still mad at me for that joke?" There is a strange lightness in her voice, as if nothing has happened. As if she hasn't cried yesterday. As if she hasn't ripped me out of my world and left me standing outside a stranger's door.
I look at her bitterly. What nonsense is she talking about? A joke? Was all of this a joke?
"That was a joke?.. So your tears — they were a joke to me?"
She frowns, her eyes darkening. In a split second, her face changes, as if she hopes I won't dig deeper. But I can't — not now, not after everything.