"Do you remember how we danced?" I ask, remembering those moments when our souls speak to each other through movement and music, when words aren't needed, and our hearts understand each other silently.
"Well…" she ponders, diving into memories, her gaze softening and a gentle smile of nostalgia appearing on her lips. "We have so many dances. Do you mean a specific one?" Her voice is soft and playful; it feels good to call her mine again and see her emotions come alive.
"I mean the one we dance at the club," I remind her with a slight smile, feeling warmth growing inside me.
"Oh, there are so many again," Rebel Girl giggles, not immediately understanding which dance I mean.
"Tango," I say with a touch of excitement, because that dance is always special to me.
"Oh!" she jumps up, turning over and lying on my chest. "That dance is impossible to forget. I remember every second of how we danced," her voice trembles with memories, her heart beating in sync with mine, as if we are back there on the dance floor, where time stops.
"I'd love to dance it again in our club," I whisper, dreaming of that moment, imagining us spinning together to the music, forgetting everything else.
"In our club?" Katrin asks, surprised, as if this idea is new and unexpected for her.
"Yes. What surprises you? Everything I have, I'm ready to give to you at any moment. Without you, I don't need it; I've already told you," I explain with feeling, conveying the full depth of my emotions, my boundless love and devotion.
"I just… I'm not used to having something else in common besides our daughter," my little one admits with a touch of sadness and warmth, revealing a side of herself she rarely shows.
"It's okay. I just need to tell you more often. So, what about the dance?" I wait for her answer, my heart beating in anticipation.
"No," she shocks me, and that simple word carries a surprise that makes me freeze.
"Why?" I ask, looking at her with genuine care and a desire to understand.
"If it's only the tango, I don't agree. I want to repeat every dance we've had, because they're all my favorite," she answers with a smile, her eyes sparkling with mischief and love, as if inviting me on a journey through our shared memories and feelings.
"You scared me! I thought you didn't want to dance with me," I breathe out in relief, feeling tension leave, replaced by joy.
"What? I even said back then that I'm willing to do it only with you. How are you, my love, listening to me?" she asks with raised eyebrows, playing and laughing; her laughter fills the space with light and warmth.
"Probably with my heart," I reply, and the word sounds like a confession and a promise, deep and sincere.
Katrin strokes my chest, her hand warm and gentle, trying to convey all her tender feelings through touch. She presses her body against mine as if she wants to dissolve into this moment of closeness, finding refuge from the outside world. Her breath is soft and even, almost weightless, and I feel her lips quiver slightly. Quietly, with a touch of fragility and openness, she says:
"Dear heart, tell your owner that I love him very much and am ready to dance different dances with him day and night. So he should stop worrying," my love says seriously, as if speaking directly to my feelings, healing my doubts with her warmth and tenderness.
"Well, now that we've talked, is it better?" she smiles, looking into my eyes with such light that the world seems brighter.
"Now the signal is perfect," I reply, kissing her and holding her tightly, feeling our hearts beating as one.
After the kiss, she lies on my chest again, placing her hand on my heart, and we listen to each other—in the rhythm of love and calm, in silence filled with understanding and tenderness, as if the whole world around us ceases to exist, leaving only the two of us.
"I'm so happy, if only you knew," she says, softly stroking my hand.
Her voice carries genuine joy, so touching and real that it feels like her entire soul opens to me, more than ever before. Her eyes shine with tenderness and warmth, as if the whole world has disappeared, leaving only us, wrapped in comfort and calm, in this serene and precious moment.
"I know, because I feel the same right now," I answer quietly, stroking her hair.
Every touch brings me peace and gratitude, as if we communicate without words, our hearts speaking a language only we understand.
"Why did you wait so long to confess your love to me?" I ask, a slight worry and genuine curiosity in my voice, wanting to understand the roots of her fears and feelings.
"Because my family doesn't have luck with love. After that, I decide not to confess love to anyone, because I feel like if I do, something bad will happen," her words are soft, almost a whisper, as if afraid to voice her pain. A shadow of fear and doubt flickers in her eyes, her lips trembling slightly with uncertainty. I see how hard it is for her to reveal this part of herself, and my heart aches to protect her from all misfortunes.
"Tell me. I don't understand," I ask gently, trying to make her feel safe and trusted, wanting to be the one to dispel her fears.
"My great-grandmother lost her husband almost immediately after their wedding. My grandmother, the one you know, was abandoned by a boyfriend while she was pregnant. And you know about my mom. I don't believe we are cursed or anything. It just seems that if I confess love, something bad will happen," she explains, her voice gaining confidence, though a shadow of old pain remains, as if this family history drags a heavy burden she has tried to carry alone for so long.
"And now? Has your opinion changed?" I ask, eager to know what Katrin thinks now, in this very moment, because it's crucial for our relationship.
"Now I understand that I can't bring you pain anymore. Keeping silent hurts you more than if something bad actually happens. I don't want to be afraid to say words of love to my beloved anymore," her fingers trace my face with tenderness, letting me feel the full depth of her feelings. Her gaze burns with determination and the desire to break free from fears, as if she finally decides to spread her wings and fly toward the light.
"Maxim, I love you. I first liked you as a man that Friday during our first dance. I consciously fell in love with you that evening when I confessed my past to you. I already understood that you are important to me, and perhaps in a romantic sense. The fact that I love you came to me before our first time, and that's why, in essence, we didn't have sex but made love. That's exactly what I meant in that letter," she confesses openly to me, and I am filled with gratitude and awe at her honesty. Her words sound like gentle music, warming my heart.
"Thank you for that. It's important for me to hear it from you, my love," I say, feeling my heart fill with warmth and happiness, as if I'm discovering the meaning of the word 'love' anew.
"You're welcome. And when did you fall in love with me?" Rebel Girl asks, seeking honesty from me as well. Her eyes shine with expectation and hope, as if afraid not to hear what she so desperately wants to know.
"I fell hard and immediately during our first dance, but at first, I blamed it on the alcohol. But during our next outing, I realized it wasn't that—it was the way I truly feel. I love you—I don't know exactly when, because my feelings grew stronger and stronger every day," I say, trying to convey the storm of emotions inside me, the sincere force that lights up my soul.
"You're mine, and I'm yours, and now it's forever," my Rebel Girl says.
After this conversation, we continue lying next to each other, enjoying the silence and warmth of each other, as if the whole world had ceased to exist, and only our hearts beat in unison, finding peace and harmony in this serenity.