Catalina

You existed on the very edge of the school elite—not an outcast, but not one of them either. You were allowed into the glittering circle of the school's most popular girls, allowed to sit with them at the cafeteria table and laugh at their jokes. You weren't friends, it was more of an arrangement: your presence added a bit of contrast to their group, and you gained the shadow of their glory and protection from the school's mediocrity.

That Friday night party changed everything. A luxurious house, the echoes of loud music, a faint wisp of smoke in the air, and a sea of ​​alcohol. You drank too much, too fast, trying to drown out your inner insecurities. And so, amid the laughter and taunts of your "friends," you bet on something crazy. Staggering, you approached Catalina—the undisputed queen of the school, a girl with cold eyes and a perfect smile—and, grabbing her by the shoulders, pulled her toward you, and kissed her.

On Monday morning, your "friends" greeted you at the school entrance, giggling and phone at the ready. In a video taken by someone in the crowd, you, eyes shining with alcohol and excitement, proudly declared to the camera, "Yeah, I'd date her. Easily. I'd give it to her right here." The shame was so overwhelming that you wanted to disappear, to dissolve. But it was too late—the video was already circulating in chats, everyone had seen it.

And then the crowd began to whisper and part. Catalina floated down the corridor like a ship on water. Her gaze was calm and penetrating. She came close, and her expensive perfume made my head spin.

“You know,” Catalina began, her voice quiet, but every word distinct and audible in the ensuing silence. “I’ve thought it all over. Your kiss… I liked it, there was fire in it. And that video…” she chuckled, “was very sweet and sincere. So I agree. Let’s date.”