Episode 2

Camila Reinhart

Arriving in Berlin was... liberating.

The cold breeze that hit my face as I left the airport felt like a bucket of ice water —one more, after the one I had thrown on myself hours before—, but this one didn't hurt: it woke me up. The city shone between modernity and chaos, a strange balance that made me feel like I had arrived at the right place. Glass buildings that reflected the light of dawn, trains that seemed not to stop, streets full of life even on any given day. Berlin had character, and I needed that too.

I took a taxi to the hotel. A discreet, elegant place with huge windows and a subtle aroma of wood and coffee. It wasn't my usual style, but this trip wasn't usual either. I was going to reinvent myself, even if it meant sleepless nights and impulsive decisions.

I wasn't planning on leaving Germany; my plan was to stay a few days in Berlin and then visit other cities, but I was also allowing myself something new: to improvise. If an opportunity arose, I would take it. I no longer wanted to live with fear, or with doubts, or with men who promised love while rolling around with half the world in my bed.

After dropping off my suitcase and taking a hot shower, I went for a walk without a fixed destination.

The city was full of contrasts: artistic graffiti on almost every corner, cafes with terraces full even with the biting cold, tourists, laughter, bicycles, lights. Berlin vibrated, and little by little, so did I.

I walked a few more meters and a huge sign caught my attention: Rave tonight – Paul Kalkbrenner – Sold Out.

I stood still for a second. Paul Kalkbrenner? That man could revive a dead person with his mixes. Part of me wanted to keep walking... the other part, the one that was tired of crying, of being prudent, of being "the one who does everything right", shouted inside me to go.

I tried to get tickets on resale, asked in shops, checked websites, made absurd calls in another language. I was rejected a thousand times. But in the end, a young woman with piercings and blue hair told me that she had an extra ticket due to a last-minute cancellation.

I bought it without thinking.

If I was going to start my new life, it would be by dancing until my bones ached.

At ten o'clock at night, I arrived at the event venue: an old abandoned factory on the outskirts, now converted into an electronic temple. The walls were covered in neon lights; columns of smoke came from the inside, and the floor vibrated to the rhythm of the bass. There were people from all over the world, colors, textures, pure energy.

I had prepared for the occasion: a tight, metallic black top that left my back bare; a short leather jacket; tight vinyl-effect pants and high boots. I painted my lips dark red because tonight I was going to devour it whole. And although I wasn't looking for it, I knew I was attracting attention.

Once inside, the strobe lights played with my senses, and the sound took over me. The music was increasing, layer after layer, as if it wanted to tear all the painful memories from my roots.

And it worked.

I danced without thinking, without holding back, without measuring my movements. It was as if the Camila who had run out of my own house hours before was shedding from my skin.

I closed my eyes for a moment, letting myself go... until I felt firm hands surrounding my waist.

I opened my eyes, ready to push away whoever it was, but something in the way he touched me —with security, without urgency, without invading— stopped me. I turned around.

And there he was.

A tall man, with marked features, dark brown hair combed back, a precisely trimmed beard, and blue eyes that looked like two cuts of ice under the violet lights. Very German. Very handsome. Very dangerous... of the type that can disarm you just by looking at you.

We didn't speak.

It wasn't necessary.

He barely smiled, a slight grimace, almost arrogant... and at the same time curious. I responded with another smile. Two strangers who did not intend to know each other's name.

Two broken or tired or simply alive souls, meeting at the exact moment.

His hand moved up my back with a calculated slowness, as if he were evaluating each of my reactions. I didn't move away. He leaned in a little, enough for his breath to brush my ear.

And then it happened.

We kissed.

An electric, brutal, deep kiss. One that ran through my body like lightning. Nothing sweet. Nothing shy. A kiss that clearly said: tonight the real world does not exist.

I should have walked away.

I, Camila Reinhart, the one who always thinks, the one who never loses control...

But I didn't.

I pulled him closer, sinking my hands into his jacket, letting the bass rumble between us, letting my fears die a little more with each movement.

It didn't matter who he was.

It didn't matter who I had been.

That night, in that rave, under those lights, there was only one truth left:

For the first time in a long time, I was feeling alive again.

Camila Reinhart, 29 years old

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