I packed my things and moved out of Nate’s place at 9:00.
The morning was too bright — the kind of morning that comes when inside it’s still night.
The packed bags stood by the door in neat rows, trying not to get in the way, not to make noise, not to ask unnecessary questions.
The cats moved with me.
And two dogs.
They felt more than they understood: they followed me silently, trustingly, the way only those do who choose not a place, but a heart. Their presence kept me afloat — anchors with paws and warm breath.
Tomorrow — a new day.
A new life.
— Come on, little mouse, you’ll manage, — I said to myself.
And nodded.
A small, almost imperceptible movement of the head, but there was more determination in it than in hundreds of loud promises.
Tears quietly ran down my cheeks.
And I didn’t stop them.
“We’re learning to feel,” — a soft voice says.
Yes, I nodded.
— I miss him so much… — the girl said quietly.
— I know, my dear. I know, — the mother hugged her.
Not to comfort.
To hold.
I made myself a promise to cope.
And deliberately shut everything down.
All unnecessary signals.
All attempts to read the future ahead of time.
No red flags.
No conclusions.
We are moving.
Strictly on course.
But the route is still alive.
Earth angels.
And then — 7:44.
I get dressed slowly,
too slowly,
as if time could be persuaded not to move on.
My fingers barely obey me. They tremble and shake.
The fabric of the dress is cold — despite the frost, I choose it anyway.
I’ve always loved dressing up.
Sophie does my hair like a child’s.
Soft curls.
She tries to be careful,
and I catch myself breathing every other moment.
Across from me — my reflection.
How are you?
Fine. I’ve been through worse.
I’ll manage. I’ll manage.
My heart beats out of rhythm.
Somewhere inside, the girl is already crying.
— Come on, my dear. You’ll manage.
I say it in a whisper,
like a survival instruction,
and pretend
that I believe myself without question.
And that this time everything will be different.

Earth Angels

8:00.
I stand on the threshold.
Fuuu.
The exhale comes out ragged.
The body reacts before the thoughts.
Shoulders tense.
Stomach tight.
Knees feel slightly softer than they should.
I go in.
And in that moment everything inside me suddenly shrinks.
I am no longer myself.
I become smaller.
Quieter.
The teachers greet me.
Too attentively.
Too gently — the way you greet not a newcomer, but someone who is trying very hard not to cry.
One smiles a little longer than usual.
Another bends down toward me, as if we are the same height.
— Kids, meet her… — she says softly, almost tenderly. — This is a newcomer. Her name is Nazokat.
The word “newcomer” echoes in my body in a strange way.
I want to run.
Everyone looks.
At once.
Without embarrassment.
Children’s gazes are direct, honest.
I feel the blood rush to my face.
My cheeks burn.
My throat tightens.
I want to hide my hands — I don’t know where.
I don’t like attention.
Especially this kind —
when you haven’t done anything yet,
and you are already seen.
My body trembles,
but my legs try not to run.
My body searches for support, and I notice a boy.
In the corner, a boy is sitting.
How beautiful he is.
I blush.
The children are laughing.
The laughter is light, alive, without malice.
— But she’s an adult, — I hear. — How is she going to go to kindergarten?
The words land straight in my chest.
I feel everything inside tighten —
not painfully, but intensely,
as if I’ve been caught defenseless.
— Just like that! — the teacher answers softly, almost cheerfully. — Kids, support the newcomers.
The newcomers.
The word is suddenly plural,
and it suddenly becomes a little easier to breathe.
Then they call the boy.
He lifts his head.
— He’s a newcomer too. His name is Nate.
Nate smiles.
Simply.
Openly.
And that’s it —
the room changes instantly.
The girls start to giggle.
Whispers, glances, movement around him —
as if he’s become the center of their small orbit.
— But he’s an adult too! — the girls giggle.
— Nate is so handsome!
I catch myself smiling too.
— Yes… he’s very handsome.
And at that moment a tear rolls down my cheek.
Just one.
Warm.
Not performative at all.
I quickly swipe my hand across my face,
but it’s too late — my body has already felt everything.
More than anything in the world,
I want to be friends with him.
With this new boy.
But I’m terribly shy.
My chest tightens again,
my shoulders draw inward.
And the other girls have already surrounded him.
Boldly.
Loudly.
The way only those who are not yet afraid of being rejected can.
I sit down in the corner and take one of the toys,
just to hide and hold it.
I don’t want to get in anyone’s way,
and I don’t want to draw attention either,
but I’m so scared.
It was Mishutka.
A fluffy teddy bear.
I roll him over to sit in front of me.
— Let’s be friends. I’m Nazokat.
Mishutka smiles.
— You’re doing great, — the teacher says.
— Thank you, — I smile awkwardly.
— You’re not alone, you’re not alone. See, you already have a friend — Mishutka. Oh, and a little giraffe — let’s take the giraffe too.
I sit them next to each other
and start telling them stories
about how today is my first day in kindergarten
and how worried I am,
and something else too.
Mishutka gets hungry.
I carefully put a little bib on him
and feed him.
The giraffe gets tired,
and I put him to sleep.
The girls come up to me.
— Hi, Nazokat.
— Hi, — I smile.
— Do you want to be friends with us?
I start crying,
tears running down my face.
How sweet they are,
such pure, kind intentions.
I nod,
and they hug me.
— Don’t cry.
They all run over
and hug me.
Everyone,
everyone from the group comes to comfort me.
I’m completely touched.
From afar, I accidentally glance at Nate.
He’s still looking at me.
And I immediately lower my eyes.
Boys like that
aren’t for girls like me.
And the girls hug me again,
because I’m crying again.
Then those shameless Cody and Josh burst in,
arguing and pushing each other as usual.
I laugh.
Silly boys.
The children hug me,
and I lie on their laps
or just nearby.
In their cozy circles of care and love,
while they were playing,
Mishutka and the giraffe were in my hands — I was hugging them.
Everything inside me opened up and breathed.
I adore children’s games.
It’s so wonderful to invent things and play out stories.
Sometimes, between games, I stole little glances at the boy.
He was tinkering with something, his tongue sticking out.
I tried to look only a little at a time,
so he wouldn’t notice.
And the girls started giggling at me:
— Oh, Nazokat, you like Nate!
I blushed terribly,
and the teachers shushed the girls
so they wouldn’t give away secrets.
But Nate heard.
He smiled.
I blushed again.
It was time for a walk,
and everyone was getting dressed slowly, noisily,
getting distracted by everything.
I got carried away playing with the kids,
and we started throwing boots at each other.
The teachers laughed.
— What a mess you’ve made!
I smiled awkwardly.
Then I quickly got dressed.
And I had time to peek at the newcomer again.
I was burning with embarrassment —
that’s how much I liked him.
We went outside and headed toward the greenhouse.
There we were allowed to dig in the soil,
and I lit up instantly.
How interesting it is to do things like this.
The greenhouse is big and beautiful.
It’s cozy and warm inside.
We took off our outer clothes
and climbed into the dirt — digging.
The teachers handed out tools.
I couldn’t wait to start.
I got strawberries.
Ooooh, how interesting!
I sat down and started digging,
wielding the little tools.
I was so absorbed
that I didn’t notice Nate coming up.
— Hi.
I hid my eyes, all red.
— Hi.
— Can I dig with you?
— Of course, — I muttered
and buried myself back in the soil,
just so I wouldn’t look at him
and so he wouldn’t see
how red I was just from him being so close.
— You’re really good at this, — Nate said.
— Mm-hmm.
Then he joked about worms,
and it became so funny to me,
so funny,
that I fell onto the ground.
He smiled,
and I blushed again
and smoothed my hair
so at least part of it would cover my face.
— You’re so beautiful…
I held my breath.
— Kids, time to line up!
Nate took my hand.
I held my breath again.
— Kids, line up in pairs,
everyone should have a partner, — the teacher said.
I blushed terribly.
I think I already have a partner.
And right away I pretended
that my nose was itchy
and quietly pulled my hand away.
Very slowly,
so Nate wouldn’t notice,
I lowered it along my side.
But he noticed
and immediately grabbed my palm.
I peeked at him a little
as we walked back to the kindergarten
and thought
how beautiful he is.
He noticed
and smiled.
I blushed all over again.
Finally we were back inside,
and I could breathe again
as long as Nate wasn’t nearby.
Everyone slowly undressed,
took off their jackets and overalls,
and went to wash their hands.
It was snack time,
and the girls surrounded the boy —
everyone sat around him, hugging him.
I smiled.
Well, Nate is just Nate.
Of course all the girls want to be with him.
I sat alone,
and some boy sat down next to me.
— Hi, — he held out a bun to me.
— Thank you, — I accepted the treat.
— Is it tasty?
— Mm-hmm.
— What’s your name,
and why are you in kindergarten?
You’re an adult.
I burst into tears,
and Nate ran over to me.
I blushed again.
He wiped my tears
and hugged me.
I cried even harder,
and all the children ran over to me.
I slipped away,
ran off,
and hid in the little playhouse.
A couple of minutes passed,
maybe a bit more.
A teacher came to me.
— Hi.
— Hi, — I said shyly.
— The children are crazy about you.
I blushed.
— That’s not true.
— Come and see.
I stepped out of the playhouse,
and all the children — and Nate —
were standing there, waiting for me.
— Nazokat, don’t cry!
And they ran to hug me.
I cried even more,
but I didn’t run away anymore.
— Do you want to draw?
I nodded
and wiped my nose.
The girls pulled me by the hand.
I glanced at Nate again.
He was drawing something with the boys.
It looked like a robot.
I’ll try to pull myself together
and go up to him.
My legs were shaking,
and I could barely breathe.
— You have a very beautiful drawing…
Nate smiled.
And I immediately ran away
out of shyness.
We drew flowers with the girls.
I was very scared,
but I still managed to approach the teacher,
all trembling and sweaty.
— Oh, how beautiful!
What a great job!
You’re such a clever girl!
Kids, look
at the picture Nazokat drew!
And everyone looked at me again.
I was terribly embarrassed
and lowered my eyes.
But I managed to catch Nate’s glance.
I was so scared.
Maybe he likes me?
After all,
he keeps looking at me too?
No,
he’ll choose someone else —
the answer came instantly.
And I went back to drawing.
My hands were shaking.
I was very afraid
that if my mother saw my drawing,
she would hit me.
Quiet, quiet.
She’s not here anymore.
And I asked the teacher
to put me down for a nap.
We went into a little room —
so bright and beautiful.
The walls were a warm honey color,
with woven little beds,
and lots and lots of soft toys.
I lit up.
— Would you like to take someone with you?
— Yes, may I have Winnie-the-Pooh and Rabbit.
Rabbit is such a grump — and we giggled.
The teacher stroked my hair.
The children ran over as soon as they noticed I was gone.
They repeated after her, even though they didn’t understand the meaning.
Small, warm hands stroked me and comforted me.
— She’s not here.
She’s not here.
No one will hurt you.
Such kind girls.
Thank you. Thank you so much.
And I fell asleep.
The day was coming to an end, and I was terribly tired.
It was emotional exhaustion — too much, too intense.
I hugged all the children except Nate —
I would have burned with embarrassment —
and went home.
And fell asleep right away.
Day two.
Today is an excursion.
We’re going to see wild animals.
I’m full of anticipation — how exciting.
— Kids, hold hands, don’t run off, — the teacher’s warm voice.
— Cody, Josh, please don’t fight.
And it made me laugh so much.
Such shameless boys.
Nate stood next to me and raised an eyebrow.
I blushed again, but agreed,
and we held hands.
I let myself daydream a little:
when I grow up, Nate and I will get married.
Oh, I’ll wear a beautiful dress,
and he’ll wear a black suit.
We’ll have lots of children
and even more animals.
Though only if it’s my turn —
all the girls in kindergarten seem to be planning the same thing.
We rode on the bus, looking out the window.
Nate was telling me about beetles.
It was funny and incredibly interesting.
Who even thinks about beetles?
And my God, how many kinds there are —
how does he remember it all?
He showed me that he had three beetle figurines
and took them out of his pocket.
And suddenly a sharp desire pierced me.
Oh God.
No.
Right now I’m in child mode.
No sex.
Please, — I pleaded, calling on both body and soul.
Please, not now.
The impulse quieted down.
But I felt — it was temporary.
I accidentally looked at his trousers,
and my body flared with memories.
Oh God, how much I want him.
— That’s good, — a soft voice said.
— Really?
— Yes. It means you’re healing.
Your inner child is no longer screaming,
it doesn’t need to constantly remind you of itself.
When something is healthy, we don’t notice it.
It will live inside you,
happy and calm.
— Oh… I see. Thank you.
She smiled.
Nate kept talking about something,
and I could no longer sit still.
I tried to nod,
but everything inside me was pulling toward him.
God, Nazokat.
Get a grip.
Enough.
My body switched on instantly.
Back, shoulders, chest —
everything was buzzing.
My whole body was screaming:
give him to us.
He wanted to be a boy,
and you…
Nazokat, no.
No, no.
Come on.
Crush the impulse.
He turned toward me with another beetle,
then moved a little closer—
— Hey, kitten.
Oh God —
my legs went weak.
Thank God I was sitting.
— Nate, please, don’t, —
I pleaded with him as best I could.
— Please…
There was a flash in his eyes.
The bus stopped.
The kids got off,
and Nate and I were the last ones.
We fell behind everyone
and walked at the very back.
I was still repeating the command in my head:
crush the impulse,
crush it.
Nate fell quiet,
and we walked on slowly.
Just as the children disappeared around the corner,
he pulled me into a quiet spot —
— Oh my God… Nate…
I tried to resist,
but I didn’t want to.
I didn’t want to resist at all.
— You’re so shy with me, my dear.
I blushed again.
— You’re unbearably beautiful.
He smiled —
and everything inside me gave in.
I forgot where I was.
I forgot myself.
…..


When we returned to the nursery,
I was building a construction set with the kids and suddenly thought—
here we are, only the second day, and I already feel brand new.
So clean inside.
Such a kind atmosphere.
Children truly are the best in the world.
Healing was happening so fast.
I kept thinking about how I could thank the children—
such wonderful little souls.
So I decided to ask them directly,
just to give something back.
“My dear ones,” I said,
“please tell me if there’s anything you don’t like in the nursery.
I’ll change it for you.
And together we’ll think about
what else we can improve
so you feel truly good here.”
The children asked
for more sweets,
and I had to keep my promise.
It was clear that Nate had no trauma.
So he was no longer needed there,
and I continued coming on my own for another week.
Every class,
every excavation,
messy play, shared lunches,
and the children’s presence itself
restored me completely.
Sewing.
And the endless encouragement from the caregivers
grew in me a belief
that I can do things well—
and beautifully.
Every crooked little flower I drew,
every stitch that ruined the whole picture—
suddenly and roughly—
never stopped the children from admiring my work.
The caregivers would hang our pieces on the wall,
and I loved watching everyone admire them.
It loosened the steel vise inside me:
“Do everything perfectly.
Everything has to be perfect.
Do your work properly,
or don’t come near it at all.”
The children were so proud of themselves,
and I was learning from them.
Learning this healthy, beautiful feeling—
you do things beautifully;
you draw well;
you dance;
you love yourself
and the way you express yourself.
No one judges.
Everyone only admires.
I was learning to look at myself the same way.
I tried to see where it was good,
where I had done well,
and to openly admire what I create.
Dirt and wild play
gave me the freedom to be myself.
And when the children hugged me,
I slowly grew used to the idea
that I can be loved
just because.
My body relaxed,
and safety became familiar.
My body no longer shook,
no longer tore itself apart—
I integrated it back into myself.
Friendship with the girls
restored my faith
in real friendship.
I settled into myself
and understood
that a huge chapter
with my inner child
was closed.
A small check-in went perfectly:
the child is happy, loved,
and believes in the world again.
Full of joy,
I returned to Nate.
Now I felt whole.
Complete.
Nothing inside me
was crying anymore.
Nothing was upset.
Inside,
it was warm.
And cozy.