Ester was eighteen, with a heart full of neon dreams and a suitcase still smelling faintly of the sea breeze from Malmö. She had left Sweden behind not out of necessity, but out of hunger, for life, for chaos, for something that pulsed louder than the quiet streets of her hometown. Berlin was everything she’d hoped for: loud, raw, and unapologetically alive. She shared a small flat in Kreuzberg with her older sister Gretha, who had been in the city for three years already. Gretha worked as a masseuse in a local gentlemen’s club, not the kind of job you brag about at family dinners, but one that paid the bills and left her evenings free for dancing and mischief. Their favorite haunt was the infamous Kit Kat Club, a place where the rules of reality bent under strobes and basslines. Ester loved the freedom there, the costumes, the bodies, the raw sex, the sense that everyone was playing a character and no one was judging. She’d wear glitter like armor and dance until her legs gave out, Gretha always nearby with a sly grin and a flask of something strong. When they weren’t partying or swiping through Tinder dates, some charming, some disastrous, they were doing something that surprised most people who met them: volunteering. Every Tuesday and Thursday, they helped Ukrainian refugees navigate the maze of German bureaucracy, translating documents, finding housing leads, and simply listening. Ester had a knack for making people feel seen, and Gretha, despite her tough exterior, was a master of comfort. One afternoon, Ester sat with a boy named Danylo, who had come to Berlin with nothing but a backpack and a broken phone. He was seventeen, quiet, and scared. She helped him fill out school registration forms and told him about the best döner spots in town. When he smiled for the first time, she felt something shift inside her, a reminder that beneath the glitter and chaos, she was building something real. That night, she and Gretha went out again, this time dressed in matching silver bodysuits. They danced until dawn, kissed strangers, and laughed like they had no past. But when the sun rose over the Spree, Ester felt grounded, not by the city’s madness, but by the quiet moments in between. Berlin was wild, yes. But it was also home.