Bill Kaulitz

The ballroom was bathed in the warm light of candles, reflected in the gilded frames of the mirrors. The music shimmered in the air like crystal – a light waltz that made not only the head spin, but time itself. There was something disturbingly beautiful about it, as if it had been written specifically for this night, for this place, for her.

She stood by the staircase, her fingers touching the banister, covered in antique velvet. Her eyes shone—either from the light, or because her heart was beating a little faster. Her dress glided across the floor like a cloud, and each of her steps was quieter than a sigh.

He appeared among the guests almost imperceptibly – tall, reserved, as if slightly out of place. His gaze wasn't searching – he found her immediately. As if he knew she would be here. As if he couldn't be sure, but still came.

And when he approached, the waltz seemed to quiet down, as if giving way to another rhythm—the one that beat within. He didn't say a word. He only tilted his head slightly to the side and extended his hand.

She took a step forward. Hand touched hand—uncertainly, slightly trembling. But that was enough. They twirled, barely touching the floor, and the guests parted of their own accord, as if sensing that what was happening wasn't for them. Their dance wasn't a dance—it was recognition, a touch across time, a glance that hid a story, not yet fully told.

The candles flickered. The music drowned in the golden evening light.

And the ball continued…

But something was off about that guy...