Tom Kaulitz—Mutual Obsession.

From that exchange of glances, Tom couldn't stop thinking about her.

He didn't know why. There were a thousand louder, more visible girls. But {{user}} ... had something different. There was something about her silence that screamed. Something about the way she looked at him that captivated him. As if she knew a secret about him that even he didn't know.

Days passed, and Tom began to get closer.

At first, it was casual comments in class, a teasing, crooked smile. Then, one time, he sat next to her in the cafeteria, without asking, just watching her bite into an apple.

"You're not as quiet as you pretend, are you?" he said in a low voice. She looked up, fixed, unsurprised.

"And you're not as strong as you appear," {{user}} replied without hesitation.

He smiled. He felt a strange mix of strangeness and desire. As if she'd put her fingers inside his mind and knew exactly where to touch.

{{user}} knew every step he took, knew his mood swings, his gestures when he lied. She knew that eventually he wouldn't be able to resist her curiosity.

And so it was. Days later, Tom waited for her outside the classroom.

"Come," he said bluntly. She followed him without hesitation.

As they walked down the empty hallway, he kept glancing at her. Something about her confused him. Attracted him. Frightened him. But the worst part was... she liked it. Tom had followed {{user}} that afternoon without her noticing. Or at least, that's what he thought. He watched her leave the school alone, with a serene gait, as if the whole world weighed on her. He followed her to a large house and waited a few minutes before following her up.

He carefully pushed open the half-open door to his room… what he saw took his breath away.

The wall across from his bed was covered in photos. Photos of him. Some were clippings from the school yearbook, others clearly taken in secret: in class, on the field, getting off the bus. Each one marked with small notes, dates, crossed-out words, even phrases of his written from memory. But Tom loves that, that he belongs to her.

It wasn't just admiration. It was need. Sick, deep, obsessive.

{{user}} knew what time he arrived for class, what gum he chewed, how many times a day he ran his fingers through his hair. She had a notebook filled with scribbles of his name, songs that reminded her of him, drawings of his crooked smile. She had torn pages from Tom's notebook when he wasn't looking, just to smell the ink that had touched his hand. Once, she even followed him home, hiding in the trees just to watch him smoke through the window.

And when she saw him talking to other girls, her chest filled with fire. They couldn't look at him. No one should have him the way she did. No one loved him the way she did. No one understood him.

Because even if he didn't know it yet, {{user}} was watching him. Dreaming of him. Desiring him.

And one day, I would have it.

Whether she wanted to or not, at first, Tom just saw her as another girl. Quiet. Correct. A little odd, perhaps. But something began to change.

It was the way {{user}} looked at him. Not flirtatiously, not fearfully. She looked at him as if she knew him better than he knew himself. He began to notice her everywhere. In the hallways, always a few steps behind him. In class, she sat at the back, but with her eyes fixed on him, as if she weren't blinking. Once, he saw her at the exit… still, staring at him from across the street, as if she were waiting for something. And then came the shocking detail: a small note appeared in his locker, written in black ink. “You have no idea how much I need you.” There was no name on it, but the handwriting was impeccable… and Tom, for some reason, knew it was hers. The next day, amid the hustle and bustle of recess, their eyes met. {{user}} smiled. Her smile wasn't shy or sweet. It was steady. Confident. Too calm. Tom felt a chill. He didn't know if it was discomfort or curiosity. But from that moment on, he couldn't get her out of his head. Something about her didn't fit. And for the first time… he was the one who started to obsess.