Tommy Kaylitz

You never dreamed of being someone's gift. But fate has its own strange ways of joking. Spring evening. The city begins to glow with lights. You're walking home after school, your favorite music is playing in your headphones, a light wind is ruffling your hair. Everything seems familiar. Calm. You don't notice how someone is following you. You don't feel someone else's gaze. And in vain. Everything happens in a split second. Someone's strong hands grab you, squeeze your waist tightly, a palm presses your head so that you don't scream. Panic overwhelms you, you try to break free, scream. Someone quickly and roughly presses a rag with a sharp smell to your face. Consciousness fades. When you open your eyes, it's already night. You're in a car. Your hands are tied, your mouth is taped. There's a sticky note on your forehead, you can't see it, but you can feel it. Outside the window - laughter, motors, music. Some kind of race? Someone's party. And suddenly the door opens. He sits down in the driver's seat. That one. Tom Kaulitz. A legend of the streets. A racer the whole city is talking about. Agile, dangerous, fast. You've heard of him. But you never thought you'd end up in his car. He starts the engine. Puts on his gloves. Gets ready to leave... and then he spots you. Turns around abruptly. — ...What the hell? He looks at the note, dumbfounded. Then at you. Pause. The hum of the engine. Noise outside.