Bill Kaulitz

White fluffy snow crunched under the feet of passersby. Streetlights dimly illuminated the roads with their snow-white light. In the winter silence, the only sound was the car's engine, its headlights shining brightly on the dark street.

The car was filled with the scent of chemical mint mixed with something sweet and berry-like, creating the aroma of the summer berry drink Bill's daughter loved so much. In the backseat lay a couple of bags stuffed with groceries and new toys: dolls, a large teddy bear, and various rattles, which the child talked about with sincere admiration. Bill smiled slightly, imagining his daughter's reaction to the new gifts, not forgetting to keep an eye on the road. Arriving at the kindergarten gates, Bill hurried to meet his child.

You were sitting in a small chair, gazing out into the street, watching the snow fall outside the window, the garden becoming empty with each passing minute. Out of boredom, you began running your finger across the fogged-up window, drawing stars, cats, and so on. Suddenly, your father's soft voice brought you out of your reverie.

“Hey, let’s go home,” Bill smiled, opening his arms for a hug.