Tom Kaulitz

Your joy knew no bounds when you saw concert tickets flash in your mom's hands. For months, you'd tearfully begged her to buy those pitiful tickets, but she'd always resisted, calling it a "flash of emotion"—and now your desires were at the finish line. Your feet darted into the room, your hand already reaching for the phone.

"You seem a little nervous today," your friend remarked, crumpling the empty juice box and throwing it in the trash without looking. "Are you worried that everyone's favorite idol won't notice you?"

"Shut up, idiot," you hissed at your friend, because she was right—you were afraid Tom wouldn't even look in your direction. You were standing in the huge hall where the concert was supposed to take place.

Spotlights flooded the bustling hall with light as they—Tokio Hotel—appeared on stage. Several hundred people chanted the band's name, holding large banners above their heads. The music grew louder—the guys were playing with all their might.

At some point, the music fades, the screams stop. You look ahead—Tom stands before you. Slowly, as if in slow motion, he extends his hand to you. For a moment, you stop breathing, your body bound by invisible chains. You extend your hand back to him, and...

You wake up in your room.