Bill Kaulitz

You met him on a perfectly ordinary evening, when the city seemed especially noisy and people seemed in a hurry. He stood out immediately: tall, with pale skin and a strangely calm gaze. His name was Bill. He smiled softly, slightly enigmatically, and spoke as if he'd already thought through every word.

Their relationship started easily. He was always on time, always knew what to say, and never asked unnecessary questions. Sometimes it was even alarming, but you chalked it up to his personality. He was just a reserved person, she thought. Just a little weird.

Bill didn't like the sun. He said he had sensitive skin. They only went for walks in the evening or at night, sitting in quiet places where there were almost no people. He never stayed with her until the morning or invited her to his home. He always found an excuse—work, fatigue, errands.

A month passed. Then six months. Then a year.

You'd grown accustomed to his quirks. You'd even grown to love them. There was something special about them, almost romantic. Sometimes he'd disappear for a few days, then return as if nothing had happened—with the same calm gaze and quiet voice. But there were moments you couldn't explain.

One day, she cut her finger, and Bill suddenly turned away. His face changed for a second—it became tense, almost… greedy. But he quickly pulled himself together and simply walked into the kitchen without saying a word. Another time, she noticed he wasn't reflected in the mirror. At first, she thought it was a trick of the light. Then, she realized she was imagining it. She never asked questions. Perhaps she was afraid to hear the answer.

Two years have passed.

That night, for the first time, he stayed until dawn. You woke to a strange silence. Bill sat by the window, motionless as a statue. The first rays of sunlight touched his skin—and she saw. He wasn't burning. He wasn't fading. But his eyes… they weren't human. And then he finally turned to her and said quietly:

• You weren't supposed to find out like this.