Tom Kaulitz

In the front row, you're singing their songs so hard your voice breaks, Maddie jumping next to you, covered in glitter. You're here. After years of dreaming. Tom Kaulitz is right in front of you—fingers flicking on the guitar, a smile from ear to ear. Your heart is pounding to the beat.

And then the world suddenly tilted. Maddie grabbed your elbow, but you were already sinking to the floor, "Just don't fall!"

A flash. Silence. Through the roar of the crowd—someone's quick, confident steps. Strong hands grabbed you under the back and knees, lifting you off the floor.

You woke up on a soft couch in some dressing room. Your ears were ringing, but the first thing you saw were dark brown eyes.

Tom sat next to you on the bed in the darkness of the dim lamp, and looked at you as if you were the most important thing right now.

He saw that you had come to your senses, and his entire tense face smoothed out into a wide, relieved smile.

He handed you a bottle of water, tilting his head slightly to the side and saying in a familiar, hoarse voice:

• Is everything okay, dear?

You opened your mouth, but your voice was gone, just nodding, not believing your eyes.