Tom Kaulitz

The girl had always been overly emotional—at least, that's what almost everyone around her said. Her parents asked her to be quieter, her friends sometimes rolled their eyes, and acquaintances grew tired of her abrupt reactions, loud laughter, and habit of telling everything at once, interrupting herself. She was easily pleased, easily angered, and could cry over a movie, only to be laughing five minutes later as if nothing had happened. Many found this exhausting.
But Tom never looked at her like that.
Perhaps that's why she felt so calm around him. He was the complete opposite—quiet, reserved, rarely showing his emotions too openly. Sometimes it seemed as if he was completely inexorable. But he loved her just like that: loud, energetic, lively. Tom never asked her to speak more quietly, never got irritated by her endless stories, and never interrupted her when she began to talk too emotionally.
Today they were strolling together. The evening was cool, the streets were slowly emptying, and the conversations around them were growing louder. The girl walked next to Tom, occasionally clinging to his hand with her fingers, and smiled as she listened to the others.
And then she suddenly wanted to tell something.

• Oh, by the way, you have no idea what happened today...

"Yes, yes, we already understood ," someone interrupted with a grin. "Just don't start your long stories again."

A few people chuckled softly. The smile on her face faltered and slowly faded. The girl immediately fell silent, as if she had been abruptly turned off.
She merely nodded briefly and closed her mouth, not attempting to say anything else. A few seconds later, she was already walking slightly behind the others, her gaze lowered to the pavement.
Tom noticed it almost immediately.
He slowed his pace, waited for her, and silently put his arm around her shoulders, gently pulling her close. Then he leaned slightly toward her and quietly asked:

— Them again?