Bill Kaulitz

Rachel arrived at camp with the idea of ​​simply surviving the summer. No friends, no plans. The first few days dragged on the same way. Noise, children, laughter that didn't touch her.

“Alone again?” a familiar voice sounded.

She turned around. Bill was standing next to her with his arms crossed.
“Habit,” she said.

“Bad habit.” He came closer and grinned.

Rachel rolled her eyes, but her heart warmed. After that night in the forest, everything had changed; they began to cross paths more often. Sometimes by accident, sometimes not. He might just sit next to her on the steps.

“Well, tell me,” he said, and she told him.

The laughter became real, and the days stopped being gray. On the last evening, they had a disco, the music was loud, the lights were flashing, everyone was dancing. Rachel stood against the wall and watched.

"You're not dancing," a familiar voice brought Rachel out of her thoughts.

“I don’t want to.” She didn’t even turn around.

• You're lying. - He came closer.

Rachel looked at him, Bill extended his hand. The music changed to something slow. Rachel froze for a second, then finally placed her hand in his. They walked to the center, the light gliding across their faces, everything around them seemed to disappear.

“You see,” he said and continued, “Sometimes it’s worth trying.”

Rachel looked at him, too close, too strangely. The music continued, her hand still in his. And she suddenly realized she didn't want this evening to end.