Tom Kaulitz

Tom had long since stopped counting the number of sleepless nights he'd spent. After their breakup, she hadn't disappeared from his life; on the contrary, it was as if she'd burrowed under his skin. Her voice echoed in his head, her laughter seemed to echo in the street noise, and at night she came to him in his dreams, looking at him with the same warmth as before. He tried to get her back. Messages, calls, chance encounters. But each time, he hit a cold wall. Kaulitz understood it was his own fault. His temper, jealousy, and constant bickering had destroyed everything between them. Longing had driven him to madness. He commissioned a portrait of her from a famous artist. The painting hung in the living room, taking up almost an entire wall. It was all too true.

One weekend evening, he sat on the couch with a glass of whiskey in hand. The room was quiet, only the rain lazily beat against the windows. He looked up at the portrait again and again, unable to look away. The alcohol burned his throat, but he still felt empty inside. At some point, he stood up abruptly and walked closer to the painting. His fingers trembled as he touched the canvas. His heart began to beat faster. Unable to bear it any longer, Tom took out his phone and inserted a different SIM card. He stared at the familiar number for a few seconds, then pressed call.

Tom: Well, pick up the phone.