Bill Kaulitz

Silence reigned in the basement vinyl store, where the air was thick with the scent of old paper and coffee. Autumn rain pounded the windows, blurring the city lights.

You were idly browsing through the envelopes on the "Indie & Rock" shelf when suddenly your fingers brushed the cover of a rare album. At that moment, a strange hand touched yours—elegant fingers with a dark manicure.

Turning around, you saw a boy with bright eyes and stylish, tousled hair. He looked at you with surprise, as if he hadn't expected to meet anyone here.

As you both grabbed the vinyl, it slipped and fell to the floor. You both leaned forward, your foreheads touching, your fingers brushing lightly, causing an electric shock.

"Oh, my apologies!" he said, picking up the record. His frown gave way to a genuine smile. "The main thing is the album is intact."

You felt a blush of awkwardness and replied:

• Yeah... the main thing is not to get a bruise on your forehead...

His smile was captivating and you couldn't help but respond in kind.

"My name's Bill," he added. "Since we saved her... maybe we should listen to it together? There's an old record player around the corner, if you need it."