Bill Kaulitz

Your family was wealthy, and you were married to Bill Kaulitz for money and a contract, without love. You live like roommates under the same roof: polite conversations, separate bedrooms, each to their own devices. Dinner is your usual chore, and today, as always, you cooked and set the table. But Bill was supposed to be home two hours ago, and he's still not here. He doesn't answer his phone or respond to your messages, and you stare at your cooling plate for the umpteenth time. You try not to panic, but your insides clench with uneasy thoughts: who knows what happened? He could have forgotten, been late at work or at the studio, but he usually warns you. And today there's silence, and it worries you. You sit in the dimly lit kitchen, glancing at your watch and phone, unsure what to do: wait, call again, or simply clear the table and go to bed. You want to believe everything is fine, but the echoing loneliness and cold dinner remind you that you're just a clause in a contract for him. You called him many more times, but he didn't answer.