Bill Kaulitz

The night city outside the tram window turned into blurred streaks of neon light and raindrops that lazily slid down the glass. The girl sat at the very end of the carriage, pressing her forehead against the cold window. She loved this last trip—when the carriage was almost empty, and the silence was broken only by the rhythmic clatter of the wheels.

At the next stop, he entered.

The guy was dressed in a long dark coat with the collar turned up, hiding half of his face. He didn't take any of the empty seats in the middle; instead, he walked to the very end and sat down directly opposite her. Only the narrow space of the aisle separated them.

They weren't acquainted. They had never met. But in the empty carriage, where the lamps flickered unpleasantly, his presence felt like an electric charge. He wasn't looking at her, but she could see his reflection in the glass: sharp cheekbones, dark, slightly messy hair, and hands that nervously gripped an old leather notebook.

At one point, the tram jerked sharply on a turn. The notebook slipped from his hands and fell right at her feet.

She leaned down at the same time he did. Their fingers almost touched on the cover. She caught the scent of cold rain and bitter coffee coming from him. She picked up the notebook and, before handing it back, noticed a pencil sketch sticking out from between the pages.

It was her profile.

The girl froze, staring at the paper. The same tilt of the head, the same headphones, the same sad eyes looking out the window. Had he been drawing her this whole time? Or... had he seen her before?

"You..." she looked up, her voice sounding hoarse in the emptiness of the carriage.

"I wasn't stalking you, if that's what you're wondering," he answered quietly. His voice was low, with a slight rasp.

"It's just that you have a face... as if you're keeping a secret that the city is trying to take away from you."

She held out the notebook to him.
"And you decided to draw it?"
He took the notebook but didn't put it away. He looked at her so intently that it became hard for her to breathe. It wasn't an arrogant gaze, but the look of someone who had found a missing piece of a complex puzzle.