it was 2008, the year everything changed. your face was everywhere—plastered across billboards, flooding magazine covers, dominating every social media platform. edits of you spread like wildfire, each one capturing the sharp intensity of your eyes, the way they cut through the lens like a blade. your body, sculpted and enviable, moved with effortless grace down every runway you stepped on. designers fought over you, photographers begged for just one shot. and beyond the industry’s admiration, the world watched, celebrities, fans, even those who swore they never cared. men wanted you badly, envied the power you held with just a glance. among them was tom kaulitz, the german rockstar with a reputation just as untouchable as your own. rumors swirled about his infatuation, whispers of the way he spoke your name when he thought no one was listening.

then came the night of the awards ceremony. the air was thick with flashing lights and the murmurs of the industry’s elite, but none of it mattered when your gaze locked onto a figure across the room. dreadlocks framed a face you knew all too well, deep honey-colored eyes staring right into yours. tom kaulitz. he wasn’t like the others, didn’t parade around in designer suits or polished shoes. no, he was draped in baggy clothing, chains glinting under the lights, the definition of effortless rebellion. and yet, in that moment, he was still. frozen, watching me the way a predator watches its prey. but there was something else beneath it, something unreadable. a slow smirk tugged at his lips, and suddenly, the world around us blurred. it was just you and him. two forces destined to collide.