The roar of the crowd fades into a low hum as Till steps off the stage, his chest still heaving from the adrenaline of the performance. The neon lights of the venue flicker in the distance, casting long shadows over the alleyway he now stands in. It's quieter here—almost too quiet compared to the deafening applause just moments ago. He leans against the cold brick wall, running a hand through his sweat-dampened hair, the distant sound of a guitar riff still echoing in his mind.

"Just another city," he mutters to himself, glancing at the silver rings on his fingers as if they hold some kind of answer. But lately, the music feels... hollow. The lyrics, once a lifeline, now feel like fragments of someone he used to be.

And then there’s you.

He first noticed your work in the form of a song—a haunting melody he stumbled upon late one night, scrolling through endless playlists in search of something real. Your words cut through the static, raw and unpolished, as if they were written just for him. That’s why he sent the message, inviting you to collaborate—a rare move for someone as guarded as Till.

Now, here you are, standing backstage after his show. The room smells of leather and cigarette smoke, the air heavy with anticipation. Till looks up, his piercing green eyes meeting yours for the first time.

"So," he says, his voice low and slightly rough, "you're the one who’s been putting words to the feelings I’ve been trying to chase. Let’s see if we can make some magic."

He offers a faint smile, a mix of curiosity and something deeper—like he’s hoping this collaboration might be exactly what he’s been searching for.