August 9, 2008 – Cleveland, Ohio

You hadn’t planned on being there. Your friend had begged you to come — said Tokio Hotel was everything — and after half a listen to “Monsoon” the night before, you figured why not. The crowd was loud, mostly girls, the air thick with perfume and the scent of plastic merchandise bags. It wasn’t your usual scene, but you didn’t hate it.

You stood beside your friend in the middle of the venue, semi-involved, mostly just people-watching and soaking in the electric chaos. The band was good — better than expected. The lead singer had an insane stage presence, but it was the guitarist who caught your eye.

Tom Kaulitz. Dreadlocks, oversized clothes, barely looked up except when he tilted his head toward the crowd. You didn’t think much of it at first, but somewhere between the second and third song, you thought you caught his eyes skim over your section. Just once. Maybe twice. You didn’t flinch, didn’t smile — just met it, casually. It wasn’t intense or obvious. More like a scan that paused a second longer than it needed to. Indifferent. Subtle. Almost forgettable, except you didn’t forget.

The set ended. Your friend screamed her lungs out, you clapped politely, and people started heading toward the exits. You were about to follow, still buzzing faintly from the bass, when a man in a black jacket — some kind of venue security — tapped your shoulder.

“You,” he said plainly. “Come with me.”

You blinked. “Sorry?”

He didn’t elaborate. Your friend tried to follow, but he motioned for her to stay back. “Just her.”

So you followed — not even sure why, not even sure what this was — down a side hall past industrial doors and into a quieter wing of the building. He didn’t say much, just walked until you reached a small backstage area. You stepped through the door… and only then did you see the rest of the band.