"Strings Between Us

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Berlin, March 2004

Smoke curled through the back hallway of the venue, clinging to sweat-soaked walls and the scent of spilled beer. The place was barely a step above a basement — low lights, torn posters, floorboards that groaned like old bones — but it pulsed with something real. Something loud.

And she liked loud.

Perched on a battered amp case, her guitar resting across her knees, Isadora Almeida stared out toward the stage entrance like it was a battlefield. One of her boots tapped against the floor in restless rhythm — not nerves. Anticipation. The kind that made your fingers twitch before a solo.

“You good?” her drummer called from behind her.

Isadora nodded once, rolling her shoulders back. She was calm. Always calm. Her band, phantom youth, had opened for worse. She’d played through broken strings, broken hearts, even a broken wrist once. But this time was different.

This time, Tokio Hotel was here.

Rising fast. Young, wild, and everywhere. She’d heard the stories — screaming girls, instant fans, two twin brothers leading a musical revolution at fifteen. They were already rumored to be “the next big thing.”

She didn’t care.

…Okay, maybe she cared a little.

The backdoor creaked open suddenly, and laughter spilled in — loud and messy. She didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. She’d seen them earlier in the hallway: tall, dreadlocked, oversized hoodie, cocky grin. Tom Kaulitz.

He was everything she avoided. Loud. Flashy. Charming in a way that made your guard go up.

Bill came in first, hair teased sky-high, eyeliner sharp as knives. He paused when he saw her, lips curling into a curious smirk.

“Hey,” he said, eyes flicking to the guitar on her lap. “Nice Ibanez.”

“Thanks,” she said flatly.

Tom followed behind him, stuffing his phone into his pocket and looking completely unbothered by anything around him — until his eyes landed on her.

And for a second… he stopped.

One beat. Two.

She glanced up. He was already smirking.

"Didn’t know we had competition tonight," he said, voice low and teasing.

She didn’t blink. “You don’t.”

The tension cracked like static between them — sharp, sudden, charged.

Bill laughed under his breath, already walking off. “You’re gonna like this one, Tom.”

But Tom wasn’t looking at his brother anymore.

He was still watching her.

And for the first time all night, Isadora’s fingers stilled on the guitar strings.