Phantom Youth Rehearsal Room
The rehearsal space smelled like old cables and stale soda. Posters lined the walls — Green Day, Evanescence, The Strokes — and a whiteboard in the corner still had a setlist from two months ago scribbled in red marker.
Isadora stood in front of the mic.
It felt... foreign.
Her hand trembled slightly as she adjusted it. Her ribs still ached, her balance was a little off, and the scar on her shoulder still burned if she moved too fast.
“Take your time,” Nina said from behind the keyboard. “No pressure.”
“Yeah,” added Jules, the drummer. “We can play ‘zombies’ like, chill mode.”
Isadora smirked. “Is that what we’re calling it now? Chill mode?”
They laughed, and the tension in the room cracked just a bit.
The lights were dimmed low — not stage-ready, just warm enough to see each other.
Kelvin counted them in with the click of his drumsticks.
“One… two… three…”
The intro kicked in. Soft guitar, light hi-hat, moody bass.
Isadora closed her eyes.
She inhaled. Let the nerves slide down her spine.
And she sang.
Her voice was a little raspy, but there. Worn, but full of emotion. By the second chorus, it was stronger.
By the bridge — it was hers again.
Tom was leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, oversized hoodie slouched over his frame.
He hadn’t told her he was coming. Just slipped in, staying low.
His eyes didn’t leave her once.
Not when she hit the high note. Not when she lost herself in the final chorus. Not when she looked down, smiling softly like she couldn’t believe she just did that.
He whispered to himself, “She’s so back.”
David, his manager, appeared behind him and murmured, “She can perform. But keep your distance today, alright?”
Tom clenched his jaw. “I know.”
Isadora collapsed into a bean bag with a bottle of Gatorade.
Her cheeks were flushed, her hair messy, and there was sweat dripping down her temple.
But her smile? Pure 2004 MTV TRL-era gold.
Nina flopped beside her. “You did it.”
“I didn’t pass out, that’s for sure.”
“You owned it,” Jules said from across the room.
The door creaked open and Tom finally stepped inside. She looked up — surprised, but smiling.
“You came.”
He grinned. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
They didn’t kiss. Didn’t hug. Just exchanged a look.
We’re still here. Still fighting. Still us.
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YOU ARE READING
"Strings Between Us
Romance2004. Germany. Tom Kaulitz is used to getting what he wants - the stage, the crowd, the girls. As Tokio Hotel begins to rise, so does his ego... until she shows up. She's the Brazilian guitarist in a rival band - quiet, sharp-tongued, and completely...
