14. Berlin

The past few weeks, Bill and I have been texting. Nothing deep, nothing meaningful—just casual conversations.

Today is the first show of their tour, kicking off in Berlin.

He asked me to be there. That my name is on the list for backstage access.

But with everything that’s happened… I don’t know if showing up is a good idea.

Part of me wants to go.

The other part—the one still holding onto old wounds and unanswered questions—knows it might be a mistake.


I spend the rest of the day debating with myself, torn between the part of me that wants to see him and the part that knows it’s dangerous—emotionally, at least.

Brenda is sprawled across my couch, scrolling through her phone when she suddenly glances up. “You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?”

I don’t bother denying it. “Maybe.”

She smirks. “You’re going.”

“I haven’t decided yet,” I lie, but she sees right through me.

Rolling her eyes, she sits up, tossing a pillow in my direction. “Please. You’ve already decided. You just want me to tell you it’s a bad idea so you have an excuse not to go.”

I catch the pillow, frowning. “And what if I do?”

Brenda shrugs. “Honestly? I think you should go.”

I blink. “Why? You hate him."

"I don’t like him, true. But it's obvious something is still going on between you two."

Brenda softens, leaning back. “Maybe seeing him will give you some clarity. Or at least an answer to whatever the hell this thing between you two is.”

I exhale slowly, my fingers hovering over my phone screen. Bill hasn’t texted since this morning, but his last message echoes in my mind.

"I really want you to be there."

Something about those words sticks with me, pressing against the part of me that still isn’t sure what any of this means.

I hesitate for a moment before finally typing out a response.

"I’ll think about it."

The second I hit send, regret washes over me. It’s a lie. I’m going.

I knew the moment I read his message that I’d be there. Maybe not for him—at least, that’s what I tell myself—but because I need it.

"It's only a two-hour drive," she interrupts my thoughts. “You can still make it."

I glance at the clock on the kitchen wall. The concert starts in three hours. If I leave now, I might just make it.

"I can't go like this," I say, gesturing at my worn-out sweatshirt and jeans.

"Then go change—now!" she insists, already grabbing her keys. "I'll drive you!"


I took a quick shower, then wasted way too much time agonizing over what to wear. After finally settling on something, I grab my jacket and run outside, jumping into the car where Brenda is already waiting.

"Finally!" she huffs, tapping her fingers impatiently on the steering wheel.

I roll my eyes. "We have plenty of time left," I say, trying to defend myself.

She shoots me a knowing look. "Yeah? Well, you don’t want to miss the start of the concert, do you?"

"Just start driving, please," I say, trying to keep my voice steady. The last thing I need is for her to notice how nervous I actually am.

The drive takes longer than expected. You’d think, at this hour, traffic wouldn’t be an issue—but apparently, I was wrong.

"Where is everyone even going this late?" I grumble, arms crossed as I glare at the endless line of brake lights ahead.

Brenda sighs but doesn’t answer, drumming her fingers against the steering wheel. I turn my head, staring out the window, my mind racing.

"Will they even let me in if the concert already started?" I ask.

"If your name’s on the backstage list, yeah,"

"But what if it isn’t? What if he forgot?"

Brenda glances at me and shakes her head. "It’s Bill. He wouldn’t forget."

—

She slams the brakes, stopping the car right in front of the concert entrance—two minutes before the show starts.

"Go!"

"Thank you!" I barely manage to say as I fling the door open and jump out. My heart pounds as I race toward the entrance.

I open the door, but before I can take another step, a young girl steps in my way. "Ticket, please," she says, offering me a polite but firm smile.

"My name should be on the backstage list," I reply.

She hesitates, eyeing me carefully before glancing down at the clipboard in front of her. "Name?"

"Evi."

"Evi who?" Her gaze flickers to me from the corner of her eye, skeptical.

"Noëns. Evi Noëns."

She nods, then presses a finger to the small microphone clipped to her shirt. She murmurs something into it, her voice too low for me to catch.

I hold my breath, waiting.

She looks at me again, her expression warm, her smile reassuring. "Follow me."

I do. We weave through narrow hallways, up one flight of stairs, then down another. A turn left. A turn right.

Finally, she pushes open a heavy door, and I step inside. The music hits me instantly—loud, electrifying, alive.

Bill stands just beside the stage, one foot already on the first step, adjusting his earpiece.

I don’t call out to him, but somehow, as if sensing me, he turns. Our eyes meet—just for a second. Then, just as quickly, he looks away and runs up the stairs.

The crowd erupts as his voice fills the venue, their screams so deafening it feels as if I’m standing right there among them.

"I didn't think you’d actually come."

I turn my head to see Leen lounging on one of the couches, her arms casually draped over the backrest.

"I didn’t think the crowd would be this loud!" I shout over the noise, quickly looking away again, my eyes drawn back to Bill as he moves across the stage.

Leen scoffs. I glance at her again, frowning.

"Why are you acting like this?" I shift my body fully toward her, frustration creeping into my voice. "What did I ever do to you?"

She crosses her arms, her gaze sharp. "Seriously? Do you have any idea how much you hurt Bill?"

I exhale sharply. "He left, not me."

"You broke up with him."

"Because he moved to L.A.," I shoot back, my voice firmer now.

Her expression doesn’t soften. If anything, it hardens.

"Why are you here?"

"He asked me—"

"I know." She cuts me off. "But why did you come?"

For a brief moment, I stay silent, unsure of how to respond to that.

"I need to talk to him. About something."

She nods slowly, her eyes drifting away from me, as though weighing my words. "If you break his heart again..."

"I won’t." I interrupt her this time. I take a step back, turning toward the stage.

—

I watch the rest of the show, the music vibrating through me. Every time Bill turns away from the crowd, our eyes meet. It’s electric, a brief, unspoken connection with each glance.

As the last song comes to an end, the atmosphere shifts—there’s a sudden urgency in the air. Bill is the first to bolt offstage, moving swiftly through the chaos.

He runs past me, his focus elsewhere, pulling out his earpieces and handing his microphone to a woman waiting nearby. For a moment, I just stand there, watching him, the noise of the crowd fading into the background.

Then Tom follows, setting his guitar aside with a gentle motion, before leaning in to press a quick kiss to Leen’s lips.

Gustav is the last to leave the stage. Slowly, the roar of the crowd begins to fade, the energy in the room ebbing away.

For a moment, it feels like I’m invisible, a ghost in the chaos. I stand there, unnoticed, as everyone else is still high on adrenaline, their excitement swirling around me.

Maybe this was a mistake after all… The thought echoes in my mind as I grab my purse, ready to slip away before anyone notices. Before he notices.

But just as I turn, a cold glass is pressed into my hand.

"Stay," Leen whispers, her voice barely audible over the fading noise of the venue.

I blink at her, startled. Of all people, I hadn’t expected her to be the one asking me to stay.

My fingers tighten around the glass as my gaze drifts back to Bill. He stands with his back to me, shoulders slightly hunched, deep in conversation. He hasn’t looked my way since leaving the stage.

I'm not sure how long it takes for Bill to finally come up to me.

"Hi," he says. His voice is quiet, almost careful. He holds his half-empty glass with both hands.

"Hi," I mumble, staring into the bubbles swirling in my glass.