The final hour of the fan-meeting felt like it stretched into an eternity. Standing in the carpeted lobby, the adrenaline that had fueled me all day slowly began to ebb, leaving behind the dull, persistent ache of exhaustion.
I leaned my weight against the marble wall, my peacock-silk saree suddenly feeling a little heavier. Beside me, Sanvi and Anvi had taken off their heels, standing in their stockinged feet with soft groans.
"My legs are officially staging a protest," Sanvi murmured, rubbing her calves. "If I don't sit down soon, I might just melt into this carpet."
"Just hold on a little longer," I whispered, though my own feet were throbbing.
Through the heavy double doors, the muffled sound of Woonseok's voice echoed. His tone had shifted from playful to earnest—the cadence of his final speech. Even through the wood and glass, the raw emotion in his voice was palpable. He was thanking them. He was thanking us. And then, a final, thunderous eruption of cheers shook the walls, followed by the swelling chords of his closing song.
It's over, I thought, my breath hitching in my throat. The time has actually come.
Within minutes, the massive doors of the Olympic Hall swung open, and a river of fans began to pour out. They were crying, laughing, holding up banners, and trading photo cards. We pressed ourselves against the wall, swimming against the current of ten thousand people making their way to the exits. It took fifteen agonizing minutes for the crowd to finally thin out, leaving the lobby eerily quiet, littered only with stray silver confetti.
"Okay," I said, my voice trembling as I clutched my leather folder to my chest. "Let's go. Gate C."
"Time is a cruel trickster; it sprints when we are happy and crawls when we are waiting on the precipice of a dream."
Gate C was located down a long, industrial hallway branching off from the main lobby. The plush carpets gave way to polished concrete, and the glitz of the arena was replaced by the functional, sterile atmosphere of backstage operations.
We stood by a heavy metal door marked with a large 'C'. Five minutes passed in absolute, nerve-wracking silence.
"Is he coming?" Anu asked quietly, looking around the empty corridor.
"He said he would," I replied, my thumb compulsively rubbing the embossed butterfly on my leather folder.
Suddenly, the heavy metal door clicked and swung open.
My heart leapt into my throat. I stepped forward, expecting to see the towering figure in the black hoodie, the man with the dark, intense eyes who had fumbled with his wallet in the park.
But the man who stepped out was entirely different.
He was slightly shorter, dressed in a sharp, professional grey suit with a lanyard swinging from his neck. His eyes were kind, but they lacked that deep, magnetic pull of the 'friend' I had met.
"Ah," I breathed, trying to hide my confusion. I pulled out my phone, my hands shaking so badly I almost dropped it. I opened the text message and held it up.
"Annyeonghaseyo," I said in my best, most polite Korean, bowing slightly. "I am Sana. This message... I mean, the person from the park told me to come here. To meet Park Woonseok."
The man looked at my screen, then his eyes flicked up to take in my appearance. For a second, his professional mask slipped, and his eyes widened slightly as he took in the peacock saree, the kajal, and the nervous girls standing behind me. So this is the girl, he seemed to think.
He quickly composed himself and bowed back. "Ah, yes. Miss Rashi. I am Min-ho, Woonseok-ssi's head manager. It is a pleasure to meet you."
"The... the friend?" I asked hesitantly. "Is he here?"
Min-ho offered a practised, reassuring smile—a smile perfectly designed to cover up a massive lie. "The friend who messaged you had a sudden, very important errand to run for the agency. He sends his deepest apologies that he could not escort you himself. But do not worry. He made sure everything was arranged perfectly."
"Oh," I said, a tiny pang of disappointment mixing with my overwhelming nerves. "That's okay. Please tell him I said thank you."
"I will," Min-ho nodded, turning to open the heavy door wider. "Please, follow me, ladies. Sir is waiting for you in his private green room."
As we crossed the threshold into the backstage area, the reality of the situation finally crashed over me like a tidal wave. We were walking past racks of glittering stage outfits, past staff members carrying headsets and clipboards.
My heart wasn't just beating; it was hammering against my ribs, a frantic rhythm that echoed in my ears.
I can't believe this, my inner voice screamed. All my life, I thought I was the unlucky one. The eldest daughter who always had to sacrifice, the girl who had to fight for every single scrap of happiness. But this... this is unimaginable. This doesn't happen to girls like me.
I looked down at the leather folder in my hands. Inside was my heart, poured out onto recycled paper.
Please, Sana, control yourself, I scolded my reflection in a passing mirror. Breathe. You are an IPS officer. You are a professional. Stop acting like a lovesick teenager. You are just a fan. Be grateful, say your piece, and don't make a fool of yourself.
"We tell ourselves to be composed, to wear armour made of logic and rules, forgetting that the heart does not know how to bow to the brain."
Woonseok's Perspective
The green room was silent, the heavy soundproofing blocking out the noise of the arena dismantling outside. I stood in front of the brightly lit vanity mirror, but I wasn't looking at my reflection. I was staring at my hands.
They were shaking.
Park Woonseok, the man who had just performed for ten thousand screaming people without missing a single beat, was trembling like a rookie before his first audition.
I reached up, running my fingers through my hair, trying to fix strands that were already perfectly styled by shin. I adjusted the lapels of my midnight-black suit. I cleared my throat. Nothing helped.
Did she leave? The terrifying thought clawed at my chest for the hundredth time since I had noticed her empty seat in the fifth row. When I couldn't see her... did she get tired? Did she give up? Will she even be at Gate C?
I paced the length of the room, my polished shoes making soft sounds against the carpet. I had sent Min-ho to fetch her, knowing I couldn't go myself. If I walked out there in my stage suit, the lie I had spun in the park would collapse instantly.
I have to be professional, I chanted silently, stopping in front of the mirror again to practice my expression. I hardened my jaw, smoothed out my eyes, and summoned the "Idol Mask"—the cool, untouchable, charming persona the world knew.
I cannot be caught. I cannot let her see the clumsy guy who dropped his wallet and fell in love under a streetlamp. If she finds out I lied to her about being my own 'friend', she might run away. Or worse, she might look at me differently.
I took a deep breath, slipping my hand into my pocket to touch the tiny silver butterfly on the bracelet. It was my anchor.
"Just act like Woonseok the star," I whispered to my reflection. "Give her the dream she came for. Don't break the illusion yet."
Suddenly, the handle of the green room door clicked.
The sound was as loud as a gunshot in the quiet room. My breath stopped completely. I turned around, squaring my shoulders, planting my feet firmly on the ground.
The door slowly swung open, and Min-ho stepped inside, casting a knowing, slightly amused glance my way.
"Sir," Min-ho said, his voice entirely professional. "Your VIP guests have arrived."
He stepped aside, holding the door open.
And then, she walked in.