The heavy, soundproof door to the green room swung open, revealing a world entirely removed from the chaotic energy of the stadium.
Sanvi stepped in first, her eyes wide as saucers as she took in the plush leather sofas, the mirrors lined with glowing vanity bulbs, and the racks of dazzling stage outfits. Anvi followed close behind, her usual composure cracking into a beaming, star-struck smile.
And then, it was my turn.
I took a deep breath, clutching my leather folder to my chest like a shield, and stepped across the threshold. I had rehearsed this moment a hundred times in my head. I was going to walk in with the quiet dignity of a woman who had faced down criminals and commanded entire police precincts. I was going to be cool, calm, and collected.
But the universe, it seemed, had a very different sense of humour.
As I crossed into the room, I felt a sudden, sharp tug at my shoulder. My body jerked backwards.
Rip. A soft, terrifying sound echoed in the quiet room. The trailing edge of my peacock-blue saree—the delicate, shimmering pallu—had caught mercilessly on the heavy metal latch of the door handle.
My face instantly flooded with heat, turning a violent shade of crimson.
"Oh no," I whispered, panic rising in my throat. I frantically reached back, my fingers fumbling with the snagged silk.
SANA, what is wrong with you?! my inner voice screamed. You are a strict IPS officer! You interrogate suspects without blinking! Where is that behaviour? Why are you suddenly a clumsy mess the second you walk into this room? Get it together!
I tugged at the fabric, my hands shaking so badly that the silk only seemed to twist tighter around the metal. My heart was beating so fast it felt like a trapped bird throwing itself against my ribs.
And then, I looked up.
He was standing right there.
Park Woonseok was not a poster on my bedroom wall anymore. He was not a distant figure on a brightly lit stage. He was standing less than ten feet away from me, wearing the same midnight-black suit with silver embroidery that he had performed in, his hair perfectly styled, his presence so overwhelmingly powerful that it seemed to suck all the oxygen out of the room.
"There is a moment between the dreaming and the waking where the fantasy collides with reality, and it usually leaves us tangled, breathless, and entirely exposed."
Woonseok's Perspective
I had prepared my "Idol Mask." I had prepared the suave, welcoming smile, the professional posture, the perfect greeting designed to keep my secret safe. I was ready to play the untouchable star meeting a lucky fan.
But the moment she stepped through the door, my entire facade crumbled into dust.
She was even more breathtaking up close. The stadium lights hadn't done justice to the iridescent blue and green silk draped across her body. She looked like royalty.
But before I could even say a word, she was suddenly yanked backward, her beautiful eyes widening in sheer, unadulterated panic. Her silk garment had caught on the door.
I watched her face turn a brilliant, endearing shade of red. I watched her hands tremble as she frantically tried to free herself, her lips moving in what looked like a silent, desperate scolding of her own clumsiness.
It took every single ounce of my willpower not to burst into laughter—not out of mockery, but out of pure, overwhelming affection.
So, I thought, biting the inside of my cheek to keep my professional expression intact, the fierce, intimidating girl who yelled at me in the park and chased me down the street gets nervous too.
Seeing her like this—flustered, blushing, entirely human—was a hundred times more charming than the poised, perfect image she had tried to project. I wanted to step forward, to gently untangle the silk from the door with my own hands, to tell her to breathe. But I couldn't. I was supposed to be Woonseok the Idol, a man she was meeting for the very first time.
Sanvi and Anvi quickly noticed her struggle. Anvi gently batted Sana's shaking hands away and expertly unhooked the silk from the latch.
Sana smoothed down the fabric, taking a massive, shuddering breath, her chest rising and falling rapidly. She stepped forward to join her friends, her eyes glued to the floor, too embarrassed to look at me.
"Perfection is a beautiful illusion, but it is in our clumsy, vulnerable moments that we actually give someone the space to fall in love with us."
"Annyeonghaseyo," Sanvi and Anvi chorused, bowing deeply in the traditional Korean style.
Sana hurriedly followed suit, bowing a little too fast. "Annyeonghaseyo," she echoed, her voice a soft, nervous tremble.
I let a warm, gentle smile spread across my face. I didn't have to fake it. "Hello," I replied in English, my voice a deep, resonant hum in the quiet room. "Please, welcome. Have a seat."
I gestured toward the plush leather sofas in the centre of the room. The three of them moved like they were walking on glass. Sanvi and Anvi sat on the loveseat, their eyes darting around the room in absolute awe. Sana took a seat on the edge of the armchair closest to me, her posture rigid, her leather folder clutched so tightly her knuckles were turning white.
I sat down on the sofa opposite her, leaning forward slightly, resting my elbows on my knees to appear less intimidating.
Sana let out a quiet sigh, her eyes closing for a fraction of a second as she visibly forced herself to calm down. When she opened them again, that deep, mahogany gaze finally met mine.
The air between us seemed to crackle. It was the same look she had given me at the palace when I was behind the mask—searching, intense, and incredibly alive.
"My friend told me about you," I said softly, delivering the lie I had rehearsed. I watched her reaction closely.
Her breath hitched. The mention of the "friend" seemed to ground her, a reminder of the miracle that had brought her to this room.
Slowly, deliberately, I reached my hand out across the low glass coffee table between us.
Sana stared at my outstretched hand for a long moment, as if she couldn't believe it was real. Then, with a hesitant, trembling motion, she reached out and placed her hand in mine.
The moment our skin touched, a jolt of electricity shot straight up my arm. Her hand was small, warm, and trembling slightly against my much larger, colder fingers. I gave it a gentle, reassuring squeeze, desperately wanting to rub my thumb across the knuckles she had scraped on the gravel just two days ago.
"Hi, Sir," she breathed, her voice barely a whisper. She swallowed hard, the "Officer" inside her finally seeming to find its footing. "I am... I'm a very big fan."
She paused, her eyes locking onto mine, gathering a sudden, striking courage.
"My name is Sana," she stated, the name sounding like a beautiful melody in the quiet room. "I am from India. I am an IPS Officer—Indian Police Service—in my country. And these... these are my best friends, Sanvi and Anvi."
I blinked, genuinely taken aback, even though I had suspected she was someone of authority. Hearing the official title drop from the lips of the blushing girl in the peacock saree was a magnificent contrast.
An IPS Officer, I thought, a surge of deep respect mixing with the overwhelming attraction I already felt. A protector. A commander. And yet, she is sitting here trembling, holding my hand as if I am the one with the power.
"SANA," I repeated slowly, letting the three syllables roll off my tongue. I made sure to say it perfectly, exactly the way I had practiced it in the back of my van. "It is an absolute honour to meet you, Officer Sana."
Her eyes went wide at the sound of her name in my voice, a fresh wave of pink dusting her cheeks. She quickly withdrew her hand, clutching it to her chest as if she needed to protect it.
"The... the honour is entirely mine, Sir," she whispered, her facade of professional bravery melting away into the pure, undeniable devotion of a fan who had finally found her star.