Minjae gets a call

Haeun called me later that evening, her voice quieter than usual, but steady. I had been pacing my apartment, the anticipation of hearing from her gnawing at me all day, preventing me from doing any work for my university course. When her name lit up my screen, I answered immediately.

“Hey,” I said, trying to sound casual, though my heart was racing. “How’s everything going?”

There was a pause, the faint sound of rustling papers on her end. “Busy,” she said finally. “We just finished going over our debut album, the roles we’re supposed to play, and how the group’s image is going to be shaped.”

I leaned against the kitchen counter, already bracing myself. “And? What did they give you?”

She hesitated. “They want me to be the ‘innocent yet sexy princess.’”

I let the words hang in the air for a moment, unsure how to respond. Part of me wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it—Haeun, who couldn’t even flirt with me without blushing, now tasked with being some sultry princess for millions of fans. But the other part of me—the selfish, possessive part—couldn’t help but picture it, of her flashing and seducing potentially millions of fans, and a knot of jealousy twisted in my stomach.

“That’s… different,” I said carefully. “How do you feel about it?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted, her voice tinged with frustration. “It’s not me. It feels like they’re asking me to become someone I’m not. And the outfits they expect me to wear—they’re going to be skimpier. It’s all part of the image.”

She sounded unsure, **** in a way I hadn’t heard in a while. I straightened up, forcing confidence into my voice. “You’ll be amazing, Haeun. Seriously. You can pull it off.”

“You sure you will be okay? Even if it means me wearing revealing clothes in front of everyone?” she asked softly.

I hesitated, not because I didn’t know my answer, but because I wanted to say it right. “As long as you’re okay with it, then I’m okay with it too. But…” I paused, an idea forming in my mind. “Can I ask you for something?”

“What is it?”

“Before you go on stage, send me a selfie,” I said, smiling a little at my own request. “That way, I get to see you in it first. Not through some viral photo online or fan account. Just… me.”

She let out a soft laugh, and it felt like the first genuine laugh I’d heard from her in weeks. “You’re unbelievable. But okay, I’ll do that.”

“Promise?”

“Promise,” she said, her voice lighter now.

For the first time in what felt like forever, we found ourselves slipping into an easy rhythm. The conversation drifted to lighter topics—her rehearsal schedules, the quirks of her new group members, and even a funny story about Mina accidentally walking into the wrong meeting room and getting scolded by the CEO.

I laughed along with her, feeling a warmth I hadn’t felt in a while. For a brief moment, it was like we were back to the old days, before her life became a whirlwind of fame and expectations.

“Thanks for listening,” she said quietly as the call began winding down.

“Always,” I replied.

When the call ended, I sat back, letting out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. I looked at the dark screen of my phone, trying to imagine her face on the other end, the smile in her voice.

Despite the distance, the challenges, and the uncertainties, in moments like this, it felt like we could make it work. The thought was a lifeline I clung to, an ember of hope I wouldn’t let flicker out.