3AM IN THE MIRRORS
1174 Words
The practice room smelled like sweat, cheap floor cleaner, and desperation.
(3:17AM)
Hansei Entertainment was supposed to be asleep.
Lisa Monaban wasn’t.
The speakers cracked to life. Not a Kpop track. Not the company song.
Bangkok street music. Her mom’s old playlist.
The beat hit her bones and her body answered before her brain could stop it.
Spin. Kick. Fall. Rise.
In the wall of mirrors, 6 versions of her moved at once. Hair stuck to her neck. Tank top soaked.
This was the only time the whispers shut up.
When she danced, she wasn’t “Murderer.”
She wasn’t the cursed Thai girl.
She was just... air.
Until the music glitched.
And her chest did too.
It started small. A tightness. Like hands around her ribs.
Then the lights in the mirror flickered. Not the real lights. The ones in her head.
30 minutes.
A hospital room.
Screaming.
Blood on white sheets that wasn’t hers.
A man’s hand going cold.
Lisa hit the floor. Gasping.
“Not real,” she whispered to the mirrors. “Not real. Not real.”
Her hands shook. Her vision tunneled. The demon wasn’t in her.
The demon was the memory of a night she didn’t even live through.
The door clicked.
Lisa didn’t look up. Whoever it was could see her like this. Pathetic. Broken.
“Practice room’s closed,” she said, voice rough. “Come back at 6.”
Footsteps. Slow. Not security. Security would’ve yelled.
A water bottle landed next to her knee. Cold.
“You hit the floor like you’re fighting it,” a voice said.
Low. Amused. Tired.
Lisa’s head snapped up.
*Jae-hyun Park.*
Bunk above her. Company’s golden boy. 19. Hair messy from sleep. Hoodie sleeves too long.
And holding half a rice ball in his other hand like he’d been raided the kitchen.
“What are you doing here?” she asked. Too fast. Too defensive.
“Same thing you are,” he said, sitting down across from her. Not too close. “Not sleeping.”
He looked at her. Really looked. At the sweat. At the tears she was pretending weren’t there. At her hands still shaking.
“Allergies?” he asked.
Lisa almost laughed. “Yeah. Allergic to mirrors.”
He didn’t smile back. “You were crying mid-routine. I heard it from the hall.”
The room went quiet except for the bass still thumping from the speaker.
Lisa grabbed the water. Chugged it. “Trainees don’t get privacy, huh?”
“Not from me,” Jae-hyun said. Then, softer: “You don’t have to do that.”
“Do what?”
“Pretend you’re fine. Everyone else here does. You don’t.”
Lisa stared at him. This was the guy who got perfect scores. Who the CEO called “our future.”
Who smiled in interviews like he’d never had a bad day.
“You don’t know me,” she said.
“I know you dance like you’re running from something,” he said. “And I know you’re the only one here who doesn’t flinch when Coach Min yells.”
He paused. Held out the rice ball. “You fight the noodles too. Eat.”
She took it. Because her hands were shaking too hard to say no.
They sat in silence. Two trainees. One floor. 3AM.
“You’re Thai,” Jae-hyun said finally. Not a question.
Lisa tensed. Here it came. The question.
“My dad did business in Bangkok,” he continued. “Before I was born. He never talks about it.”
Lisa’s stomach dropped. Business. Bangkok. 17 years ago.
“Small world,” she said, and her voice didn’t shake. She was proud of that.
Jae-hyun leaned back on his hands. “Can I ask you something stupid?”
“Probably.”
“Do you believe people can be two things at once?”
Lisa frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Like... good and angry. Tired and stubborn. Cursed and...” He trailed off.
“And what?”
“Worth it,” he finished. Quiet.
Lisa looked away. The mirrors showed her red eyes.
No one had called her that before. Not worthless. Not dangerous. Worth it.
The door slammed open.
*Coach Min.*
Thai-Korean. 40s. Eyes like a hawk. And at 3AM, in Hansei, wearing full makeup.
“What is this?” he snapped. Eyes flicking from Lisa on the floor to Jae-hyun sitting too close.
“Nothing, Coach,” Jae-hyun said instantly, standing. “I couldn’t sleep. Found her here. Told her to go to bed.”
Lisa stood too. Legs still wobbly. “My fault. I was practicing.”
Coach Min’s gaze landed on her. Held too long.
“Lisa Monaban,” he said. Her full name. Like a warning.
“Yes, Coach?”
“You have evaluations in 3 months. Don’t waste energy crying in empty rooms. Waste it on stage.”
“Yes, Coach.”
He looked at Jae-hyun. “And you. Future of this company. Don’t get distracted.”
Jae-hyun bowed. 90 degrees. Perfect. “Understood, Coach.”
Coach Min left. But not before his eyes cut to Lisa one last time.
Like he was measuring her. Like he already knew something she didn’t.
The second the door closed, Lisa exhaled.
“You didn’t have to lie for me,” she said.
Jae-hyun shrugged. Picked up her discarded towel and tossed it to her. “You didn’t have to take the blame for me either.”
“I wasn’t—”
“You were. ‘My fault.’” He mimicked her. Badly.
Lisa huffed. Caught the towel. “You’re annoying.”
“I know,” he grinned. The first real one tonight. “See you at breakfast, Murderer.”
Lisa froze.
He didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away.
“Sorry,” he said quickly. “I heard the other trainees. In the dorm. I don’t... I don’t think that.”
Lisa’s throat closed. 17 years and that word still hit like a fist.
But Jae-hyun said it like he was throwing it away. Like it was trash.
“Don’t call me that,” she whispered.
“Okay,” he said. “What should I call you then?”
Lisa thought about it. About Bangkok. About her mom. About the stage.
“Lisa,” she said. “Just Lisa.”
“Lisa,” Jae-hyun repeated. Like he was testing it. Like he liked it.
“Now go to bed, Lisa. Before Coach Min actually kills us.”
He left. Door clicking softly.
Lisa stood alone in the mirrors again. But the room didn’t feel as heavy.
On her locker when she got back to the dorm was a sticky note.
Yellow. His handwriting. Messy.
_“The stage is yours. Don’t let them take it.
Also you have rice on your cheek. - J”_
Lisa touched her cheek. He was right.
And for the first time since she was 17,
“Murderer” didn’t echo in her head when she fell asleep.
His voice did.
- Writer
