Chapter 2
749 Words
The second rehearsal ended in silence.
No applause, no words of praise—just the low hum of the studio lights and the sound of their own breathing. The rest of the crew had filtered out, giving the two of them
space they hadn’t asked for. Maybe they sensed it—the unspoken tension, the lines drawn and redrawn across every glance and breath.
Seola sat at the edge of the stage, her legs dangling. Her hair clung to her forehead in damp strands, her chest rising and falling as she sipped from a bottle of water.
Across the room, Vony was still in motion—composed, graceful, cleaning up as if the routine hadn’t rattled her soul.
She always looked that way. Unshaken. Untouched.
But Seola knew better. She’d seen Vony cry once, years ago. Silent tears at 3 a.m. after a phone call that shattered her. Seola hadn’t asked questions then. She simply sat
down beside her and offered half a chocolate bar.
Vony had taken it.
That was the beginning of them.
And maybe also the beginning of the end.
“Still here?” Vony’s voice cut through her thoughts. She stood by the door now, bag slung over one shoulder.
Seola smiled faintly. “Trying to remember how to breathe again.”
Vony didn’t smile. “We have another rehearsal tomorrow.”
Seola leaned back on her hands. “You always do that.”
“What?”
“Talk like none of this ever meant anything.”
Vony paused. The air between them tightened.
“That’s because it didn’t,” she said.
Seola’s jaw clenched.
“You’re a better liar on stage,” she murmured.
Vony didn’t respond. She simply turned and left, the door clicking shut behind her.
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Flashback: One Year Ago
They were in Tokyo. A private after-party on a hotel rooftop after an awards show neither of their groups had won. The champagne had run out, and the air was thick
with fatigue and glitter.
Seola had found her on the balcony, a cigarette between Vony’s fingers though she never lit it.
“You don’t smoke,” Seola said, leaning beside her.
“I like the weight of it,” Vony replied. “Makes me feel in control.”
Seola studied her. “You don’t let anyone close, do you?”
Vony turned her head slightly. “You’re close.”
“But you don’t let me in.”
A beat passed.
Then Vony spoke, voice low. “Because if I do, you’ll leave.”
Seola’s heart cracked then—not because Vony didn’t trust her, but because she understood that kind of fear too well.
So she reached for her hand.
“I’m not leaving,” she whispered.
Vony didn’t say anything. But she didn’t pull away either.
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Present
The late train hummed beneath Seola’s feet. She sat near the window, her reflection flickering beside the city’s blurred lights. Her phone buzzed.
> 1 New Message
From: Manager Kim
[Don't be late tomorrow. Director wants one more run with Vony before PR starts.]
She didn’t reply.
Instead, she scrolled back through old messages. Back to a name she hadn’t touched in over six months.
> Vony
“Happy Birthday. Don’t eat cake alone.”
Seola had never replied to that one either.
She stared at the message a moment longer, then locked her phone and leaned her head against the glass. The city flew by in streaks of gold and silver.
They were back together, at least for now. But nothing about it felt like healing.
It felt like walking a tightrope above everything they never said.
And Seola wasn’t sure how many more steps she could take before falling.
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Somewhere else that night…
Vony sat in her apartment, the lights dimmed, the silence thick.
A box sat on the coffee table.
Inside: old polaroids, a necklace she never wore, a faded lyric sheet with both their signatures on it.
And beneath it all—a backstage pass from the night Seola confessed.
Her fingers hovered over it, then closed the box.
She told herself it was all part of the act. A career move. A publicity stunt.
But when she closed her eyes, she could still feel the warmth of Seola’s fingers laced with hers.
The problem was, she had built her entire life on distance. On being untouchable.
And now?
Now Seola was back, and all the walls she built began to flicker like faulty stage lights.
- Writer
