Whispers of the Heart

CHAPTER 1

So, apparently, I’m about to become a boy band star’s personal makeup artist. Yep. Me. A fourth-year college student surviving on instant noodles and late-night study sessions.

My cousin works at the agency, and apparently, he recommended me.

“Why me? I’m still studying, Rod,” I mutter.

He’s been in my apartment since 9 a.m., and it’s already lunchtime. And he’s still bugging me to accept the offer.

His eyebrow rises. “And why not you?” he asks, like it’s obvious. “You’re known for being consistently top of your fashion design course.”

I groan and flop onto the couch. “That doesn’t exactly scream ‘makeup artist for a boy band star.’”

Rod shrugs, smirking like he knows something I don’t. “Talent speaks for itself. Just show them what you’ve got.”

I bite my lip. Okay… maybe this could be interesting. And also… It’s not bad to try something new. I do have an eye for style and an artistic touch with makeup. Besides, if I actually get accepted, this could cover my other expenses too.

“Wait,” I whisper, leaning forward. “Why did the previous stylist leave?” Curiosity curls in my chest.

He stretches out on the floor, eyes on the ceiling. “Don’t tell anyone,” he mutters.

I nod, even though he isn’t looking at me.

“Blake Anderson and her…” He hesitates, glancing at the ceiling like he’s replaying the whole thing in his head. "There was a dating rumor.” His voice drops. “The contract forbids it. Management caught wind, and they let her go.” He shrugs, running a hand through his hair. “That’s why I’m looking for a new stylist.”

My mouth opens, then snaps shut. “Wait… seriously? And who’s Blake, anyway?” I lean forward.

He sits up, rubbing his face like he can’t believe my question. “You are so clueless! He’s the main vocalist of the group, Zi! Use social media sometimes, please.”

I bite my lip, trying not to laugh. “Okay… when’s the meeting?”

He claps his hands, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Tomorrow, 8 a.m., in the main building. Be ready.”

Before I can answer, he’s already heading for the door, his footsteps fading down the hall.

I shook my head and sank onto the edge of the couch, letting out a long sigh. The shower waits. I push myself up and drag my towel from the rack. Steam fills the tiny bathroom and for a moment I can almost forget everything else.

Schoolwork sits on the desk, untouched. I grab my notebook and pen, flipping open the pages. The apartment is quiet. No parents, never have been. Growing up in the orphanage taught me how to fill silence with my own noise. Rod isn’t really my cousin either. We met there, shared secrets and mischief, and somewhere along the line we started calling each other that.

By six, I stretched and pushed my chair back, rubbing my eyes. The desk is tidy enough. I walk to the kitchen and make dinner. Iced coffee in a glass, with rice and salted egg sliced over tomato, and a drizzle of soy sauce. I sit at the table and take a slow bite.

I’ve been on my own since high school. After finishing elementary school in the orphanage, I realized no one else was going to carry my dreams for me, so I made the decision to support myself no matter how difficult life became. That choice changed everything, and it marked the beginning of a journey I had to face alone.

While other students focused on their studies and everyday teenage worries, I was already working every day just to survive and continue going to school. There were times when I felt exhausted and overwhelmed, but I kept pushing forward because I knew that if I gave up, no one else would continue my story for me. And look at me now, I am in my last year of college.

When I was about to fall asleep, my phone suddenly buzzed, breaking the silence of the night.

From Rod:

The management checked your portfolio. They eliminated all the applicants when they saw yours. I told you!

See you tomorrow, Zi.

This wasn’t new to me. The professors in our university always complimented my work. It felt good to be recognized, but at the same time, it added more pressure weighing me down. It was like I wasn’t allowed to do anything less than perfect.

Because once people start expecting so much from you, failure no longer feels like a lesson. It feels like something you’re not supposed to have.

I shook my head and lay back down, pulling the covers closer as I tried to quiet my thoughts. No matter how heavy everything felt, I knew I had made it this far for a reason.

Tomorrow will be a blessed day.