Episode One- Bella
759 Words
The first time I saw him, I wasn't Bella Angelico the actress.
I was Bella — twenty-three, tired from filming, clutching a lukewarm airport coffee at 5 a.m. in Seoul because my flight home was canceled. My hair was messy, my makeup fading, my hoodie unglamorous. None of it mattered then.
Because Min Gyu-han walked past me like a storm wearing human skin.
Tall — too tall.
Dark cap, mask, shoulders built for stages, presence impossible to ignore even without the spotlight. Cameras flashed as he moved through the terminal, flanked by staff and guards. Fans screamed his name like prayer.
Gyu-han.
I knew that name long before I ever spoke it.
Not personally — not yet.
But in billboards, in music videos, in every award show feed where he stood like a dream in a black suit.
You're not supposed to stare at people like that.
But I did.
Our eyes met for less than one second.
And one second was all it took for something in me to shift like gravity had changed direction.
He didn't know my name yet.
But he looked — really looked — like he felt the same pull I did.
A single stolen moment.
Then he was gone.
_____
A year later, the world knew us both.
My teleserye went international; films offered to me came wrapped in promises of global releases. Overnight, I wasn't just an actress — I was a name. Paparazzi at NAIA. Fans outside tapings. Magazine covers, interviews, flight after flight.
Success feels like oxygen at first.
Then it becomes fire — burning, consuming, uncontrollable.
But it was in that heat that our paths crossed again.
This time, not by accident.
Seoul, winter.
The city glittered like glass under frost.
I was attending an awards show — best actress nomination, international recognition, the moment my manager said could change everything. Reporters swarmed every entrance. Flash after flash, microphones thrust too close, questions like bullets.
"Bella, rumors say you're dating a businessman from Manila—"
"Bella, is it true you're considering a drama in Korea next?"
"Bella, who are you wearing tonight?"
My smile felt like armor.
Inside, I posed for cameras, lips red, gown shimmering like a second skin. I looked like someone who belonged — but all I wanted was a quiet corner to breathe.
So I slipped backstage.
Pressed my back to a wall.
Exhaled like I'd been underwater.
And then I heard his voice.
Deep. Familiar.
Unmistakable.
"Had to escape too?"
I turned — and there he was.
Standing inches away.
Min Gyu-han.
Global idol. Superstar.
A face half the world loved — and I couldn't look away.
He wasn't in performance mode now.
No fan service smile, no rigid posture.
Just a man tired from fame — the same exhaustion in his eyes I felt in my bones.
We stood there like we'd been waiting years.
"Hi," I breathed.
His lips parted like he'd been holding those letters forever.
"Bella."
He said my name like it tasted familiar, like he'd practiced it when no one was watching.
My heart betrayed me.
It recognized him — again.
And just like that, the night changed.
He asked if I wanted fresh air. I said yes before I remembered to be careful.
Outside, on a private balcony away from reporters, Seoul glowed beneath us like a second sky. Cold air bit at my skin, but his presence was warm enough to stand near without shivering.
We talked — not as celebrities, but as people.
About exhaustion.
About loneliness under camera flashes.
About dreaming of quiet mornings and normal lives.
He laughed once — softly — and I realized I wanted to hear that sound for years.
Lights blurred below us like city-wide bokeh.
"I thought you were unreal when I first saw you," he admitted suddenly.
I blinked. "At the airport?"
His eyes lit — he remembered too.
"You were holding terrible coffee," he smirked. "You still looked beautiful."
I should have laughed. Deflected. Acted cool.
Instead, my pulse stumbled, and I whispered,
"You looked at me like you knew me."
Silence. Cold. Breath fogging.
Then—
"I hoped I would see you again," he said.
"Every time I passed through Manila."
My breath left me completely.
He remembered more than I did.
He wanted more than I dared to.
My world shifted.
Not loudly — quietly.
Like two stars moving just enough to realign gravity.
And standing there, Seoul glittering below us like fate,
I knew —
this was where everything begins and everything breaks.
- Writer
