Chapter 3: What He Doesn’t Hear
1130 Words
Yoonchae's POV
I knew the moment the door opened that something was wrong.
The music cut off too early. That alone was enough to make all of us turn at once, irritation already forming on my tongue. Rehearsals were sacred—interruptions weren't normal.
Then I saw him.
Kim Sieun stood at the doorway, taller than I expected in person, shoulders tense, eyes scanning the room like he'd walked into the wrong place by accident. He was dressed simply—black hoodie, dark pants—but there was no hiding who he was. The aura followed him. Confidence, fame, weight.
My heart stopped.
No.
No, no, no.
This wasn't happening.
I felt it first in my chest, like the air had been knocked out of me. My hands went cold, and suddenly the room felt too bright, too loud, too real.
Him.
Here.
In our practice room.
I'd watched him on screens a hundred times—on stage, in interviews, through fancams I pretended I didn't save. I knew his songs by heart. I knew the way he tilted his head when he sang, the way his voice softened at the bridge, the way he smiled like he knew exactly what he was doing.
But seeing him in person was different.
Too close.
Too much.
The manager nudged him forward, and when he spoke, my chest tightened even more.
"안녕하세요. 김시은입니다."
Hello. I am Kim Sieun.
His voice was lower than I expected. Softer. Nervous.
Then he tried in English.
"I'm... Kim Sieun. New... member of KATSEYE."
The room exploded.
I didn't speak. I couldn't.
Sophia was the first to react. "Wait—did he just say member?"
Daniela laughed in disbelief. "Our group is all female."
"This makes no sense," Lara muttered.
I heard Megan curse under her breath. "This is gonna be chaos."
Manon crossed her arms. "Then get ready for the stares."
Their voices blurred together, but I heard everything.
He didn't.
That was the part that hurt the most.
He stood there, completely lost, eyes flicking from face to face as English words crashed around him like waves he couldn't swim through. His shoulders stiffened. His hands curled slightly at his sides.
He didn't understand us.
And suddenly, all the excitement I'd felt for months—the quiet crush I'd tried to bury—twisted into something heavier.
Guilt.
Because while we were reacting, judging, panicking... he looked terrified.
I wanted to say something.
Anything.
But my throat closed.
The manager explained everything quickly, her tone sharp and final. Temporary. Project. Get used to it.
I watched his face as she spoke. He nodded at the wrong times. Smiled politely when no one was smiling. He was pretending to understand, and it was painfully obvious.
Rehearsal continued, but it wasn't really rehearsal anymore.
I danced on autopilot, muscle memory carrying me through the steps while my eyes betrayed me again and again. Every time I glanced toward the wall, there he was—standing alone, watching quietly, trying not to take up space.
Kim Sieun.
The soloist everyone adored.
Reduced to silence.
He caught me looking once.
Our eyes met.
And I panicked.
I looked away instantly, heart pounding, cheeks burning. I prayed he didn't notice. I prayed he didn't see the way my hands were shaking.
Because if he did... I didn't know what I'd do.
⸻
I first fell for him months ago.
He probably doesn't remember the event. To him, it was just another stage, another performance, another crowd screaming his name.
To me, it was everything.
I'd been standing backstage, waiting for my cue, watching the monitor. He was mid-performance, sweat glistening under the lights, voice steady and strong. The crowd sang every word back to him, and for a moment, he smiled—not the confident, teasing smile fans loved, but something softer. Something real.
I felt it then.
That stupid, dangerous flutter.
I told myself it was just admiration. Respect. He was talented. He was successful. Of course I'd notice.
But admiration didn't make my heart race every time his song played.
Admiration didn't make me memorize interviews, or rewind clips just to hear him laugh.
Admiration didn't make me feel like this.
I never planned to tell him. Never planned to act on it. It was safer to keep it quiet, tucked away where it couldn't hurt anyone.
Especially him.
Especially me.
And now he was here.
In our space.
Unaware.
⸻
After rehearsal, the room buzzed with whispered conversations.
"What were they thinking?"
"He doesn't even speak English."
"This is going to be a nightmare."
I stayed quiet, packing my bag slowly. When I looked up, I saw him still standing near the wall, unsure whether to leave or stay.
He looked... small.
Not physically. Never that.
But emotionally.
Like he'd been dropped into something he didn't ask for.
One of the girls approached him and spoke slowly, carefully, using hand gestures. I watched his face twist with confusion, then embarrassment when he had to admit he didn't understand.
"죄송합니다... 영어 잘 못해요," he said softly.
I understood that.
Sorry... I'm not good at English.
Something in my chest cracked.
I wanted to step forward. I wanted to say, It's okay. I understand you. I wanted to tell him he wasn't alone.
But my feet wouldn't move.
What right did I have?
So I stayed back.
Coward.
As everyone left, I hesitated by the door. I glanced back one last time and saw him looking around the room like he was memorizing it—like he was trying to prepare himself for something he didn't want.
Our eyes met again.
This time, I didn't look away fast enough.
He frowned slightly, confused, then nodded politely.
Just polite.
Just distant.
Just unaware.
And somehow, that hurt more than rejection ever could.
⸻
That night, I lay awake staring at the ceiling.
My phone buzzed with messages—group chats, fan reactions, rumors already spreading—but I ignored them.
All I could see was him standing there, surrounded by voices he couldn't understand.
Tomorrow, he'd dance with us.
Tomorrow, the chaos would really begin.
And tomorrow, I'd have to stand next to the person I loved... pretending he was just another member.
Pretending my heart wasn't breaking quietly every time he smiled without knowing why my hands shook when he walked by.
He didn't know my name.
He didn't know my feelings.
And maybe that was for the best.
But as I closed my eyes, one thought refused to leave me alone:
If he ever learned the language...
would he hear my heart when it spoke?
- Writer
