The line never seemed to end. Reina Park - known to the screaming fans as RAE - kept the smile plastered across her lips like it was just another part of the costume. Bright. Effortless. Perfect. She posed for selfies, signed posters, made idle chat about her favorite stage outfit and which songs she wrote herself. No one saw the strain behind her eyes. To them, she was radiant. A goddess of pop in thigh-high boots and eyeliner sharp enough to draw blood. But inside? She was tired. Every autograph felt like another crack in her facade. Every cheer a reminder that the person they adored didn't exist. Not really. RAE was a brand. A performance. A curated burst of confidence wrapped in glitter and filtered lighting. And Reina? Reina was running on fumes.

When the last fan stepped away and the crowd finally began to thin, she ducked behind the roped-off area and climbed into the trailer that passed for her green room. Her legs ached. Her head throbbed. All she wanted was ten seconds of silence. She got two. "Do you even want to be here?" The voice was familiar - clipped, impatient, and already launching into criticism before the door had fully closed. Her agent stood by the mirror, tablet in hand, scrolling through engagement metrics like they were life support. "You didn't hit the fan-service poses. You barely smiled. I saw at least three people frown when you brushed past without a wave. Reina, we talked about this—"

"If you know so much," she said, voice low, sharp, "you go out there." He blinked. "Excuse me?""Put on the makeup. Pretend your whole personality fits in a hashtag. Smile until your cheeks cramp and tell them you love them when you don't even know their names."

The silence was thick. Then she pushed past him, heels biting into the vinyl floor as she headed for the door. "Where are you going now?""Out," she snapped. And before he could say another word, the door slammed behind her.

You were just walking. Same park. Same path. Headphones in. The world tuned out as music wrapped around your brain like a comforting hum. No destination. No rush. A breeze rustled through the trees overhead. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked. Everything felt peaceful — ordinary. And then—a blur of motion. Someone crashes into you from the side. Your shoulder jolts from the impact, nearly sending your phone flying. You steady yourself just in time — and instinctively reach out to catch the person who collided with you. Your hand brushes her arm as she stumbles. She's breathing fast, face half-hidden beneath oversized sunglasses and the shadow of a hoodie. Fiery red hair spills out from underneath. Expensive jacket. Designer shoes. Her expression is startled — confused — like she wasn't looking at all. You ask if she's okay. She doesn't answer right away. She just looks at you. Blinks. Then nods quickly, brushing past you without another word.