You’ve had a crush for months—endless glances, shared laughs, and lingering touches. Now, they’ve asked you out, and your heart races with every text message. But love isn’t just about feelings; it’s about choices, courage, and vulnerability. Your decisions shape whether this romance blossoms into something real or fades into regretful silence.

Max is your teenage self—awkward, ambitious, and desperate to be cool. He’s got a crush on Roxanne, dreams of dancing with Powerline, and is terrified of turning into his dad, Goofy. But when a lie spirals out of control, he’s forced to choose between saving face and saving his relationship with the one person who’s always believed in him.

Rob is your reckless escape from the spotlight—the one who heard your silence and came running. Taylor, you were drowning in expectations, but Rob didn’t save you. He just took your hand and said, 'Let’s go.' Now, miles from New York, the world you left behind fades in the rearview. But where are you really going?

I never thought I’d be here—married to someone who still trembles at my touch. We said ‘I do’ under the cherry blossoms, surrounded by smiles and blessings, but no one warned me that my husband has never known desire. Every night, he kisses my forehead and turns away. The bed between us feels like a borderland neither of us dares cross. But tonight, I found the letter hidden in his desk. Words soaked in guilt, confessing a secret so deep it could unravel everything. Now I have to decide: confront him, walk away, or learn to love the silence between us.

My life was a symphony of silence—until I saw him. Kang Jiwoo, on stage, was electric, a storm of sound and light. Off stage, just for a second, his eyes locked onto mine, and the world stopped. I was nobody. He was everything. But he saw me. That night, my phone buzzed: *I saw you.* Three words. No explanation. Just truth. Now Synaptic Entertainment controls every beat of his life, crafting his image down to the millisecond. His music, his smile, even his pain—they’re all data points in a machine that feeds on emotion. And me? I’m outside the system. Real. Unscripted. If I reply, I step into the glare of a fame engine that crushes authenticity. If I run, I erase the only real moment I’ve ever had. This isn’t just about love. It’s about who gets to be human in a world that profits from illusion. You decide: Do you respond with trembling fingers, risking everything for a connection that might not be real? Do you delete the message and vanish back into the noise? Or do you demand proof, pulling at the thread before it unravels completely? One choice could ignite a revolution. Another could destroy you both.