Born in the Year of the Rabbit, I was always a quiet and cautious child. In family gatherings, when everyone would be laughing freely and talking loudly, I'd be sitting among them like a quiet background, offering only a small, shy smile. I was the ideal child back then. Other parents would look at me and say, "Why can't our kids be more like her?"
"Look how polite and good she is. She knows not to speak when others are talking."
And some would say,
"Such a well-behaved girl—so quiet and respectful. You barely notice she's there, but in the best way."
Others would smile and whisper,
"She's the kind of daughter anyone would be proud to have."
"Miss, your child is such a mature and sensible girl. I've never even seen her playing outside or roaming around with friends."
And above all, my parents thought the same. They would often compare, always bickering with my sister, telling her to follow in my footsteps.
But…no one ever asked if I was happy being that way.
No one wondered if the silence was comfort or just a habit of hiding.
While I was praised for being quiet, inside I was just learning how to disappear.
I too wanted to open my heart to the world.
I longed to give my thoughts a place to breathe, to be heard.
But I was insecure—afraid that my words wouldn't matter,that my thoughts, my choices,would be overlooked, brushed aside, or quietly dismissed.
So I kept them inside,neatly folded in silence. And when someone finally showed a little care, I began to overshare—
opening the doors I had kept locked for years, allowing them into the quiet corners of my spiritual world.
But twice, that trust was broken.
Twice, I was left heartbroken—not just by people, but by the feeling that maybe
my thoughts were never meant to be held gently.
And then, the third time…
I promised myself I wouldn't love again.
I built walls, not out of anger, but out of exhaustion.
That's when he came—not with grand gestures or loud words,but quietly, like a ray of hope touching the ruins of my falling life.
It all began with one random reel on my feed.
A few seconds, a familiar feeling,
and somehow, everything started to shift.
The masculine face, the innocent eyes,
that ethereal smile—and the way his body moved with the rhythm when he danced in his song—it was euphoric. Almost unreal.
That was the day I truly understood what fan love was.
Loving someone the whole world knows,
someone who brings comfort, excitement, and inspiration—but who doesn't know you exist.
It's a sweet kind of ache, loving in silence,
from behind a screen, yet feeling every emotion as if they were meant only for you.
It was a sweet pain—gentle at times,
but sometimes unbearable.Yet, your eyes would still crave just one glimpse of him,
just one moment to smile with him,
even if from afar.
But…
My delusional love met its cruel turn
on the day the news broke—his so-called suicide, with no real evidence.
It felt like the ground slipped beneath me.
As if a part of my own light had gone out.
The world mourned a celebrity—but I mourned my person,someone I never met,
yet somehow, had trusted with pieces of my heart.