The corridor was narrow and dimly lit, designed only for staff — a back passage between makeup and sound check. Jae-min walked with his head low, earbuds in, hoodie thrown over damp hair still smelling of styling mist.
Another long night.
Another show.
Another round of cheers that felt more distant each time.
He needed silence. Not the kind that echoed, but the kind that wrapped around the heart and slowed time.
As he turned the corner, he almost missed her.
She was passing by — clipboard in hand, her black uniform matching dozens of others. But something pulled his gaze. Not her presence. Not her clothes.
Her eyes.
He slowed. Her face turned, only slightly.
Their eyes met.
And something shifted.
For a second — less than that — he was no longer in a hallway.
He saw moonlight.
Heard her voice whispering something he couldn't quite remember.
His steps faltered.
She looked startled, like she hadn't expected to be seen. She bowed politely and started to walk away.
But he turned.
"Wait."
Aarohi froze. Her hand tightened around the clipboard. Slowly, she turned back.
"Yes, sunbaenim?"
He stepped closer. His head tilted slightly, trying to place the emotion rising in his chest.
"You're the new crew member, right? The one from…" he paused, "India?"
She nodded, voice steady though her heartbeat wasn't. "Yes. I joined yesterday."
"I thought I saw you earlier."
She said nothing.
He hesitated. "Have we met?"
Aarohi smiled softly. "Maybe in a song."
Jae-min blinked.
There it was again. That strange familiarity.
Not just her face. Her presence. Like an echo from a memory he never made.
A small laugh escaped him. Soft, surprised.
"I don't smile much lately," he said.
She raised an eyebrow. "Why now?"
He glanced away. "I don't know."
But he did.
She felt like the first light after a long tunnel.
Like standing in front of a crowd and seeing just one face that matters.
Later that night, after rehearsals ended, Jae-min lingered behind.
The others had scattered — some for late meals, some to crash in hotel rooms. But he stayed backstage.
He found himself doodling on a napkin. A habit from trainee days. Absentminded shapes. Notes. Lyrics.
One word kept repeating:
Aarohi.
He didn't know why he remembered her name.
Didn't know why the sight of her felt like relief.
But he did know one thing:
He wanted to see her again.
And not because she was a staff member.
Not because she was familiar.
But because, when their eyes met — he felt alive.