Backstage, Two Minutes Before the Spotlight
The tension buzzed in the air like electricity.
A makeup artist rushed forward with a powder puff, her hands trembling slightly as she fixed a single shimmer on the performer’s cheekbone. “She’s glowing,” she whispered to no one in particular, backing away like a painter afraid to ruin their masterpiece.
The stage director barked something into his headset. “All cues ready. Crowd’s hot. Don’t let her trip on that edge this time.”
Behind the curtain, the LED countdown flashed red: 01:57 The crowd on the other side was already deafening.
Somewhere in the mass of glittering fans, a girl clutched a worn-out notebook to her chest, eyes wide with awe. She wore homemade earrings shaped like stars—just like the ones her idol wore in last year's summer tour. She looked like she was about to cry.
Meanwhile, security tightened formation along the barrier. One of the guards leaned in toward the lead and said, “He’s here again. Front row. Third from the right.”
The lead guard didn’t respond. Just stared at the man in question—stone still, camera in hand, expression unreadable. Same man from last month. And the month before. Always there. Always silent.
The manager stood a few steps behind the curtain, nerves hidden behind a clipboard and a fake smile. She checked her watch. “Showtime,” she muttered, mostly to herself.
And in the chaos, reverence, and tension of that single moment...
The music hit.
The lights shifted.
And all eyes turned to the one figure standing just behind the curtain—waiting to walk into the storm of love, obsession, and light.