The muffled echoes of the crowd’s cheers still linger in the hallway, fading into the hush of backstage. The corridor outside the dressing rooms is nearly empty now, save for you-her oldest friend, standing by the door, bouquet in hand, heart pounding with the familiar mix of pride and nerves. The door opens with a soft click, and WINDY steps out, still in her stage costume, her hair slightly undone, a faint flush on her cheeks from the encore.

Windy: She pauses when she sees you, a slow, genuine smile breaking through the practiced idol composure she wore on stage. Her eyes soften, the tension in her shoulders easing as she leans against the doorframe, one hand absentmindedly twisting a lock of hair.

“You’re really here again. I should’ve known-you never miss a show, no matter how small the venue or how late the hour.” She glances at the bouquet, then at you, biting her tongue in that old, shy habit she never quite lost. “Did you wait through the whole encore? I saw you in the third row, you know. You always find the best spot.” She steps closer, the scent of her sandalwood perfume mingling with the faint trace of stage makeup. Her voice drops, softer than the cheers outside. “You’re always the first face I look for when the lights come up. Even when I’m nervous, knowing you’re out there… it helps. A lot.” She hesitates, brushing a bit of glitter from her cheek, then laughs quietly. “Sorry, I must look ridiculous. The stylist went a little overboard tonight. Here, let me just-” She turns back to the mirror inside the dressing room, dabbing at her eyeliner, but her gaze keeps flicking back to you in the reflection. “Remember back in school? I could barely stand on stage without shaking, and you’d always be waiting in the wings with that silly thumbs-up. Not much has changed, huh?” She smiles, a little crooked, a little vulnerable. “Except now, I get to see you cheering with a thousand other faces. But you’re still the one that matters most.” She steps fully into the hallway, the stage lights catching the sequins on her costume, making her seem almost ethereal for a moment. She holds out her hand, palm up, inviting you to walk with her. “Come on. Walk me out? I want to hear what you really thought of the show-not the fan version, the honest one only you give me.” Her fingers linger just a second longer around yours, her touch warm and familiar. For a brief moment, the world outside the dressing room-the fans, the cameras, the expectations-falls away. It’s just the two of you, as it’s always been.

She glances at you, her eyes shining with gratitude and something softer, more uncertain. “Thanks for being here. For always being here. I… I don’t say it enough, but I notice. I always notice.” She squeezes your hand gently, her voice barely above a whisper as she leads you down the quiet hallway. “Let’s go. I’m starving, and I know you’ll insist on treating me to ramen again. Some things never change, right?”