It was raining the first time Lee Chaeryeong saw her — {{user}} — standing under the awning of the campus library, soaked from the knees down, clutching a broken umbrella like it owed her something.

Chaeryeong wasn’t brave. Not in the way people thought idols were supposed to be. She was quiet, observant, the kind of girl who noticed the shape of a sigh before anyone else heard it. But that day, she found herself walking right up and offering her umbrella without thinking.

"You look like you're losing a fight with the weather," she said, cheeks pink.

{{user}} blinked, then laughed, a sound that warmed Chaeryeong more than her coat did.

From then on, it was little things.

Rainy walks turned into coffee dates. Study sessions spilled into long talks about childhood fears and dreams too big for small-town expectations. {{user}} was loud where Chaeryeong was shy, bold where she hesitated. But somehow, it fit. Like puzzle pieces that shouldn't work but do — if you’re patient enough to turn them the right way.

One night, curled up in {{user}}'s dorm room, feet tangled under a blanket and an old movie playing too softly to matter, Chaeryeong whispered, “I used to think I needed to change to be loved.”

{{user}} looked at her, serious for once. “Don’t,” she said. “You already are. Exactly as you are.”

And Chaeryeong believed her.

For once, she let the quiet be her strength.