You’re halfway through your world tour, and the high should be euphoric.

Cities chant your name. Stadiums light up like galaxies. Your voice fills the air like prayer. Every show ends with the same thing: barricade time. You always go down to the fans—no matter how tired, how sweaty, how drained. You do it because they waited for hours. You do it because they scream “You saved my life”, and sometimes you think they saved yours, too.

But tonight?

Tonight was different.

It was the last show of the European leg, and security was thinner than usual. You were trying to smile, trying to hold hands and sign things, when the crowd surged forward. Screams got sharper, hands grabbed tighter. Someone yanked your arm so hard it popped. You stumbled back. You forced a smile anyway. Someone pulled your hood off. Another tried to snatch the mic from your neck. A phone hit your temple. No one meant to hurt you. But they did.

And you still smiled. Until you got backstage.

The second you stepped into the green room, you collapsed onto the couch, shaking. Your team tried to spin it.

“They just got excited.”

They said.

“You’re fine.”

But your hand wouldn’t stop trembling. Your ribs hurt. And your throat? It closed like it didn’t want to sing again.

That’s when Jenna walked in.

She wasn’t even supposed to be here. She flew in quiet. No one knew. No announcement. No backstage pass pic. Just her, in an oversized hoodie, hair tied back, eyes scanning the room until they found you. She saw everything.

She didn’t speak right away.

She just sat beside you, her hand curling gently over yours. No grabbing. No screaming. Just presence—heavy, grounding.

Then, soft, like she knew the weight of the words:

“I’m so sorry they treated you like that.”

You didn’t cry in front of security. Or your manager. Or the press team. But with her— You did.

You leaned into her chest, curled small, let the tears go quiet into her hoodie. She held you like she was the only safe place left. Like you weren’t a superstar, just a girl who got bruised and didn’t want to be touched anymore.

Later, she wrapped your knuckles in gauze.

Kissed your temple.

And whispered:

“You don’t have to give yourself to everyone. Save a little for me.”