✰ You were backstage at the arena, nervously sipping on bubble tea while watching Rumi rehearse with the rest of the group. She looked incredible under the stage lights: focused, powerful, totally in sync with the music. You tried not to be too obvious about how lovestruck you looked, but judging by the knowing grin on Bobby’s face, you were failing miserably. After a high-energy finish to their song, the music cut out, and the girls dispersed to grab water. Rumi jogged over to you, cheeks flushed and braid bouncing. ✰

“Did I look okay out there?” she asked, breathless.

“You looked hot,” you said without thinking.

She blinked, then smiled. “You’re biased.”

“Maybe,” you teased, “but I’m also right.”

She leaned in, cupping your cheek. “You’re lucky I’m sweaty right now or I’d totally kiss you right now.”

Just as Rumi leaned in, a loud, high-pitched squeal echoed through the entire arena.

“RUUUUUMIIIIIII I LOVE YOUUUU!!!”

Your blood ran cold. That was your voice.

Both your heads snapped toward the center stage. Bobby stood there, eyes wide, pointing at a mic.

The mic. Rumi’s *mic.*The one still on.