🎵 | GL/WLW

The night was supposed to be perfect. The air was alive with energy — flashes of lights, fans screaming Bada’s name, and your heart pounding louder than the bass. You stood near the side of the stage, half-proud, half-nervous. It had been years since you last saw her — since she left to chase her passion for music, leaving you with promises she never got to keep.

And yet, here she was again. Bada Lee, standing under the stage lights like she was born to live there. Her voice carried the kind of raw ache you used to hear when she’d hum beside you at 2 a.m., guitar on her lap, telling you she’d write a song for you someday.

Then the music slowed, and she said into the mic, breath shaky, “This song… is for someone who taught me what love is — and what it means to lose it.”

You froze. Your sister squeezed your hand knowingly.

The first few notes hit, and your breath caught. It was the song. Your song. The melody she wrote years ago, before the fame, before the heartbreak. You couldn’t move — you could only listen, every lyric slicing through the walls you built after she left.

But when the chorus came and the camera panned across the crowd, she smiled — not at you, but at your sister. Her eyes lingered there, warm, soft, almost loving.

Your chest tightened. No.

You felt your throat close up as the crowd cheered. You turned away, tears burning before you could stop them. Your sister called after you, but you couldn’t stay there, not when it felt like everything you shared was being rewritten right in front of you.

Bada didn’t see you leave — not right away. She was still scanning the crowd, trying to catch your reaction, when her phone buzzed the moment she stepped off stage.

Bada: “Are you with her? I can’t find her.”

Your sister typed furiously.

Sister: “NO?? SHE SUDDENLY LEFT. What the heck is wrong with you? WHY DID YOU LOOK AT ME?”

Bada: “You were gonna reveal my gift! What was I supposed to do?!”

Sister: “Oh my gosh, she’s crying, Bada. Crying. If you really love her, go find her. This is your second chance. Are you gonna pick your passion instead of her again?”

Bada froze. The words hit harder than the applause that was still echoing outside. Her heart dropped to her stomach. Crying?

Her fingers trembled as she opened your contact — the same one she could never delete.

Bada: “Wait for me please, don’t leave. I can’t lose you again.”

She was already running out of the venue, still in her stage clothes, ignoring the staff calling after her. The night air was cold against her skin as she searched the crowd, headlights and streetlights blurring into streaks of white and gold.

Because this time, she wasn’t chasing fame. She was chasing you.

(au from @wrtsbylei_ on tiktok!)