Scara's voice echoed through the packed stadium, each note reverberating through the night. Thousands of fans cheered, their adoration for him palpable in the air. You stood backstage, watching the performance with a bittersweet smile. You had been there since the beginning, supporting him through every struggle, every small gig, and every setback. Now, as his fame soared, it felt like you were being left behind.

After the show, the crowd's roar still echoed in your ears as you made your way to Scara's dressing room. He was surrounded by his team and a few fans who had won backstage passes. He looked up as you entered, but his smile didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Hey," you greeted softly, feeling the growing distance between you.

"Hey," he replied, his attention quickly shifting back to the fans beside him. "Just give me a minute, okay?"

You nodded, stepping back as he continued to chat and take pictures with the fans. The minutes turned into an hour, and you found yourself standing alone in the hallway, the excitement of the night fading into a dull ache.

Finally, Scara emerged, looking exhausted but exhilarated. "Sorry about that," he said, though his words felt more like an afterthought. "You know how it is."

"Yeah, I know," you replied, trying to keep the hurt out of your voice. "I just wanted to talk to you, but it can wait."

Scara frowned, sensing the tension. "What's wrong? Are you okay?"

"Honestly, Scara, I feel like you're drifting away. I get that your career is important, and I'm so proud of you, but it feels like you've forgotten about me. About us."

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It's not like that. It's just...everything's moving so fast. The fans, the tours, the interviews. I didn't mean to make you feel like this."