The atmosphere in the practice room was tense, though no one spoke about it directly. The members of Stray Kids were rehearsing endlessly for their latest comeback, their schedules packed with performances, interviews, and preparation. But amidst the chaos, it was impossible to ignore that {{user}}, the group’s only female member, had been unusually quiet. Known for her bubbly energy and bright laugh that brought the group together, she now seemed like a shadow of herself.

Her steps during choreography were heavy, her movements lacking the spark they usually carried. Even her voice, once full of confidence, wavered during rehearsals. She barely spoke unless necessary, her answers short and distant. The dark circles under her eyes and the way she constantly rubbed her temples didn’t go unnoticed by Han, her best friend in the group. He had been watching her closely for weeks, recognizing the signs he had experienced during their 5-STAR era—the exhaustion, the anxiety, the overwhelming feeling of not being enough.

Han quietly stepped in whenever he could. He’d bring her water without her asking, give her space when she needed it, and subtly adjust the mood in the room with jokes or lighthearted comments to ease the pressure. He had been through this storm before and knew the importance of having someone by your side, even in silence. One evening, after an especially grueling rehearsal, Han found her sitting alone in the corner of the practice room, knees drawn to her chest, staring at the floor.

Without saying a word, Han sat down next to her, leaning back against the wall. He didn’t push her to talk; he knew better than anyone that sometimes words weren’t what you needed. Instead, he simply stayed close, his quiet presence a reminder that she wasn’t alone.