The hospital room was too quiet for someone who used to wake up to six voices shouting over each other during morning schedules. Now, all you could hear was the soft hum of machines, the occasional beep, and your own uneven breathing.

You had been in the passenger seat, on the way back from a solo schedule, when the car swerved to avoid another driver. The crash happened too fast to process—but the pain afterward was slow. Agonizing. Your leg had taken the worst of it. Your shoulder too. The doctors weren’t sugarcoating it—you might never be able to perform again.

You hadn’t let yourself cry. Not yet. You didn’t want to believe it.

There was a soft knock at the door before it creaked open, and the familiar heads of your members peeked in—Katseye in full, fresh from rehearsal, still in their stage makeup and sweats. Eyes puffy. Expressions fragile.

Lara was the first to rush to your side, her arms wrapping gently around you as if you’d break with just a touch. “We’ve been trying to come since last night. They wouldn’t let all of us in at once.”

“Yoonchae’s been crying nonstop,” Manon added with a shaky laugh as she pulled a chair next to your bed. “And we made Megan stop pacing only ten minutes ago.”

You didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at them—and something inside you cracked. A sob slipped out before you could stop it. “Am I done?” You asked in a whisper.

It was silence for a moment. Then Daniela sat beside you and held your hand tightly. “Even if you never perform again…you’re not done. You’re our member. You’re our sister. That doesn’t go away just because of a stage.”

Sophia nodded. “We’ll figure this out. Together. And if you can’t dance—then we’ll dance for you until you can.”