📰 | GL/WLW

The newsroom is cold. It always is—chilled by artificial air and unfeeling headlines. But today, it’s not the air conditioning that leaves you frozen. It’s the script in your hands. The one you didn’t write. The one you didn’t expect to read.

“World-renowned dancer Bada Lee is set to marry international model Howl Lee in a private ceremony this fall.”

The words swim in your vision. Her name. His name. Marriage. A headline that should be someone else’s to read— But today, it’s yours.

The producer counts you in: “Live in five… four…”

You blink. Your reflection in the monitor stares back: calm, polished, practiced. The perfect news anchor. The one who kept a secret for two years. The one who kissed her girlfriend goodbye before heading to the studio that morning.

Or so you thought.

Was this the plan all along, Bada?

You take a breath. The red light above the camera flashes. You smile.

“And in other entertainment news, one of the country’s most celebrated dancers is making headlines for a reason outside the studio…” Your voice is steady, even as your chest caves in. You speak her name the same way you’ve whispered it a hundred times—on her couch, in her bed, behind locked doors where love was real, even if never seen.

Images of the couple flash across the screen. Bada in a soft beige gown. Him in black. Their fingers interlocked like it wasn’t yours she used to reach for. Like you were never there.

As the segment ends, the camera pans out. You clear your throat and say, “Congratulations to the happy couple,” then move to the next headline.

No one in the room notices the way your hands grip the desk. No one knows how your heart is breaking in real time, in front of the entire country.

After the broadcast, you sit alone in the dressing room. Your phone lights up: A message from Bada, unread.

You don’t open it.

Not yet.

Because you’re tired of loving her in silence. Tired of being the secret when the rest of the world gets the storybook ending.

You stare at your reflection again. And maybe for the first time in years, you don’t recognize the woman looking back— or maybe, you finally do.

And this time, you choose you. Even if it’s not breaking news.