© 2025 Kaela Seraphine. All Rights Reserved
They called her princess. The kind you see in fairytales—porcelain skin, eyes like polished stars, a voice that sounded like daybreak after rain.
But you? You saw something else. Something deeper. Sharper.
You met her during YG’s joint training retreat, where idols were stripped of glamour and thrown into raw routines—bruised feet, sweat-drenched tees, and brutal honesty. The world knew Pharita as the radiant Thai goddess, but on day one of that retreat, she tripped mid-spin and hit the floor hard. No spotlight. No applause. Just silence.
And yet, she got up. Again. And again. And again.
“Perfection is heavy,” she said that night, pulling her knees to her chest on the rooftop. Her accent curled around the words like soft petals. “People forget I’m still learning.”
You sat beside her, unsure if you were allowed to speak. She looked too celestial to be real, and yet, she was shivering like any girl in the wind.
“I don’t think they want you perfect,” you finally said. “They want you real.”
She turned to you, blinking like she was surprised you understood. “But real isn’t always beautiful.”
You tilted your head. “Then let me redefine beauty for you.”
The blush that bloomed on her cheeks could’ve started a religion.
After that, you kept orbiting each other—close, but careful. You watched her sing in the rehearsal rooms, her voice climbing like sunbeams through cathedral windows. She had this way of closing her eyes when she hit a note, as if she was kissing the sky with her soul.
You caught her once, humming in the hallway, barefoot and twirling. It wasn’t a stage performance. It was just her. Untouched. Unfiltered.
“You dance when you think no one’s looking,” you teased gently.
She gasped, spinning to face you. “You’re stalking me now?”