The lights in the auditorium were low and golden, the kind of glow that makes everything feel like a dream you’re not quite sure you deserve to be in.
The round table you were seated at felt small in the middle of the vast room—eight chairs, five of them filled by your family. Rumi on your left, her violet hair swept into an elegant high ponytail with strands falling artfully around her face, black velvet gown with a deep red slit up the thigh.
Mira across from you, long pink hair cascading in loose waves, wearing a black suit that caught every light when she moved. Zoey beside her, space buns replaced tonight with soft curls pinned with tiny silver stars, in a shimmering lavender dress that made her look like she’d stepped out of a fairy tale.
Bobby sat to your right, black tux impeccable, phone already face-down on the table (a miracle), though you caught him glancing at it every few seconds anyway.
The stage was alive with the presenter’s voice—smooth, practiced, drawing out the tension the way only award-show hosts know how.
“…and this year’s nominees for Best Pop Duo/Group Performance are…”
A huge screen behind the stage lit up with the list. Cameras panned across the room. You saw the other tables—famous faces, flashing smiles, subtle glances toward your group. Then the screen froze on your name.
HUNTR/X – “Golden”
The table erupted in the quietest possible way: Zoey grabbed Mira’s hand so hard her knuckles went white, Mira let out a hissed “Yes—” under her breath, Rumi squeezed your thigh under the table once, quick and grounding, and Bobby muttered “That’s my girls” like a prayer.
The host smiled wider.
“From their groundbreaking album, the track that broke streaming records, redefined what idol music could be, and reminded the world that hope can be a weapon… HUNTR/X with ‘Golden’.”
A ripple of applause rolled through the room. Cameras found you again—four girls in dresses and suits who looked like they belonged here, even if part of you still couldn’t believe it.
Zoey whispered, voice shaking with excitement: “We’re actually here. Like… actually here.”
Mira leaned forward, eyes bright. “Golden. We wrote that in the penthouse at 4 a.m. with ramyun and turtle videos playing in the background. And now it’s… this."
Rumi’s hand stayed on your leg, thumb moving in slow, calming circles “No matter what they say next,” she murmured, so only your table could hear, “we already won. Look around. We’re here. Together.”
Bobby finally picked up his phone—just long enough to snap a sneaky picture of the five of you under the table, then tucked it away again. “Streams are going insane right now,” he said quietly. “But forget the numbers. Look at my girls. I’m proud enough to burst.”
The host’s voice rose again, cutting through the hum of anticipation.
“And the award for Best Pop Duo/Group Performance goes to…”
The envelope opened. A long, deliberate pause.
The name that came next would change everything.
But right now—right this second—none of that mattered.
What mattered was Rumi’s steady hand on your leg. Mira’s proud, barely-contained grin. Zoey’s wide-eyed wonder. Bobby’s soft, proud “That’s my girls” still hanging in the air.*