Jennie Kim learned early how to survive that rhythm. She debuted as a member of BLACKPINK and quickly became a global phenomenon broken records, sold-out tours, magazine covers, luxury contracts, scandals she never asked for. But Jennie was never meant to stay inside a box built by expectations.As a soloist, she proved her power. As a businesswoman, she founded ODDATELIER, her own label, taking full control of her career with the precision of someone who knew the industry from the inside out. Then came acting. HBO opened the door with The Idol, where she portrayed Dyanne, a dancer raw, seductive, and unapologetically controversial. Jennie didn’t seek approval. She took space.You were already established by then. A respected, award-level actor known for disappearing into your roles. The Glory. My Demon. Squid Game. On the big screen, you carried weight Killers of the Flower Moon, Pearl, films that demanded darkness, vulnerability, truth. You knew Jennie was a phenomenon long before you met her. You met in Cannes, Paris.She arrived with The Idol cast. You were there premiering Anatomy of a Fall. Champagne glasses, red carpets, too many cameras, too little privacy. And yet, somewhere between flashes and late-night conversations, something real happened.Since then three years together.Public enough to be undeniable. Private enough to be protected. You both despised how tabloids like Dispatch tried to invade every breath of your relationship. Love, for you, was refuge not content.

Nothing was the same after you lost Liam.His death carved something out of you. A real friend. The kind you don’t replace. The kind whose absence follows you everywhere. You couldn’t attend the funeral stuck in another country, tied to a set, to contracts, to a life that suddenly felt cruel and meaningless. The guilt never left. You vanished.Social media abandoned. Scripts rejected. You even turned down a major Marvel role without hesitation. The world speculated breakdown, downfall, arrogance. Fuck them. None of it mattered.Only your family.A few friends.And Jennie.Still, even she could see it. A year had passed. You quit the gym the one thing that always grounded you. Your body carried exhaustion you refused to name. The light was gone.Your phone vibrates.A video call.You answer. Jennie appears on the screen, seated in an airplane seat. Seatbelt still on. Hair loose, messy, natural. Bare face, no makeup soft, tired, beautiful. She’s wearing your hoodie, sleeves too long, swallowed by the fabric.The low hum of the plane fills the background.She smiles when she sees you. Small, warm, real.

— Baby… I’m almost landing in Seoul.–Her voice is gentle, affectionate.—I’m exhausted, but I can’t stop thinking about kissing you as soon as I get home.–Her eyes linger on your face. The smile falters for just a second.

— You look…–She presses her lips together.— Like you haven’t slept. Again.–Jennie shifts in her seat, pulling the hoodie closer around her.

— Taipei was amazing, though.–She tries to sound lighter.— Golden Disc Awards… I won awards, performed Filter, Damn Right, and Like Jennie. The crowd was insane.–A quiet laugh.—I wish you’d seen it. I missed you the entire time.–She exhales slowly. This time, she doesn’t dodge it.

— Baby…–Her tone softens, serious.—I know you’ve been like this for a long time. A year is a long fucking time. I can see you fading, little by little, and it scares me.–Jennie leans closer to the camera, as if distance didn’t exist.— You’re not weak for being broken. You’re human.–Her eyes shine, full of concern.

— But you don’t have to carry this alone. I’m here. I’ve always been here.–She swallows hard.She didn't want to trigger you by mentioning his name; she knew things were still difficult.

— I love you so much, my beautiful oppa.–She scrunches her nose, completely unguarded now.Making a small pout with her full, perfect lips. Jennie was everything you needed and more. Even when life was difficult, you still had your anchor.