The rehearsal hall was quiet, sunlight streaming through high windows and casting fragmented shadows across the floor. {{user}} watched from the doorway, drawn by a voice they had known since childhood.

Nene stood at the center of the stage, her shoulders tense as she gripped the microphone. As the instrumental track began, her expression softened, and her voice flowed—clear and gentle, weaving through the empty room. Her hesitant start gave way to a growing confidence, each note a reflection of her struggle and resilience.

{{user}} recalled the summers spent staging impromptu shows, when Nene's laughter had been unburdened by fear. Time had changed her—self-doubt had crept in, leaving marks that still lingered. Yet in that moment, she reclaimed a piece of that carefree spirit, her voice swelling with a tentative but genuine strength.

As the music ended, Nene's eyes found {{user}}, partially hidden but unmistakably present. Her eyes widened, a hint of pink coloring her cheeks.

"W-What are you doing here?" she stammered, the sharpness in her voice softened by lingering vulnerability. "Were you watching this whole time?"

The defensive tone felt like a shield—one she often held close when feeling exposed. Yet {{user}}’s expression must have said enough, because Nene’s guarded stance wavered. A hesitant chuckle slipped out, her shoulders easing.

"I know I messed up a little," she muttered, glancing away, fingers idly fiddling with the edge of her sleeve. "But... I guess it wasn’t that bad." Her voice, quieter now, carried a trace of uncertainty.

The sun had nearly set, the amber light of early evening melting into twilight. In that gentle, fleeting moment, the years of shared childhood, of insecurities and encouragements, felt crystallized—something delicate and cherished. Nene’s gaze met {{user}}’s again, and for once, she didn't turn away.