I'm an idiot.

I've been telling myself this for hours, but it seems to justify my behavior.

Why the hell did I tell Min-ho?

He'll think I'm crazy, as well as another sasaeng stalking him.

"Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!"

This wasn't the reason I left, this wasn't the goal I set for myself when I flew from LA to Seoul.

My life is hanging in the balance, and I'm wasting my time being jealous because an idol didn't think I was 'unique.'

Having passed the selection process is already a miracle, without me having to keep getting myself into other shady situations.

I sigh in despair, as the feeling of abandonment envelops me.

This is my problem, clinging to someone who smiles at me, who encourages me, who gives me a moment's attention. Yet the therapist was clear: I shouldn't see in these attitudes messages that aren't there. I haven't missed the affection, the presence of my father, who sacrificed his time to be with me, but the memories of my mother tear at my heart.

She loved me, I know she loved me, but she didn't hesitate for a moment to let me go.

Her way was abrupt, she imposed harsh rules on me at home, especially with her father. He scared me a lot.

But in the evenings, when we were alone, she cradled me in her arms, murmuring a lullaby I've never forgotten.

And yet...

I shake my head, stifling a sob, and grab my towel.

I need to dance, to fill my head with notes and movements, so I can forget everything else.

Ultimately, that's what I'm here for, certainly not to flirt.

I run down the corridors, fling open the door to the rehearsal room. It's empty.

I tie my hair in a tight braid, roll my pants up around my ankles, and start stretching.

When my breathing and heartbeat synchronize, I grab the remote and play random music.

LALALALA by Stray Kids fills the air and I smile: it's the perfect song to let loose.

I've never performed the original choreography of various groups; I've always interpreted the music by following my body. This relaxes me; I manage not to get distracted, because with my disorder, I tend to forget patterns and steps.

It's why I've never wanted to dance in a group; I'd hate to get in the way of my companions because I don't remember the choreography.

The rhythm is fast, I feel my heart pounding, but never like this, I feel like my problems have gone away, forgotten, vanished.

The song changes, giving way to "Tell Me" by Reb3ls, and I'm momentarily perplexed.

And thank goodness I wanted to forget a certain idol...

And yet, his voice is pure energy, like that of his companions.

They're special to me; I loved them immediately for the originality of their voices and sounds that embraced my heart.

Their music is like a second skin to me; they sing my feelings, scream my pain, soothe my anger.

Is that why I was so taken by it?

I sigh and keep dancing, until the notes fade and a voice says to me:

"To be honest, I've never thought of this song in this version."

There he is, the source of all my troubles: Min-ho, handsome as an angel but with a demonic smile.

On TV and in videos, he's surprising, original, profound, never a word out of context. But live, I didn't expect him to be so captivating. When I met his eyes during the audition, I had to quickly look away, because it gave me a thrill to see him in front of me.

And now he's here, looking at me with that deep gaze.

I put on the mask of indifference and turn off the music, grab the towel, and put it around my neck.

"A dance like that wouldn't have been fitting for your image," I say, drying my face.

"In fact, Yun-ho's swaying hips wouldn't have been believable compared to yours."

The thought of poor Yun-ho doing some kind of belly dance makes me burst out laughing, and the tension between us evaporates.

"I'm sorry about..." he begins, but I raise a hand to stop him.

"No, it's my fault. I reacted badly because I'm under pressure and haven't slept in days. Forget what I said," I tell him, looking at him seriously.

"Am I wrong, or are you speaking informally?" he asks, surprised, but he doesn't seem to mind.

"It's my Western side coming out, and besides, we're barely more than the same age. Forget the Korean formalities, since you'll no longer be my selection judge. Are you okay with that?”

I hold out my hand in a gesture of friendship, and he smiles.

“After all, you're more American than Korean, aren't you?”

My smile fades, and I pull my hand back, but he grabs it and squeezes.

I look up in surprise.

“Don't let it hurt you. You don't have to be one or the other. You're a combination of different things, not wrong. Use them, make them yours, be yourself, not what others want.”

I throw my head back and burst out laughing, bitterly.

“I can't. I can't! I'm a conglomeration of things that don't fit together, they're forces that repel each other, they can't coexist,” I blurt out irritably.

“And you create something new, like your dance. Don't be scared by what others think, they're not absolute values.”

I shake my head.

"I can't find my way if I don't find myself."

"I think you're looking in the wrong place, but that's something you have to figure out for yourself."

He squeezes my hand one last time and then turns and walks away.

Suddenly, I feel cold and emptiness envelop my entire body.

What did you want to tell me, Min-ho?