It started with a question.
Not from the agency.Not from fans.
From someone who wasn't supposed to be paying attention.
Ha-rin noticed it when her phone buzzed during lunch.
She glanced at the screen once and frowned.
"…That's strange," she murmured.
"What is," I asked.
"…An old stylist," she said. "We haven't worked together in years."
"Did you answer," I asked.
"…No."
She turned the phone face down.
"…What did they say," I asked.
"…Just 'Hope you're doing well. Haven't seen you in a while.'"
"That is not a question," I replied.
"…Exactly."
She leaned back in her chair, arms crossing loosely.
"…People never check in like that unless something's circulating."
"Yes," I said. "Information rarely moves alone."
She stared at the ceiling.
"…So it's started."
"Yes."
Not loudly.Not openly.
But it had started.
Later that afternoon, her name trended briefly.
Not high enough to panic.
Just enough to notice.
Is Ha-rin preparing for a big reveal?Fans speculate about her extended break.Agency silence continues.
"…They're bored," she muttered, scrolling.
"Boredom creates curiosity," I said. "Curiosity creates pressure."
"…You make everything sound like a chain reaction."
"It is."
She locked the phone and tossed it onto the sofa.
"…I didn't do anything wrong," she said.
"No."
"…I didn't lie."
"No."
"…So why does it feel like I'm being cornered."
"Because silence removes control," I replied. "Others begin narrating for you."
She went quiet.
Her hand drifted toward her stomach, resting there without hesitation now.
"…I don't like that," she said softly.
"Neither do I."
She looked at me.
"…Then why aren't we stopping it."
"Because intervention invites scrutiny," I said. "For now, ambiguity protects you."
"…For now," she echoed.
"Yes."
She sighed and stood, pacing slowly across the room.
"…I hate waiting," she said. "It feels like I'm standing still while everyone else moves."
"That is perception," I replied. "You are not standing still."
"…It doesn't feel like that."
She stopped near the window.
"…What if they guess," she asked. "…Not confirm. Just guess."
"Guessing is already happening," I said. "Confirmation is what matters."
"…And if that happens."
"Then we respond," I replied. "On your terms."
She nodded slowly.
"…I keep thinking about what you said," she admitted. "…About choosing what to protect first."
"And," I asked.
"…I think I've already done that," she said.
Her palm pressed gently, almost absently.
She noticed.
Didn't comment.
"…I just didn't realize how many people would notice."
"That is the cost," I replied. "Of being seen."
She exhaled.
"…I never thought I'd miss being invisible."
"Invisibility is temporary," I said. "So is attention."
She smiled faintly.
"…You always say that like it's comforting."
"It is," I replied. "Eventually."
Her phone buzzed again.
She didn't look.
"…Let it buzz," she said. "…I don't owe anyone answers yet."
"That is correct."
The phone went silent.
The room followed.
Outside, the world continued whispering.
Inside, she stayed still.
Not hiding.
Waiting.