"One day, I'll be bright enough for her to see me."
Three years later.
The dream still burned — smaller, quieter, but alive.
SOLIS wasn't a company anyone believed in. Their office was a renovated basement that smelled faintly of instant ramen and failed promises. The walls were thin; the mirrors cracked — still.
But to Rian, those cracks no longer looked like flaws.
They looked like proof that someone had tried.
---
He sat with his groupmates — six boys who shared the same hunger and exhaustion.
"Hyung," said Jinwoo, the youngest, "do you ever think we'll debut?"
Rian smiled faintly. "We will. Even if it kills us."
"Optimistic as ever," joked Minjae, their leader.
But that night, when everyone else had fallen asleep on the practice floor, Rian stayed behind.
The same mirror. The same reflection.
And somewhere in his memory, that same voice —
"You're tired, not defeated."
Lira's words had never left him.
---
Months passed.
Rejections came and went like seasons.
Their first monthly evaluation? Failed.
Their second? Barely passed.
The third? Cancelled — because their vocal coach quit.
One afternoon, while scrolling through his phone, Rian saw her again.
Lira Faith Sandoval— trending worldwide.
She was rumored to be part of her company's new girl group lineup, her face shining under bright promotional photos.
She looked like she belonged to another universe now — unreachable, ethereal.
He turned off the screen and whispered,
> "You're almost there, Lira. I'll catch up soon."
Then he stood, tightened his shoelaces, and went back to practice.
---
Two years later, SOLIS finally debuted.
Not with fanfare — but with quiet uncertainty.
No ads. No huge showcase.
Just seven boys, a small stage, and a dream that had survived too many goodbyes.
Their debut song, "Begin Again," was a letter to themselves — raw and imperfect, but honest.
The first week, their album sold fewer than a thousand copies.
Comments online called them "another group that won't last."
But when the stage lights hit, and Rian saw the crowd — however small — something inside him steadied.
He thought of her again, the way she said "Dance like someone will."
So he did.
---
After their performance, he looked up at the ceiling of the tiny venue, lights flickering above.
Maybe she was somewhere out there, performing on a bigger stage, wearing brighter clothes, under grander lights.
And maybe she didn't remember him at all.
But that didn't matter.
Because everything he'd become — every song, every step — had a bit of her kindness woven in.
> "One day," he murmured, smiling through the ache,
> "I'll be bright enough for her to see me."
---
And as the audience clapped politely — just a few dozen people — Rian bowed deeply, tears stinging behind his eyes.
It wasn't stardom yet.
But it was the beginning of a promise.