Name:sugha min
Gender:male
Appearance :tall ,white ,handsomez and a korean man
Work:his a kpop
Lovelife: waiting for a right time
Attitude: kind,savage ,loving,green flag
Description : sugha is a singer a kpop and a producer, his been fucos on his life , fucos on his song that his been obsesses , his fucos on his songs that even his Lovelife affect on it.
Name: nia gomez
Gender:female
Appearance: cute,beautiful, short,
Work:no work ,still a student
Lovelife:single
Attitude:kind,anger issues, gentle, green flag
Description: a girl who's fan of a kpop industry, a girl that motivate because of her idols ,moreover, she realize that shes been obsessing to the idols she will never get that the idols she love was already fall inlove on his rhymes, songs, and melody
Start
The relentless hum of the studio became Sugha Min's second heartbeat. His fingers danced over the mixing board, eyes scanning the waveforms on the screen, searching for that elusive, perfect harmony. As a K-pop idol and producer, his life was a meticulously crafted symphony of rehearsals, recordings, and performances. But more than that, it was a quest for musical perfection. Each beat, each lyric, was a piece of his soul, poured into the art he adored. Love life? It was a distant, almost forgotten melody, drowned out by the crescendo of his career. "The right time will come," he'd tell himself, a mantra he rarely believed. His focus was absolute, an obsession that both fueled his success and created a chasm between him and anything outside the realm of music. He was the epitome of a "green flag" – kind, loving to those he let close, but with a sharp, almost savage wit that often kept others at arm's length.
Thousands of miles away, in the bustling heart of Manila, Nia Gomez lived a parallel existence, albeit on a different stage. Her life revolved around textbooks, lectures, and the vibrant, captivating world of K-pop. Every comeback, every new song, every idol's smile was a burst of color in her otherwise routine student life. She was a loyal fan, her room adorned with posters, her playlists dominated by the catchy tunes and powerful vocals of her favorite groups. She was cute, beautiful, and a little on the shorter side, with a gentle demeanor that belied a surprisingly fierce streak. Nia had what some might call "anger issues," a quick temper that flared and faded like a summer storm. But beneath it all, she was kind, empathetic, and undeniably a "green flag" in her own right.
Among her many beloved idols, one stood out: Sugha Min. His music resonated with her on a profound level, his lyrics speaking to parts of her soul she hadn't known existed. He was her motivation, the voice that pushed her through late-night study sessions and the inspiration for her own quiet creative endeavors. She knew, rationally, that her obsession was just that – an obsession. He was a star, light-years away, and she was just a fan in a sea of millions. The idea of ever meeting him was ludicrous, a fantasy confined to the pages of her fan fiction.
One rainy afternoon, a university assignment landed on Nia's desk: analyze the lyrical structure and emotional impact of a contemporary song. Her mind immediately leaped to Sugha Min. She chose one of his deepest, most introspective tracks, a ballad about the solitude of artistic creation. As she delved into the lyrics, dissecting each metaphor, each turn of phrase, a new layer of understanding unfolded. It wasn't just the words; it was the raw vulnerability, the palpable longing for something undefined, woven into the melody. She realized, with a jolt, that the song wasn't just about his journey; it was a universal yearning, a reflection of her own unspoken dreams and fears.
Meanwhile, Sugha was struggling with his next album. The pressure was immense, the well of inspiration feeling unusually dry. He'd lost the spark, the fire that usually ignited his creative process. His usual meticulous focus felt like a cage. He was a machine, churning out hits, but the joy, the love for the music, was fading into a dull ache. He walked the streets of Seoul late at night, a solitary figure amidst the neon glow, seeking something, anything, to reignite his passion.
One evening, scrolling aimlessly through fan forums – a rare indulgence – he stumbled upon a detailed, incredibly insightful analysis of his ballad. It wasn't just praise; it was an academic, almost poetic deconstruction of his intentions, his subconscious messages, things he hadn't even consciously realized he'd put into the song. The words were articulate, passionate, and deeply personal. The user's name was "NiaGomez_Writes."
Intrigued, Sugha clicked on her profile. It was filled with similar analyses of other artists, but always returning to his work, always with that same incisive understanding. He saw snippets of her own poetry, raw and full of youthful angst and hope. There was a particular line she'd written, inspired by one of his songs: "He sings of a love he can't yet name, a melody waiting for its muse."
A peculiar sensation bloomed in his chest. It was a warmth, a recognition. Someone understood. Someone truly, deeply understood the unspoken narrative behind his music. It was a connection he hadn't known he craved, a melody finally finding its harmony. He found himself spending hours reading her posts, a smile – a genuine, unforced smile – gracing his lips for the first time in weeks.
Nia, oblivious, was still toiling away on her university paper, perfecting her analysis of his ballad. She felt a profound connection to the artist, an almost spiritual bond through his music. She'd always felt that the idols she adored were unattainable, figures on a pedestal. Yet, through his songs, she found a strange intimacy, a conversation unfolding in the quiet solitude of her room.
One day, an unexpected notification popped up on her fan forum account. A new follower. And a direct message. From "S.Min_Official." Her heart hammered against her ribs. It couldn't be. Could it?
"Your analysis of 'Solitude's Echo' was deeply moving," the message read. "You captured nuances I didn't even realize I'd woven into the fabric of the song. Thank you."
Nia stared at the screen, her anger issues momentarily forgotten, replaced by a wave of disbelief and then, an overwhelming flush of pure, unadulterated fangirl joy. The idol she loved, the one she believed she'd never get, had not only noticed her, but he was responding to her. And he was complimenting her words, words inspired by his music.
A hesitant, hopeful conversation began, spanning continents and time zones. Sugha, initially just curious, found himself drawn into Nia's vibrant mind. Her insights weren't just intellectual; they were laced with an emotional intelligence that resonated with his own artistic soul. He saw her quick wit, her occasional fiery passion peeking through her gentle words. He saw a kindred spirit, someone who understood his rhythm, his rhymes, his unspoken feelings.
Nia, on the other hand, was discovering the man behind the idol. Sugha was just as kind and loving as she'd imagined, but also surprisingly humble, and with a wonderfully dry, savage sense of humor that made her laugh until her sides ached. He wasn't just a fantasy; he was real, flawed, and utterly captivating.
The "right time" Sugha had always waited for hadn't arrived with a grand fanfare, but quietly, through the digital hum of a fan forum. He, the man obsessed with his songs, had finally found his muse in the girl who was obsessed with his songs. And Nia, the girl who believed she'd never get the idol she loved, was slowly realizing that the idols she adored had already fallen in love with the rhymes she wrote, and the profound understanding she brought to his melodies. The music, which had always kept them apart, was now the bridge that brought them together, a beautiful, unexpected duet beginning to play.
Fastforward
The digital messages between Sugha and Nia evolved from intellectual discussions about music theory and lyrical interpretation to something far more personal. Late-night conversations became a new rhythm in their lives. Sugha found himself confiding in Nia, sharing the pressures of his career, the loneliness of fame, the constant struggle to remain authentic amidst the manufactured world of K-pop. Nia, in turn, opened up about her dreams, her academic anxieties, and the quiet beauty of her life in Manila. She found herself drawn not just to the idol, but to the gentle, introspective man behind the public persona. His "savage" wit was tempered with an unexpected sweetness, and his "green flag" kindness shone through in his genuine interest in her thoughts and feelings.
One evening, as Sugha paced his studio apartment, the city lights twinkling outside his window like scattered diamonds, he typed a message that made his heart pound.
"Nia," he wrote, "I have a concert in Manila next month. Would you... would you like to come?"
He held his breath, waiting. A minute felt like an hour. Finally, her reply flashed across his screen: "Yes. A thousand times, yes."
The weeks leading up to the concert were a blur of nervous excitement for Nia. She found herself staring at her reflection, wondering if she was "cute enough," "beautiful enough" for the man who had become so much more than an idol. Her usual "anger issues" were replaced by a simmering anxiety, though her friends simply attributed it to pre-exam jitters. She was still a student, after all, and the reality of meeting Sugha in person felt impossibly vast.
For Sugha, the impending concert held a different kind of anticipation. He'd performed countless shows, but this one felt different. He found himself scanning the audience during rehearsals, imagining her face in the crowd. He was no longer just performing; he was performing for her. The thought brought a new vibrancy to his movements, a renewed passion to his voice.
The night of the concert arrived. Nia, dressed in her best, felt a mixture of awe and trepidation as she took her seat. The stadium pulsed with energy, a sea of light sticks swaying in unison. When Sugha appeared on stage, the roar of the crowd was deafening. He was everything she had imagined, and more – commanding, charismatic, utterly captivating. Yet, through the dazzling stage presence, she saw glimpses of the man she had come to know online, a quiet intensity in his eyes that only she seemed to recognize.
During one of his ballads, a song he had released recently, Sugha's gaze swept over the audience. For a fleeting moment, his eyes met hers. A small, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips. It was a secret, shared moment in a stadium full of thousands, and Nia felt a blush creep up her neck.
After the concert, a text message from an unfamiliar number buzzed her phone. "Backstage access, VIP entrance, Gate 7. They're expecting you." It was signed "S.Min."
Her hands trembled as she followed the instructions, her heart a drum solo against her ribs. She was led through a maze of corridors, the muffled sounds of the cheering crowd still echoing around her, until she found herself standing before a door. A security guard nodded, opening it for her.
And there he was. Sugha. He stood amidst a flurry of activity – stylists, managers, security – but his eyes locked onto hers the moment she stepped in. The noise faded. It was just them.
He walked towards her, a hesitant smile playing on his lips. "Nia," he said, his voice softer than she'd ever heard it in person, yet carrying the same warmth.
"Sugha," she whispered, her voice barely audible.
He reached out, not quite touching her, but his hand hovered near her arm. "You came."
"I did," she replied, a shy smile gracing her face.
They talked for what felt like minutes, but must have been an hour, oblivious to the busy world around them. They spoke of the concert, of her paper, of his next musical ideas. There was an undeniable current between them, a silent language spoken through lingering glances and shared smiles. His tall frame, his handsome face, his "white" skin that seemed to glow under the backstage lights – it was all real, palpable.
As it grew late, and his team began to subtly usher them, Sugha hesitated. "I... I have a few days off before my next schedule," he began, his gaze serious. "I want to see Manila. Would you... would you be my guide?"
Nia's heart fluttered. This was it. The impossible dream, unfolding right before her eyes. The idol she never thought she'd get was asking her out, not just as a fan, but as something more.
"I'd love to, Sugha," she said, her smile wide and genuine.
He returned her smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Good," he said, a quiet contentment settling over him. "I've been waiting for the right time, you know." He paused, his gaze softening as he looked at her. "I think it's finally here."
The days that followed were a whirlwind of stolen moments and quiet revelations. Nia became Sugha's personal guide, leading him through the vibrant chaos of Manila. They ate street food, explored ancient churches, and laughed until their sides ached at a bustling night market. Sugha saw Manila through her eyes – not just a city, but a living, breathing tapestry of stories and dreams. He discovered the fierce loyalty beneath her occasional "anger issues," the sharp intellect behind her gentle demeanor. He found himself falling, deeply and irrevocably, for the short, beautiful girl who saw him as more than just an idol. He finally understood that his "love life" wasn't something to wait for; it was something to live.
Nia, in turn, experienced a happiness she hadn't known was possible. She introduced Sugha to her favorite haunts, her friends, even her family, who were initially awestruck but quickly charmed by his quiet kindness. Being with him felt like a dream she never wanted to wake from. His hand in hers felt perfectly natural, his arm around her shoulders a comforting presence. She saw his "savage" side playfully tease her, his "green flag" attitude making her feel cherished and safe.
But all dreams eventually yield to reality. The looming shadow of Sugha's next tour date grew larger with each passing day. They tried not to talk about it, instead savoring every precious moment. Their conversations became punctuated by longer silences, filled with unspoken anxieties.
The night before he was scheduled to leave for his concert in Japan, they sat on a quiet rooftop overlooking the glittering city. The air was heavy with unspoken words.
"I… I don't want to go," Sugha finally admitted, his voice barely a whisper, his gaze fixed on the distant lights.
Nia's heart ached. She reached for his hand, intertwining their fingers. "I know."
"This isn't fair to you," he continued, turning to face her, his eyes filled with a familiar torment. "My life… it's not normal. I'm always leaving. Always gone."
"But you're here now," she countered, trying to keep her voice steady, to hold onto the magic they'd created.
He shook his head, a bitter smile touching his lips. "For how long? A few weeks here, a few days there. It's not a real relationship, Nia. It's… fragments."
That word stung. "Fragments? Is that what this has been to you? Just fragments?" Her carefully constructed composure began to crack. The fear, the anger, the frustration of their impossible situation started to boil.
"No!" he insisted, his voice rising slightly. "It's been everything. But how can I ask you to live like this? Waiting, always waiting. My schedule is insane. Time difference, promotions, rehearsals… there's no time for us."
"There's always time if you make it!" she retorted, her "anger issues" finally breaking through. "I'm a student, Sugha! I have exams, deadlines, a life! But I made time for you! I rearranged my entire schedule, my entire world, because I thought this was real!"
"It is real!" he shouted, frustration etched on his handsome face. "That's why this is so hard! If it wasn't real, I wouldn't care. But I do, Nia. I care so much, it hurts."
Tears welled in Nia's eyes, hot and angry. "Then why does it feel like you're giving up? We just found each other, Sugha! After all that waiting, all that searching, you want to just… let it go because of time?"
He ran a hand through his hair, his broad shoulders slumping. "It's not letting it go, Nia. It's acknowledging the reality. How many hours can we realistically spend talking when I'm on a different continent, living in a different time zone, working eighteen hours a day? A few texts? A quick call when I manage to sneak away? Is that enough for you?"
"It could be!" she cried, her voice cracking. "If we tried! If we both made an effort! Don't tell me it's impossible before we even try to fight for it!"
"And what happens when I miss your calls because I'm on stage? What happens when you're asleep when I finally get a break? What happens when another idol is photographed with me and the tabloids spin a story, and I can't explain it because I'm stuck on a plane to another country? How long until you resent me? How long until I resent the constant guilt of not being there for you?" His voice was filled with a desperate weariness.
Nia stood up, her small frame trembling. "So that's it, then? This is too hard for you?"
He looked at her, his white, handsome face a mask of pain. "This is breaking my heart, Nia. But I don't want to break yours, slowly, over time, with promises I can't keep."
The silence that followed was deafening, heavier than any argument. The city lights below seemed to mock their broken connection. Nia felt a profound sense of loss, a realization that the idol she had fallen for was indeed unattainable, not because of fame, but because of the relentless march of time and distance. The green flag he represented was now tinged with the stark reality of his life.
She turned away, tears streaming down her face. "Maybe you're right," she whispered, the words tasting like ash. "Maybe there just isn't enough time for us."
He reached for her, but she flinched away. The argument about time had morphed into something deeper, more painful – an argument about their incompatible realities, an argument about a future that seemed to shrink before their eyes.
He stood there, watching her walk away, the love he felt for her a searing ache in his chest. The idol who had always been so focused on his songs now felt a void where melodies once played, replaced by the hollow echo of a love that was, perhaps, simply not meant for this time. As the first rays of dawn touched the Manila skyline, Sugha knew he had to leave, not just the city, but the beautiful, impossible dream he had found there.
The years stretched between Sugha and Nia like an unnavigable ocean, each one a testament to their enduring, yet ultimately tragic, connection. After that painful argument on the Manila rooftop, they hadn't truly broken up; instead, their relationship had simply… mutated. It became a long-distance echo, a series of sporadic messages, hurried video calls snatched between time zones and demanding schedules. Nia, still a student then, would cling to every interaction, dissecting each word, each glance, searching for confirmation that his feelings hadn't waned. Sugha, caught in the relentless machinery of superstardom, did his best to maintain the thread, a constant, nagging guilt in his heart. He would send her flowers from Tokyo, souvenirs from London, texts expressing his longing from a dressing room in New York. He was kind, always, a true "green flag" in his intentions, but perpetually absent.
This went on for five years, then ten, then fifteen. Nia built a successful career in her chosen field, her sharp mind and gentle demeanor earning her respect and admiration. She had friends, a rich life, but always, in the quiet corners of her heart, she waited. She turned down promising relationships, unable to fully commit, unable to let go of the ghost of Sugha. Every time she felt a potential connection blooming, the image of his handsome, distant face would intrude, and she'd pull back. Her "anger issues" had mellowed with age, replaced by a deep-seated melancholy that only occasionally surfaced.
Sugha, meanwhile, became a legend. His fame transcended borders and languages. He was the epitome of artistic success, yet the personal cost was immense. The loneliness gnawed at him, a silent companion in every luxurious hotel room. He'd scroll through old messages with Nia, his fingers hovering over the call button, only to pull back, convinced that his chaotic life was no place for her stability. He'd rationalized it for so long: he was protecting her, preventing her from living a life of constant uncertainty and heartbreak. He truly believed he was doing the loving thing, albeit in a devastatingly misguided way.
At the eighteen-year mark, Nia turned forty. The youthful obsession had matured into a quiet, steadfast devotion. She'd always held onto the hope, the belief that one day, when his touring slowed, when he was finally ready, he would come back for good. She saw his interviews where he spoke about longing for a quiet life, for genuine connection, and her heart would leap. She never once believed he was truly interested in anyone else; he was just too focused on his music, too much of a "green flag" to lead anyone on.
Then came the shocking news. Sugha Min, at 45, announced his marriage. Not a sudden, whirlwind romance, but a long-term engagement, carefully shielded from the public eye. His bride was a woman from a prominent family, known for her grace and philanthropy. They had been discreetly together for years, building a quiet life away from the spotlight, a life he had consistently claimed he couldn't offer Nia.
Nia saw the announcement on a quiet Sunday morning. It wasn't through a fan forum anymore; it was mainstream news, plastered across every digital platform. The photo showed Sugha, still handsome, still with that subtle melancholy in his eyes, but now standing beside another woman, her hand gently resting on his arm. He looked… content. Settled. The "right time" had finally arrived for him, but it was with someone else.
Twenty-one years.
Twenty-one years of a long-distance relationship that had never truly been a relationship, but a holding pattern of hope and sacrifice on Nia's part. Twenty-one years of her waiting, believing that his love for his "rhymes" and "songs" would eventually make way for her, only to realize that he had found a different kind of rhythm with someone else.
The initial shock gave way to a cold, burning anger. Not the quick "anger issues" of her youth, but a deep, profound fury that rooted itself in her soul. He had made her wait. He had allowed her to believe. For two decades, she had held onto a ghost, while he, in his guarded kindness, had built a life with another. He had been a "green flag" in every aspect but the one that truly mattered to her – fidelity of heart and hope.
She smashed her phone against the wall, the screen shattering into a spiderweb of cracks, mimicking the fractured remains of her heart. The tears flowed, not gentle, mournful tears, but wracking sobs of wasted time, of lost youth, of a future that had been a mirage. The short, cute girl who had obsessed over an idol, who had loved him with every fiber of her being, was now a woman staring at the wreckage of her own fidelity.
Years later, Nia never married. She became known for her wisdom, her quiet strength, and her fierce independence. She sometimes wondered if Sugha ever thought of her, if he ever regretted the path he chose. She never sought answers. The music, his beautiful, haunting music, still occasionally found its way into her life, but it was no longer a source of solace. It was a poignant reminder of a love that was ultimately unrequited, a rhythm that had played out alone. The idol she had waited for had found his harmony, but she, the fan who had loved his rhymes, was left forever listening to a silent melody.
For Nia, twenty-one years of long-distance devotion ended not in reunion, but in the shattering realization that the idol she loved had found his "right time" with another, leaving her with only the echoes of a melody that played a different tune.
To be continue