☃️🎄 Title: "Under the Mistletoe" Felix always thought Christmas felt a little bit like hope—sparkling lights on frosted windows, the quiet hush of snow, the familiar warmth of friends who knew you best. For as long as he could remember, Y/N had been by his side: from elementary school fundraisers to midnight sled races, from cocoa-fueled sleepovers to every inside joke that lingered between them. He told himself he liked it that way—just friends, nothing more. But somewhere between seventh-grade snowball fights and this year’s last-minute Christmas party, Felix's feelings shifted. He caught himself watching her laugh with someone else and felt something sharp in his chest. He remembered every time their hands brushed in the dark, every time he almost told her how he felt, but never quite did. The party was a blur of ugly sweaters, mismatched socks, off-key carols, a kitchen overflowing with cookies, and a room crowded with people he and Y/N had known for years. He was content to fade into the noise—until, suddenly, he wasn’t. It all happened too quickly: He and Y/N stepped into the kitchen at the same time, both reaching for the last candy cane. Their friends’ voices rose in a chorus of teasing cheers. “Under the mistletoe!” someone shouted. Felix looked up, heart in his throat, and saw the green sprig dangling above them, red ribbon trailing. Y/N blinked, cheeks pink, caught between laughter and something else. The room spun. It was just the two of them, the world narrowed to their own heartbeats and a tradition that felt like a dare. Felix realized he was out of excuses. The question was, did Christmas still mean hope when everything you wanted was standing right in front of you?

Title: "Truth or Trouble" Everyone loved Ni-ki. He was the magnetic center of every room, the boy who turned heads with a wink or laugh; whose quick wit and easy smile made him the first to be invited to every party, and the last to leave. Teachers admired his unshakeable confidence, classmates envied the way he made even strangers feel like friends, and friends relied on him for a good time—or a good secret. His popularity felt effortless; always the center of the dance floor or leading the next big story. But it was the only thing that ever felt easy. Except with Y/N. She was the one person who never melted under his charm. No matter how many jokes he cracked, how many times he offered his best smile, Y/N met him with a level stare, or a comeback that left him speechless. Their banter was legendary, sparking in hallways and echoing in group chats. Some called them enemies, others said they were just too stubborn to admit they liked each other. At parties, the air always changed when they were in the same room. Friends would nudge each other, waiting for sparks and explosions. But there was an undercurrent of tension no one dared name. Ni-ki should have been annoyed, but instead he found himself drawn in, looking for her in every crowd. Tonight the tension felt even sharper. The party was already chaos—music thumping, lights spinning, half-drank soda cans lying around everywhere. When someone suggested Spin the Bottle and Truth or Dare, Ni-ki jumped at the chance, confident as ever. But when the bottle landed on Y/N, the crowd howled, sensing drama. She looked him dead in the eye and dared him to play. He met her gaze, refusing to back down. It was always a game between them, but tonight the stakes felt higher. He could feel the challenge in her stare, the electricity in the air. As the night wore on, their sharp words blurred into something softer, and Ni-ki wondered if the games would finally reveal the truth he'd hidden even from himself.

Title: "More than a smile" Jungwon was the class president everyone counted on but few truly knew. He was always first in the classroom, propping open the door with one foot while balancing a box of supplies in his arms. He remembered birthdays, quietly left handmade notes in lockers, and never missed a single event. If something went wrong—projector broken, snacks forgotten, someone left out—he was already fixing it before anyone else noticed. His phone buzzed with classmates’ questions, and teachers’ reminders. But most people saw his easy smile, the way he talked too much when he was nervous, and how he bounced with excitement over the smallest things. “Too childish,” they’d whisper as he passed. “He tries too hard, but no one listens to him,” others said. Even when he poured his blood, sweat, and tears into projects, the credit often slipped by him unnoticed. His hands would clench under the table when teachers praised other students for the work that he did, knuckles white from holding back the urge to say, “That was me.” It stung, being called just a mascot, not a real leader. At home, his parents expected perfection. They reminded him that leaders had to be strong, not soft, not someone who let their feelings show. So Jungwon tried to be everything for everyone: the perfect student, the tireless volunteer, the friend that always had a smile and a solution, even when running on empty. But late at night, he wondered if he was really helping anyone, or just filling space until someone better came along. Y/N, though, saw the difference between a smile and a mask. She noticed his shaking hands after a long day, his eyes drifting down during debates, his voice shrinking after rough meetings. She stayed to help him clean up, made jokes to hear him laugh for real, and listened when he admitted he was tired. With her, Jungwon could drop the act. He began to believe maybe being himself was enough.

Title: "Sunshine and Shadows" Kim Sunoo was the school's walking beam of sunlight—always ready with a compliment or a homemade cupcake. He decorated his notebooks with stickers, and made friends with anyone who crossed his path. His energy drew even the shyest classmates into the orbit of his warmth. His side of the dorm always looked like Spring: pastel blankets, origami cranes, fairy lights, a window ledge crowded with sunflowers and cacti. But a new year meant a new dorm; a new roommate. And when they were assigned partners, the clash was instant and the school's new hot topic. Y/N was the polar opposite of him, the counterweight to all his light—a girl with stormcloud eyes and headphones always in place. She wore black like a shield and seemed to repel small talk with a single sharp glance. Rumors called her "The Moon," cold and untouchable. The first night, Sunoo greeted her with a smile and a string of fairy lights in hand. She barely nodded, unpacking graphic novels and black bedding. The tension was immediate: Sunoo wanted to hang sun-shaped pillows and pastel tapestries, while Y/N insisted on band posters and skulls. The first week was even worse; a cold war of aesthetics—Sunoo would come home to find his flower garland replaced with a geometric mobile, his smiley face magnets swapped for matte black ones. She'd wake up to discover her desk scattered with glittery pens and neon sticky notes, "Have a great day!" in Sunoo's flowery script. Arguments became routine, with neither willing to yield an inch: "It's too dark in here!" "Why is everything so bright?" But as the days stretched into late-night study sessions and sleepy mornings, the tension faded to banter and the line down the center of the room blurred. Sunoo started reading her books, and she found herself humming to his playlists. In the push and pull of Sunlight and Shadows, something new began to grow—not a compromise, but a balance, as if the Sun and Moon could finally share the same sky.

Title: "Ice Beneath the Surface" Sunghoon was the kind of boy people whispered about. He walked the halls with his chin up, eyes forward, never smiling. His words were few and precise, each one measured and cool. People called him "Ice Prince," said he was untouchable, emotionless, cold; that his stare could freeze water, and that his eyes contained winter. But the truth was, Sunghoon just forgot how to love. At home, the world was too quiet. His parents drifted through the house like strangers, their conversations polite but distant, their laughter something he'd only seen in old photographs. He learned not to expect warmth; to keep his feelings locked away, frozen somewhere even he couldn't reach. It was easier that way—no one could hurt you if you never let them close. At school, no one tried to break through his walls. They admired him from afar, made up stories about why he was so cold. Some tried to impress him, others tried to get a reaction. He gave them nothing. Until Y/N showed up. Y/N wasn't afraid of the cold. She met his gaze without flinching, talked to him like he was just another person, not some legend. She lent him her notes without being asked, laughed at her own bad jokes, and never seemed to mind when he didn't respond. She'd sit next to him in silence, tapping her pen against her notebook, as if waiting for spring to come. He didn't know how to let her in, not at first. He couldn't control it, it just happened; her presence started to thaw something inside him. The silence between them grew comfortable, not suffocating. He found himself looking for her in the crowd, noticing the way her smile tilted at the corners, the way she made space for him without demanding anything in return. They never talked about feelings, not directly. But he started walking her to class, carrying her bag when her hands were full, letting her borrow his scarf when the wind was sharp. She'd squeeze his hand, and he'd squeeze back, just to prove he was still alive.

Title: "The Pact by the Lake" Sim Jaeyun—Jake to everyone who ever played tag with him or raced him down the block—grew up believing in forever. He and Y/N had been best friends since kindergarten; their lives a blur of scraped knees, secret handshakes, sleepovers, and whispered promises in treehouse shadows. On the last night before middle school, they made a pinky swear by the lake: “No matter what, we’ll always be best friends. Forever.” But forever was shorter than they thought. Everything changed when Y/N moved away, leaving behind a half-finished friendship bracelet and an empty space that Jake never managed to fill. The ache of a friendship torn away too soon was seeping into his bones, hidden behind forced smiles and the attempt to forget. He waited for calls, for letters, for any sign that their promise mattered. But weeks turned to months, and his mailbox stayed empty. Years passed. Jake grew into the guy who could make anyone laugh, who led every camp game, who was everyone’s favorite teammate. But every summer, he’d look for her at the lake, half-expecting to see her on the dock with that old, crooked grin. This summer, fate played a cruel joke. Both Jake and Y/N were assigned as co-counselors at Cedar Pines Camp. The moment he saw her, all the old hurt and anger rushed back. She was taller, sharper around the edges, but the look in her eyes was the same. The air between them was thick with things unsaid. Jake avoided her eyes, kept his answers short, and made sure everyone knew he was fine without her. At night, he lay awake listening to the sounds of the lake, being reminded of their late night talks back when everything was right where it had to be. A part of him wondered if summer offered more than just a job—maybe, if he was brave enough, it could be a second chance. The other part wondered if promises were ever meant to be kept. Maybe they were just torturous reminders of how foolish he had been to have worn his heart on his sleeve.

Title: "Frost Where Warmth Once Lived" Jay used to be the one people called a good friend. He remembered birthdays, shared snacks, and seemed to know just what to say to turn a bad day around. He liked being the one others could rely on, the one who brought warmth to any room. But everything changed when his parents got into a messy divorce. Every night, the walls shook with their arguments—shouting that never seemed to end, and accusations that echoed into the late night. The yelling left him lying awake for hours, headphones pressed against his ears on a losing battle to down it all out. The stress seeped into his bones, making him shrink from laughter he once loved. At school, his steps grew quiet. He stopped making jokes, stopped waiting by lockers for friends, stopped reaching out first. It wasn't on purpose, he didn't mean to lose his spark—but it happened anyway. People noticed. Whispers followed him— "He's so cold now," "Pretty boy thinks he's better than everyone else," "He rarely even talks anymore." The rumors stung. But he couldn't bring himself to explain. How was he supposed to tell them that after a night spent listening to his parents tear each other apart, he barely had the energy to pretend everything was fine? He walked through the halls with his head down, voice clipped and eyes distant. Old friends drifted away, and group chats went silent. No one saw the way his hands trembled underneath his desk, how he flinched at sudden noises, or how his heart started racing when voices got too loud. No one, expect Y/N. She remembered the Jay who helped her find her locker on the first day, the Jay who lent her his jacket when unexpected rain was heavy. She didn't push, didn't force him to talk, didn't demand he explain. She just offered small kindnesses: A spot beside her, shared playlists, and late texts that she didn't urge him to respond to. Little by little, Jay let himself hope that the warmth he'd lost wasn't gone forever, just waiting to return

Title: "Breaking the Spotlight" Heeseung was the school's Golden boy—Captain of the basketball team, top of his class, and the kind of student who turned heads in every hallway. His charm was effortless, his jokes legendary, and his confidence made even teachers bend the rules. He was the heartbeat of the school, envied by classmates—until Y/N arrived. The new student, Y/N, was a different kind of breathtaking. She was gorgeous, but it was something quiet—she wasn't loud, or flashy. Instead, she had a quiet magnetism: The kind of person who noticed when someone dropped their pencil, who listened more than she spoke, who smiled softly at jokes when no one else heard them, who was kind in subtle ways people missed. The first time Heeseung noticed her, something shifted. He found himself looking for her between classes and catching glimpses of her in the library. His heart would race when her eyes met his, and he'd replay those fleeting moments in his head late at night, surprised by the effect she had on him. But the day she arrived, his role as the school's Golden boy and ringleader was at stake. For his friends, the arrival of someone new was a challenge, an opportunity to test boundaries. Someone suggested a prank—an old classic, harmless but attention-grabbing. A bucket of water rigged above the classroom door, ready to soak whoever walked through. Heeseung was chosen to pull the prank, his reputation as the school's king of fun making him the obvious pick. Yet as the plan unfolded, he found himself wrestling with unease. He watched Y/N from afar and sensed her nervousness, her careful steps and hesitant glances, the complete opposite of the rumors. The thought of Y/N being uncomfortable—or worse, the target of laughter—made him ache in a way he'd never known. As the moment approached, every instinct screamed for him to protect her. For once, popularity meant nothing compared to the hope of seeing her smile—and knowing he'd been the reason why.

Title: "The Last First Kiss" Yang Jeongin was always a little softer than the rest—quick to laugh, quick to blush, the youngest in every room. He was the little brother; the tagalong, the one who watched love stories from the sidelines, wondering if he'd ever get to live one. High school was a whirlwind, and everyone seemed to think he'd float through graduation with the same gentle optimism he carried every day. But his feelings for Y/N were anything but gentle. He had been in love with her since the first day of freshman year. She was the center of his universe, the sun in his sky, the wild note in his careful melody. She was the kind of girl who made a room feel brighter by simply being in it, who laughed out loud, and seemed to belong everywhere he felt invisible. He admired her from a distance—at assemblies, across crowded cafeterias, through the foggy glass of the library window—always waiting for a chance to say something real. As the final days of school ticked by, Jeongin's friends pushed him toward one last dare: "You're never going to get another chance. Tell her how you feel." But nerves and timing always got in the way—until the night of graduation. The gym was transformed, banners and fairy lights strung from the ceiling. Music thudded, diplomas flashed, and Y/N was everywhere and nowhere at once. Jeongin spent the night drifting through the chaos, searching for her. He rehearsed his confession in a hundred ways, heart pounding with each glimpse. At midnight, he found her on the empty football field; dress grass-stained, cap tossed aside, shoulders shaking with sobs. The world outside buzzed with music and fireworks, but in that quiet moment, the past three years hung between them—every unsent message, every second thought, every heartbeat he'd hidden. The rush of summer air, the ache of endings and beginnings; it brought back memories—hearing her laugh, seeing her smile, daydreaming about her lips on his. Maybe it was all still possible.

Title: "The Crumbling Stage" Kim Seungmin had always been the city's Golden Boy—Straight-A student, debate team captain, and the son of a politician whose face smiled down from every billboard. He wore his reputation like a suit of armor; always polite, always composed, always smiling for cameras and his parents' friends. Teachers trusted him, classmates envied him, and strangers whispered about his perfect future. But behind the shining image, Seungmin's world was falling apart. It started with a single headline—a news leak that shattered his family's reputation overnight. His father's campaign crumbled, reporters swarmed their home, and Seungmin watched classmates turn cold, teachers look away, and friends vanish into the background. Whispered accusations followed him everywhere he turned. School halls that once echoed with his laughter became hunting grounds for gossip and betrayal. At home, the tension was as thick as fog. His parents' voices, once full of warmth and ambition, now tangled in sharp arguments and slammed doors. He tried to hold his family together, masking every crack with a practiced smile. But the pressure was relentless, and every day felt like a balancing act on a collapsing stage. Y/N was the only one who saw through it all. She noticed the way his hands shook when he thought no one watched, the exhaustion written in his eyes, how he lingered in empty classrooms long after the bell. When gossip spread, she stood by his side, daring anyone to challenge her loyalty. She left notes in his locker—jokes, encouragements, reminders that he wasn't alone. Late at night, after the shouting faded, Seungmin found himself texting Y/N, confessing fears he could never say aloud. With her, he let the mask slip—sometimes angry, sometimes scared, sometimes just tired. For the first time in his life, he started to realize that surviving the storm might mean tearing down the walls he'd built, letting someone else see all the scars to help him start again.

Title: "Sunshine's Shadow" Lee Yongbok—Felix—was the school's sunshine. A boy whose smile could thaw any bad mood, and whose kindness was as effortless as breathing. He was the first to help, the one everyone trusted, the "favorite son" in every teacher's eyes. It was impossible not to be swept up by his laughter. But Sunshine always casts a shadow, and Felix's younger sibling, Minseo, felt it growing darker every year. Minseo was quieter, sharper, and always second-best in the eyes of teachers and parents alike. "Why can't you be more like Felix?" became the refrain of their childhood; every achievement compared, every mistake magnified. It all boiled over that spring. In a fit of jealousy and anger, Minseo started whispering lies—first to friends, then to anyone who would listen. Overnight, Felix woke up to a nightmare: rumors that he was selling exam answers, that he'd vandalized the gym, that money had gone missing from the fundraiser he himself organized. The stories grew darker—bullying, blackmail, even threats against students. None of it was true, but screenshots and forged messages told their own story. Teachers who once praised him now eyed him with suspicion. Friends stopped texting back, crossing the cafeteria to avoid his table. Even strangers stared, their conversations dying down when he walked by. His world shank to brittle silence and hostile eyes, his own parents struggling to believe him over Minseo's tearful confessions. Felix tried confronting him, only to meet a wall of resentment. "You have everything! Can't I have this?" Minseo snapped one night, voice raw with years of being in the background. Y/N, who'd always admired Felix light, saw the cracks and offered him a place to fall apart. Now, Felix sat in the eye of the storm, his reputation in ruins, his trust shattered, wondering if the truth even mattered anymore. As the rift widened at home and school, he had to decide if he could fight the battle without losing his brother for good.

Title: "The Edge of Enough" At school, Han and Y/N’s rivalry was legendary—talked about in classrooms, and whispered in hallways. Every quiz, every election, every contest: always the two of them, neck and neck, neither willing to yield an inch. Teachers joked they brought out the best in each other, but for Han, it never felt like a joke. It was survival. Every time he landed in second place, it wasn’t just a loss; it was another reminder that he still wasn’t enough. Home was no safer. Han’s parents measured his worth in grades, report cards, and trophies. If he won, the house was quiet—sometimes even proud. But if he lost, disappointment hung thick in the air, arguments crashing through the walls. His parents’ words echoed in his head, each one a new weight added to the anxiety he already carried. They called him lazy, distracted, a worthless waste of space. Han learned to hide how much it all hurt, building sarcasm and coldness into a fortress. He couldn’t let anyone see the cracks, especially not Y/N. The rivalry gave Han a focus, a reason to keep pushing when everything felt hopeless. Y/N was brilliant, sharp-tongued, and made winning look so easy. Han envied that. He poured every ounce of energy into trying to outdo her, chasing the satisfaction of finally beating her—yet it always felt just out of reach. Most people saw only the competition, the remarks and cold glares. They didn’t see the sleepless nights, the trembling hands, the ache of not being enough. For Han, it was a cycle—envy, anxiety, anger, repeat. Staying up became routine. The lucky nights he got any sleep was by force, when the tears got too heavy and streamed down too fast. Left wondering if things would ever change, Han started to lose himself along with the crushed hope. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t remember the last time he felt proud of himself, or the last time he breathed without feeling that familiar pressure pressing in from all sides.

Title: "Trapped in Silence During the Storm" Hwang Hyunjin was the school's prince of drama, a master of the last word and first impression. He wore his arrogance like a tailored suit and wielded his wit like a blade, slicing through every debate or hallway rumor with a single look. His rivalry with Y/N was infamous: from student council races to art contest showdowns, they never missed a chance to outdo—or outsmart—each other. He was known for his sharp tongue and even sharper looks, the kind of guy who made heads turn and eyes roll in equal measure. Y/N was sly, strong-willed, and stubborn. She was the one person who never let his charm work, always ready with a comeback that left him both frustrated and grudgingly impressed. Their friends joked they were allergic to agreeing, called them fire and ice. But neither would admit how much they watched for each other's reactions, how every victory felt sweeter—and every loss sharper—because of the other's presence. But rivalery didn't prepare them for being trapped together in a broken elevator one rainy afternoon, suspended between floors as the storm outside knocked out the power. For Hyunjin, it was a test of patience; for Y/N, it was a nightmare. Claustrophobia wasn't something she advertised, but it crept in quickly, making every breath a battle—sweaty palms, racing heart, and that desperate urge to pry open any escape. She tried everything: jamming the emergency button, wedging her fingers between the doors, calling for help. Hyunjin watched, arms crossed, a teasing smirk half-masked by genuine concern. They'd spent years perfecting their rivalry, but in this moment, the walls pressed in on both of them. Hyunjin, always so poised, felt his cool begin to crack as he saw Y/N's fear. Trapped together in the dark, with nowhere to hide and nothing left to prove, their old battles gave way to something rawer. For the first time, they had to face each other—and themselves—without an audience or an exit.

Title: "The Sweet Escape" Seo Changbin had always thought he was good at moving on. He had been the friend who turned breakups into jokes, the guy who told others that nothing lasts forever. But this time, he couldn’t shake the ache. His girlfriend of two years ended things in a text that sounded too blunt for heartbreak. It was simple, yet soul crushing; about how she just “didn’t like him anymore,” and how she “met someone new.” And suddenly, his world was rearranged. Their favorite songs haunted him in the background of grocery stores, old inside jokes echoed in empty group chats, and every Friday night—the night they used to meet for coffee and pastries—felt like a dare he kept losing. He kept coming to the same café anyway, even after her absence became a fixture. He sat at the back, ordered two pastries out of habit, and stared into the swirl of his coffee as if it could explain what had gone wrong. Friends texted invitations he ignored, but the café became his routine, a place where the noise softened the loneliness. On this particular Friday, the world seemed to move faster. The café overflowed with students, freelancers, couples pressed close in every corner. The city was drenched in rain, and Changbin’s heart was heavier than the clouds outside, every seat taken except his table for two. He almost found it funny, in a desperate kind of way. Then Y/N rushed in, coat dripping, eyes scanning for an open spot. Their eyes met in a flash of awkward awareness. She hesitated, then walked over, balancing a latte and a battered book. “Mind if I…?” He gestured to the empty chair, voice rough from disuse. “Go ahead.” For a moment, neither spoke, each wrapped in their own clouds. But as the minutes ticked by, the overcrowded café shrank to just their table—a tiny island of warmth and possibility in a sea of chaos. Neither of them expected to find comfort in a stranger—or to realize that sometimes, the only seat left is exactly where you need to be.

Title: "Heartbeats and Handcuffs" Lee Know was a legend in the world of law enforcement. His reputation was built on control—a mind for strategy, a knack for reading clues, and a cold determination that never let a criminal slip away. As the city's lead investigator, he was both feared and respected, known for solving impossible cases and never backing down from a challenge. He was the kind of man who thrived on puzzles and pressure. But for the last year, her, he'd been chasing a ghost: Y/N, the world-class thief whose heists made headlines and whose taste for danger had been haunting him for as long as he could remember. Each time he thought he was close, she vanished, leaving only riddles and playful notes—always signed, "Until next time, darling." She left no fingerprints, only teasing and a trail of rumors. Y/N was infamous for her beauty and brilliance, slipping through security systems and police nets like smoke. Their rivalry blurred the line between hunter and hunted. Lee Know spent months chasing her, learning her patterns, racing through city rooftops and glittering museum halls. But Y/N played the game with a wink, her every escape a challenge. But tonight, the game changed. Y/N had taken a bait Lee Know laid out just for her—a rare crystal, displayed with just enough challenge to tempt her. The chase through city rooftops was electric, both adversaries matching wits, hearts pounding in the rain-soaked darkness. For the first time, she miscalculated. One wrong turn sent her skidding straight into a dead end, cold brick boxing her in with nowhere to go. Lee Know caught up, his silhouette blocking the only exit. Their eyes met, adrenaline crackling in the narrow, rain-slick alley. For a moment, silenced reigned; Y/N pressed against the wall with nowhere to run. This time, Lee Know was ready to match her, tossing her signature seductive lines right back at her with a smirk playing on his lips. Trapped at last, their rivalry burned hotter than ever.

Title: "Masked Melodies" Bang Chan's Life was mapped out before he could even learn to spell his own name. His father, a respected surgeon; and his mother, a tireless academic, never hid their expectations: their son would be a doctor too. By the time Chan was twelve, he was enrolled in extra science courses, prepping for exams that were years away. His schedule was color-coded, every minute accounted for, every deviation from the plan met with stern disappointment or a silent, heavy sigh. But his heart belonged to music he made in secret—melodies scribbled in the margins of his textbooks, rhythms tapped out on his desk during chemistry lectures, lyrics written in journals he kept hidden under his mattress. At night, when the house was quiet, he'd creep into the garage, strumming his battered guitar until his fingers stung, singing softly so no one would hear. He never dared mention music at home. His parents called it a "hobby," a distraction from "real" success. Every time he brought home a perfect score, pride flickered in their eyes. But when he hummed a tune under his breath, his father would frown, reminding him of "what really matters." At school, the pressure was suffocating. Bang Chan wore a mask off discipline, never letting anyone see how tired he was, how much he wanted to step out of line. Y/N was the only one who noticed. She saw the way he pushed himself to exhaustion for a future chosen for him, not by him. She offered quiet encouragement, a safe place to dream. With her, he began to imagine a future he could choose for himself—even if it meant letting go of everything his family had planned. But things changed when his father found the lyrics he'd been writing. The shouting echoed late into the night, piercing through the walls. His parents argued non-stop, Chan's future, failures, and music the center of it all. The spark he once had within him started to fade, leaving him wondering if he really was throwing away his life by pursuing his dream.