Chapter 8
“Now you be the judge, and I’ll sing. This will be our last practice for the day,” Irin said excitedly.
“Okay, okay,” Becky replied, settling onto her bed while Irin stood in place, guitar in hand.
“This song is called Just Friends by Virginia to Vegas.”
Irin strummed her guitar and began singing:
Remember your apartment when you said
You don't wanna waste any more time
On letdowns or heartbreaks
Now we're day-drunk in the back seat of a taxi
And you're telling me you wanna kiss me
But we shouldn't 'cause we're just friends
Maybe we could go get lost tonight
At least we'd know that we gave it a try
So why don't we go out and get a drink in the West End
Smoke a cigarette and talk shit about exes
Take a couple shots and see where the night ends
Stop pretending like we're just friends
Why don't we go out and get a drink in the West End
One more dance, are you feeling the tension?
Take a couple shots and see where the night ends
Stop pretending like we're just friends.
As Irin continued singing, Becky found herself lost in thought, picturing someone in perfect sync with the lyrics. What am I thinking? We aren’t even friends… but she has this hold on me, and her absence is weighing down on me. A sigh escaped her lips. Oh, my ice queen, are you missing me too?
Her self-reflection was cut short by Irin’s voice.
“Well? How was it?” Irin asked, a hint of nervousness laced in her words.
Becky clapped her hands, nodding. “That was amazing, Irin! Your voice has this... raw emotion. I could feel every word.”
Irin grinned, relieved. “You really think so?”
“Of course! If you sing like that at the audition, we’re getting in for sure.”
Irin sighed in satisfaction, setting her guitar down. “Alright then, that was our final practice. I think we’re ready.”
Becky stretched her arms over her head. “Finally! I need a break. I swear, if I have to sing that one line again, I might—”
A knock on Becky’s bedroom door interrupted her.
“Becks, dinner’s ready!” her mom called from outside.
Becky exchanged a glance with Irin. “Hungry?”
“Starving,” Irin admitted with a laugh.
They made their way to the dining room, where Becky’s parents were already seated. The table was covered with home-cooked dishes, their aroma filling the air with warmth and comfort.
“So, how’s practice going?” Becky’s dad asked, passing a plate of food to Irin.
“Pretty good,” Becky replied. “We just wrapped up our final run-through. Now all that’s left is to not freak out on Monday.”
“You girls will do great,” Becky’s mom reassured them. “Just sing from the heart.”
Irin smiled. “That’s the plan.”
As laughter and conversation filled the room, Becky found herself lost in memories. She missed Freen—missed her dorm room, the rhythmic clacking of Freen’s laptop keyboard, the smell of late-night coffee brewing, the way Freen ordered boba milk tea without even asking if Becky wanted one, the way she smoked on the balcony, staring at the night like it carried the weight of the world. Her pretending to be a tough nut, Becky thought with a small smile.
Her mother caught the expression. “Bec, care to share?”
“Uh, nothing. I just think Irin and I will nail the audition,” Becky replied quickly.
Everyone nodded in agreement, except her mother. She wasn’t fooled. The faint crimson blush on Becky’s cheeks wasn’t there for no reason.
On the other hand...
“Freen, eat more rice,” her grandma insisted, scooping another portion onto her plate.
“No, Grandma, I’m fine. I think I’ve had enough for today,” Freen said, forcing the word enough out of her mouth with deliberate weight.
Miss Orantara cleared her throat, awkwardly brushing the moment aside.
“Okay, Grandma, next time we plan dinner, try not to give me a heart attack, alright? I have to go. I have a meeting with Krik—it’s important,” Freen said, standing up.
“Oh, the Paris project you’ve been working so tirelessly on?” Grandma asked.
“Yes. It’s the only thing I’m holding on to. I gave it my all,” Freen said, a flicker of hope in her voice.
“Oh dear, you are the best. You’ve got this. My blessings are with you.”
After giving her grandmother a nod, Freen bid Miss Orantara a polite, if slightly awkward, goodbye.
Just as she reached the door, her grandmother called out, “And Saro…”
Freen paused but didn’t turn around.
“I wasted a lot of time resenting my feelings. To be honest, it’s self-destructive torture. So if you ever—”
But Freen was already gone.
Her grandmother sighed.
Back in her condo, the first thing Freen did was video call Krik.
“Hey, Miss CEO. Are you checking on your employees now?” Krik answered with a slurred voice.
Freen’s eyes narrowed. “Krik… are you drinking? Are you at a party? I’ll call you later. You do know this is urgent, right?”
“No, no, I’m fine, Freen. I’m fine. I’m fine,” Krik repeated, her words echoing in a loop.
Freen sighed, already sensing bad news. “Krik, I am in no mood for another shock. Just say it already.”
Krik hesitated. “Freen, listen to me. It’s not our company’s fault. It’s not your fault. You know we were—”
“Just say it.” Freen’s voice was sharp now.
Krik exhaled, defeated. “Our project didn’t get approved.”
Silence.
Then—click.
Freen ended the call.
“That’s it,” she muttered, her voice flat.
“I knew it. I knew it.”
She repeated the words over and over, her rage simmering beneath the surface, suffocating her. She had no outlet for it, no one to lash out at. It only made her belief stronger: Everything I love only dies.
“The project I poured my heart into, the only thing keeping me sane… Fashion and branding became my true passion, and my mistake? Dedicating myself to it. Desiring it to be successful. Believing it could be real.”
She spoke to herself in bitter disappointment, as if she were the most hated child of the universe. And maybe, in that moment, she truly believed she was.
Because what do you do when everything you love gets snatched away?
But she was used to disappointment. She always made up her mind after something like this—she would live as long as she could breathe, and that would be enough. No demands, no desires, no dedication.
She knew how to deal with disappointment.
So she let out a deep sigh, drew a hot bath, and poured herself a glass of wine, sinking into the melancholy of her life.
Monday arrived.
Freen was about to park her car when she noticed—someone had taken her usual spot.
She let it slide this time.
Instead, she found herself waiting. For someone.
Resent it, she told herself. Resent the fact that you’re waiting.
Then she heard the voice.
“Thank you, Mom. Thank you, Dad.”
Freen looked up.
Becky stood there in a form-fitting pink dress, formal at the top but skirting just below her curves. Freen’s gaze lingered a little too long.
She was waiting for her sun in pink to speak again.
“All the very best, my princess. I know you’ll nail it. And Irin, you too—rock the show!” Becky’s mom said.
Becky and Irin slung their guitars over their backs and made their way toward the university entrance.
And Freen just watched.
This time, Irin and Becky got selected because the judges were genuine. But unlike before, Freen didn’t make an appearance. Kade and Nam were there, cheering for them, but not her.
As Becky stood among the celebrating crowd, clutching her guitar strap, she felt an unexpected weight settle in her chest. Just days ago, she couldn’t stand the sight of Freen. And now? Now she was craving her presence. How ironic.
Shaking off the feeling, she decided to use her small victory as an excuse to throw a little party—especially for a certain cold queen. A reason, A chance to talk and have a conversation.
But on the other hand, Freen’s mood was far from celebratory. The rejection of her project still lingered like a bitter taste, making her even more closed off and unreadable.
What would happen when these two emotions—Becky’s longing and Freen’s silent storm—collide tonight?