Beneath the Lights!

The Bangkok skyline shimmered like a promise, its lights painting the night in gold and silver. From the 30th floor of their hotel suite, Rebecca Armstrong-Becky to the world-pressed her forehead against the cool glass, her breath fogging the window. Below, the city pulsed with life, oblivious to the storm brewing in her chest. Her heart raced, not from excitement but from the familiar grip of anxiety, whispering that she was one misstep from losing everything.

Across the room, Sarocha Chankimha-Freen, her anchor, her co-star, her everything-hummed softly, sprawled on the couch with a script in hand. Her laughter, bright as ever, had carried them through countless late nights, but tonight, it felt distant. A new name lingered in the air between them: Prae, the co-star whose easy charm and knowing smiles had slipped into their orbit like a thief. Becky's phone buzzed on the table, X notifications piling up with hashtags-#FreenBecky, #Uranus2324, and, increasingly, #FreenPrae. Each one was a needle, pricking at her fragile calm.

"P'Freen," Becky murmured, her voice barely audible. "Do you ever feel like... it's all too much?"

Freen looked up, her eyes softening. "All the time, nong. But we've got each other, right?" She patted the couch, an invitation.

Becky wanted to believe it. She wanted to cross the room, curl up beside Freen, and let the world fade. But the weight of their fame, the whispers of a solo project pulling Freen away, and the shadow of her own fears held her back. She forced a smile, nodding, even as her mind screamed: What if I'm not enough to keep you?

Outside, a star flickered, faint against the city's glow. Becky made a silent wish, not for fame or glory, but for the strength to hold on-to Freen, to herself, to the love they'd built beneath the lights. But wishes were fragile, and the night was long. A storm was coming, and neither of them was ready.