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MidReal Story
KPop Competition Series
Scenario:A girl who is 18 named phoenix from Hawaii joins a kpop competition where everyone competes to be part of a kpop girl group people ages 16_19
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Phoenix
She is a young kpop enthusiast from Hawaii, now living in Los Angeles for a kpop competition. She is determined, shy, and passionate. Phoenix is thrilled and nervous to be part of the competition, representing her favorite group, TPOP. She struggles with her weight and body image issues, feeling like an outsider among her peers. Despite her insecurities, she holds onto her dream of becoming a kpop singer, inspired by her idols.
Jasmine
She is another competitor in the kpop competition, bubbly and outgoing. Jasmine hails from a large AsianAmerican family in Los Angeles and is known for her vibrant personality. She quickly befriends Phoenix during their time in the competition house. Her lighthearted nature provides comic relief, and she supports Phoenix through the grueling audition process, helping to boost Phoenix's morale as they navigate the competition together.
Mina
She is a fellow competitor in the kpop competition, friendly and confident. Mina comes from a wealthy background and is part of a popular dance team in school. She has a history with Phoenix from their dance studio days and is now competing against Phoenix for a spot in a kpop girl group. Her past rivalry with Phoenix resurfaces during auditions, but she remains focused on achieving her dreams of becoming a kpop singer.
Hi!
I'm Phoenix, an 18-year-old girl from Hawaii.
I'm here in Los Angeles to participate in a kpop competition where everyone competes to be part of a kpop girl group.
All participants are from ages 16 to 19.
I never thought I would be able to join this competition, but I did, and I actually passed the first round of screening.
I can't believe that I actually made it this far.
I have been dreaming of becoming a kpop singer since I was young.
I have been practicing singing and dancing for years.
My idols are the TPOP girls, and now I'm going to be part of their team!
I can't believe it.
This is actually happening.
I'm so happy and at the same time nervous.
When I saw the other participants, I couldn't help but feel insecure about myself.
Most of them are skinny and pretty, and they all have a good body figure.
They are actually younger than me, yet they have a better body figure than me.
I'm actually fat compared to them.
I just hope that my talent will be enough to get me through this competition.
I know I'm not the best singer or dancer, but I did practice hard, and I hope that my hard work will pay off.
As I was looking around the room, trying to get used to my new surroundings, I suddenly smelled a familiar scent.
I freeze as the familiar jasmine perfume hits my nose.
It's the same scent from our old dance studio days, and I know that smell anywhere.
My heart starts pounding in my chest as I slowly turn around to face the source of the smell.
I'm not sure if I should be scared or excited, but I know that I need to see who it is.
As I turn around, I see a girl with a signature high ponytail bouncing as she practically skips across the room.
She hasn't changed since we were twelve years old, still radiating that infectious energy and enthusiasm.
My stomach churns as memories flood back - late-night practice sessions, shared dreams of stardom, and the day she moved away without saying goodbye.
I never thought I'd see her again, but here she is, waving at me with a smile on her face.
She looks so happy to see me, completely oblivious to the turmoil brewing inside me.
My legs feel heavy as I cross the room toward her, forcing a smile to my face despite the churning in my stomach.
The other contestants mill around us, their chatter fading into background noise as I focus on the girl who was once my best friend.
The jasmine scent grows stronger with each step, transporting me back to a time when life was simpler and our dreams were within reach.
She opens her arms wide, welcoming me into a hug that feels both familiar and foreign.
As we embrace, I notice she's still wearing the silver bracelet with our names engraved on it, a token from our dance studio days.
The memories come rushing back - the countless hours we spent perfecting our routines, the laughter and tears we shared, and the day she left without a word.
The hug lasts longer than I expected, and I feel her grip tighten slightly as if she's trying to hold onto something precious.
Breaking from the hug, I step back and study her face in the fluorescent lights of the competition hall.
Her eyes are still bright and expressive, but there's a hint of something else in their depths that I can't quite decipher.
The other contestants continue to buzz around us, their conversations and laughter creating a distant hum in the background.
I glance down at my own wrist, where the matching silver bracelet rests against my skin - a constant reminder of our friendship and the memories we shared.
My fingers absently trace the intricate engravings on the bracelet, feeling the familiar contours of our names intertwined.
As I look up, I catch her gaze following my movements, her eyes lingering on the bracelet before meeting mine once again.
The silence between us stretches, thick with unspoken words and unresolved emotions.
I can feel the weight of our past bearing down on us, threatening to break through the fragile surface of our reunion. Finally, I find my voice, forcing out a question that has haunted me for three years: "Why did you disappear without saying goodbye?"
The words feel like a betrayal on my tongue, but I need to know why she left without warning.
We had been planning to work on our routine for an upcoming recital that day.
I had arrived at the studio early, eager to perfect our choreography and make sure we were both on the same page.
But she never showed up.
I sent her texts and called her phone repeatedly, but there was no response.
It was as if she had vanished into thin air.
I waited for what felt like hours at the studio, hoping she would walk through the door with an explanation for her absence.
But as time ticked by and there was no sign of her, I began to worry that something terrible had happened. The studio owner eventually told me that Mina had withdrawn from the dance program without any explanation.
She had left behind all her belongings in the locker room, including her favorite dance shoes and a journal filled with notes about our routines.
It was as if she had abandoned everything connected to our friendship and our shared dreams. I tried reaching out to her parents, but they seemed just as confused as I was about her disappearance.
They told me that Mina had moved away to Los Angeles to pursue new opportunities, but they didn't have any contact information for her.
It was as if she had erased herself from our lives completely. Over time, I stopped checking her social media accounts and gave up hope of ever seeing her again.
Her eyes flicker with a mix of regret and determination as she whispers, "I had to find my own path."
Standing near the registration desk, I watch as Mina fills out her competition forms.
Her pen moves swiftly across the paper, leaving behind a trail of bold, cursive script.
Meanwhile, I pretend to review my own documents, glancing over the familiar details that I've already memorized.
Behind us, a queue of other contestants forms, their chatter creating a constant hum in the background.
As Mina reaches for the stapler that lies between us on the desk, her hand brushes against mine.
The brief contact sends a shiver down my spine, and I notice how her fingers linger against mine for just a heartbeat longer than necessary.
My throat tightens as memories flood back - the countless times we held hands before every dance performance, our palms clasped tightly together as we sought comfort and reassurance in each other's touch.
I quickly pull my hand away, accidentally dropping my papers across the desk in the process.
I gather the scattered sheets, my fingers trembling slightly as I try to smooth out the wrinkles.
The registration clerk hands me a room assignment card - I'll be sharing with three other girls, including Mina.
I glance at her name on the card, feeling a mix of excitement and apprehension.
We haven't spoken in years, and now we'll be living together for the duration of the competition.
As I walk toward the dormitory building, I notice Mina following closely behind.
She catches up to me and offers to help carry my bags, her hand brushing against mine once again during the handoff.
This time, I don't pull away immediately, allowing her touch to linger for a moment longer than necessary.
We step into the elevator together, and she stands close enough that I can smell the familiar scent of jasmine wafting from her hair.
My heart races as I realize I'm noticing things about her that I shouldn't - the curve of her smile, how her hair falls across her face, and the warmth radiating from her body. The elevator doors open on our floor, and we make our way down the hallway toward our assigned room.
As we walk, she asks if I'm okay, concern etched on her face.
I quickly look away, pretending to check my phone for any messages.
"Sorry," I mutter under my breath.
"Just a little nervous about tomorrow."
Mina stops in front of our door, her voice soft but steady.
"There's something I need to tell you before tomorrow," she says, her eyes searching mine for understanding.
"I didn't just leave for new opportunities; I left because I was scared of what I was feeling for you."
I sit alone on my assigned bed in the dorm room, watching Mina unpack across from me while our two roommates chat by the window.
My hands tremble slightly as I fold my practice clothes and place them neatly in the dresser.
Minutes ago, she confessed her feelings outside our door, and now we're supposed to act like everything is normal.
The familiar scent of jasmine drifts over when she walks past me.
She pauses beside my bed, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Do you want to go get dinner together? Just us two?"
I notice her fingers fidgeting with the friendship bracelet on her wrist.
After a moment of hesitation, I nod and grab my jacket.
We step out into the hallway, and I finally find the courage to speak.
"Mina, when you said you were scared, did you mean...?"
She interrupts, her eyes meeting mine with a vulnerability I've never seen before. "I meant that I was falling in love with you."
I sit cross-legged on Mina's bed while she rummages through her suitcase, our dinner plans temporarily forgotten.
The room feels smaller with just the two of us here, our roommates still at orientation.
She pulls out a worn leather journal, her hands shaking slightly as she opens it.
Between its pages, she retrieves a yellowed envelope with my name written in her familiar cursive.
The paper is creased from being folded and refolded countless times.
I reach for the envelope, my fingers brushing against hers.
The touch sends electricity through my body, and I freeze mid-motion.
Neither of us pulls away.
The worn paper hangs between us, suspended in the air as background noise from the hallway fades into the distance.
Mina's thumb strokes mine, a gentle and deliberate movement.
My heart pounds against my chest, and I dare to look up at her.
Her breathing is shallow, her eyes fixed on our connected hands.
The envelope slips from our grasp, falling onto my lap.
But we remain locked in this moment, our fingers intertwined.
The world outside fades away, leaving only the unspoken promise between us.
With trembling fingers, I unfold the creased pages.
The paper is soft from years of handling.
Her neat handwriting fills both sides, dated three years ago—the day she left.
I begin reading, my voice barely above a whisper.
Mina shifts closer on the bed, her thigh pressing against mine.
The letter speaks of confusion, fear, and a deep affection she couldn't understand at fifteen.
My vision blurs as I read her words about watching me dance, wanting to hold my hand beyond practice, lying awake thinking about me.
I pause, meeting her gaze, and realize that this moment is where everything begins anew.
I lower the letter to my lap, my heart pounding in my chest.
The afternoon sun streams through the window, casting a soft glow on Mina's face.
Her jasmine scent envelops me as she inches closer on the narrow dorm bed, her knee pressing against mine.
My fingers trace the edges of the worn paper, memories flooding back from our days at the dance studio.
We shared water bottles and lingering hugs after class.
I remember the unspoken tension between us, the way my heart skipped a beat when she was near.
When she reaches for my hand, I don't pull away.
Instead, I turn to face her fully, our bodies now mere inches apart.
In that moment, I finally understand the truth we've both been too afraid to say.
I watch her reach into the bag, her movements deliberate and careful.
The mattress shifts beneath us as she digs through its contents.
Our hands are still touching, fingers intertwined.
I notice the slight tremble in her fingers, a sign of the emotions she's trying to contain.
The fluorescent lights overhead cast a harsh glare, but it can't dim the metallic sheen of the wrapping paper as she retrieves a small, intricately wrapped package.
A delicate bow adorns its surface, adding a touch of elegance to the simple gift.
"This is for our new beginning," she whispers, her voice barely audible over the hum of the room's air conditioning.
The familiar scent of jasmine wafts closer as she leans in, placing the gift in my open palm.