“Huh?” Now it’s Daeho’s turn to shake his head. “No way. You’re the one I like. It’s always been you. I just never knew how to say it. And I thought it would be important to be nice to your sister since I know how close you are.” His brow furrows. “Did I miscalculate?”

Juhyun and I are hugging on the couch, each of us watching the scene play out. I hear a sniffle, and next to me I see Juhyun’s eyes filling with tears.

“No. You didn’t miscalculate,” Hyeri says quietly. “I really, really like you too, Daeho.”

“Really?” A huge grin spreads across his face. “Because I wasn’t sure how you’d feel since we’ve been friends for so long and I didn’t want to ruin—”

Hyeri throws her arms around him and presses her lips against his. Juhyun and I cheer as Daeho wraps his arms around her and kisses her passionately back, cuttlefish chips crunching under their feet.

“You know, I never thought about it, but they’re actually so cute together,” Juhyun whispers to me. “I can totally see it.”

“Yeah.” I laugh. “I can see it too.”

* * *

Morning light streams through the window. I open my eyes, feeling groggy and a bit hungover. I’m in my own bed, in my own room.

How’d I get here?

I think back to last night, rummaging through my memories. Right. After Juhyun and I insisted on giving Daeho a complete facial, he walked me home, even taking off his own shoes for me to walk in when I told him my heels were killing me.

The thought of Daeho and Hyeri brings a smile to my face, but it quickly slides off as I remember everything else that happened yesterday: Jason. The leaked photos. The comments.

The end of everything I’ve worked for.

I sigh and roll over in bed, my head hammering. A stack of papers sticks out of the middle drawer on my bedside table, and I pull them out. They’re the college applications that Umma gave me months ago, exactly where I last put them. I haven’t touched them since.

Flipping through the pages, I pause at a list of personal essay questions.

How would you describe yourself?

Where do you see yourself in ten years?

What are your greatest passions?

My mind is a blank. How can I answer any of these when my life with DB is over? Without K-pop, do I know who I am or what I want? Do I even have any other passions? It feels like my future has been swallowed whole by a giant question mark, when for so long, I knew exactly what I wanted it to look like.

Maybe it’s time I tried to imagine something new.

I get out of bed and take a seat at my desk, tying my hair back into a loose bun. I am slowly working through the applications when there’s a knock on my door and Umma pokes her head in.

“Hey,” she says softly. “What are you doing?”

I gesture to the applications on the table without looking up. “Preparing for college.”

My voice cracks on the last word, and the reality of what is happening finally sets in. It’s like Umma’s question punctured straight through the numbness I’ve been wearing like armor, finally allowing the pain to flood in.

And it hurts.

“It’s over,” I say as Umma makes her way into my room, sitting on my bed next to me. “The whole K-pop thing is done. Nothing has turned out the way I thought it would. I thought I knew exactly what I was getting myself into when I first started, but I didn’t know anything. I was wrong. About everything.”

“You were eleven,” Umma says gently.

“I had no idea what sacrifices would go into this life,” I say, wiping my eyes. “It’s too much. I don’t have what it takes. Maybe I never did.”

I feel tears building behind my eyes, threatening to spill out. Umma sits on my bed, looking at me long and hard. As sad as she looks to see me in pain, I think that a part of her must be relieved about this. With K-pop behind me, I can focus on school and college, just like she’s always wanted me to.

I expect her to start helping me with my application questions, but instead she gets up and leaves my room. I hear her in her bedroom, rummaging through her dresser, and when she returns, she’s holding an old photo album. “Umma,” I ask, “what is this?”

“Just take a look.”

I take it from her and gingerly start to rifle through the pages—it’s picture after picture of my mom spanning over what must be fifteen years—from playing volleyball as a young girl to pictures of her standing on podiums receiving medals and trophies. Something heavy clunks in the back of the album, so I flip to it and a gold medal is taped to the back cover. It reads 1st place in Women’s Volleyball, South Korea National College Championship, 1989.

I’m speechless. “Umma, I…”

“I should have told you about my past a long time ago, Rachel. About how volleyball was more than just a high school hobby for me. Halmoni didn’t approve, of course. She wanted me to get an education, get a real job—but I didn’t listen. I wanted to go to the Olympics.” She lets out a deep sigh. “But it didn’t happen for me. I was good, but I wasn’t good enough. Unfortunately, it took me too long to realize it and I suffered—”

“Umma, you don’t have to worry about me anymore. I’m… not good enough either. I’m done with K-pop.”

Umma cups my face in her hands. “My daughter, you misunderstand me.” She smiles. “Why do you think we came to Korea?”

I shrug my shoulders. “I dunno. Halmoni died. I guess I never really wanted to question what changed your mind.”

“You’re right. Halmoni died and I came to Korea for the funeral. I hadn’t seen my mother in years, and although I wanted to cry for her, to be sad for her, instead I was angry. I was so angry that she hadn’t supported my dream and hadn’t pushed me to follow my passion. I didn’t want that for you and me, so I made a choice to move our family here so you could follow yours.” There are tears in her eyes now as she looks at me. “I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree because I haven’t done a very good job of supporting you. It’s just such a competitive world,” she says. “And what mother wants their child to suffer? I knew you would struggle on this path, and I wanted to protect you. Like my mom tried to protect me.”

She pulls out her phone and plays a video, holding it out for me to see. It’s my performance with Jason and Mina at Seoul Olympic Stadium. A shaky fancam version that’s mostly zoomed in on me, capturing my every step and note and facial expression. I look up at Umma, who has a wistful smile on her face.

“Leah sent this to me,” she says. “I was never good enough to make it. But you are. You have what it takes, Rachel. You always did.”

She holds her hand out to me, and I grab it, inexplicably thinking of Jason’s dad as I do.

Umma and I may argue, but I could never imagine her walking away from me for any reason. No matter what, I’ve always been able to feel secure in her love and in the knowledge that all she wants is for me to be safe and happy, even if it gets lost in translation sometimes. It’s so easy to forget how lucky I am to have a mom like her.

“I’m proud of you,” she says. “And Umma is sorry. Sorry that it took me so long.”