ᴘᴀʀᴀʟʟᴇʟ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛꜱ | 𝚈𝚊𝚗𝚐 𝙽𝚊𝚛𝚊

The One with The Empty Spaces 💕

"She was like our mom," Koeun added from the next table. "Except cooler, but scarier and stricter."

Laughter trickled out then-quiet but real.

"She made everything feel important," Herin said, chewing thoughtfully. "Even little things. Even messing up vocal drills." Lami added.

Haechan leaned back, glancing at the window. "When she debuts officially... we maybe won't even be able to sit with her anymore."

Jeno shook his head with a smile. "But she may still sneak banana milk for us."

"언니 would do that." Koeun mumbled and they all nodded.

It wasn't just hope.

It was a belief.

Because even if she was becoming someone for the world-she'd never stop being Nara to them.

---

Recording Booth

Nara

The mic glowed in front of her like a promise.

The studio was quiet-only her breath and the hum of equipment. Her producer leaned against the console in the adjacent room, headphones pressed tight, watching.

Nara inhaled. Let the music settle over her like a second skin.

Then-she saw it.

A small note salotaped on her pencil. Yellow, slightly crumpled and wobbly cut. Familiar handwriting in Japanese.

'雨の日にいつもみたいに歌って。- Y'
Sing like you always did on rainy days.

Her throat caught for a split second.

Not because she wasn't ready.

But because it reminded her of why she sang.

Not for perfection.

But for the feeling.

For the nights when Yuta sat in the corner and made dumb jokes until she laughed between verses during their alone time in the vocal room. For the nights she curled on her bed and hummed until her eyes drifted shut.

She didn't cry.

She didn't falter.

She just smiled.

Then closed her eyes... and sang like the sky outside was grey, like the streets were soaked in memory, like he was still listening-just on the other side of the glass.

---

Practice Room

By week's end, the practice room began to shift.

Jokes returned-timid at first.
Voices lifted again-off-key, uneven, but hopeful.
Laughter-real laughter-cracked through tired bones.

Jeno stepped into the front spot during a new routine. Koeun volunteered for vocal leads. Jaemin brought orange slices to practice and tossed one at Haechan, who caught it mid-sulk.

They were adapting. Not because they wanted to forget. But because she had made them believe they could stand on their own.

Taeyong lingered by the mirror, toweling off sweat, watching the others find their rhythm again.

He glanced once toward the door.

Still no Nara.

This time, he smiled.

"She's not coming back," he said quietly.
"She doesn't need to."

Because the echoes of her never truly left.