<VOiCE>

<July,2024>

Seven years have passed, and now Yechan has been a singer for five. Yet, what he seeks remains elusive. Every time they go to church for worship, his name is called out in prayer. His only desire is to meet him again.

Yechan has come close to giving up. His contract with the management company that supports him is only two years away from expiry. If within these two years he doesn’t find what he’s searching for, hope will be lost completely. The door of opportunity to fix everything is closing fast, sealing his chances tighter with each passing day.

Why doesn’t he ask his family about the whereabouts of their youngest son? The question lingers in his family mind, repeatedly. The answer is simple. He already asked. But their response was a deafening silence. They appeared to pretend not to hear, to close their lips as tightly as possible. It’s as if they knew something, something about what had happened between their son and him, and they refused to speak of it.

“Hyung, the live broadcast will begin soon. Here’s a quick overview of what we’re going to talk about,” one of his bandmates says softly, passing him a sheet of paper, a white sheet with notes written on it.

Yechan, now the leader of the group, glances at the paper briefly. He gestures subtly, an unspoken signal for his teammate to put it down on the table in front of him. Though not the oldest, the trust placed in him by the company and his bandmates is immense. The weight of leadership rests on his shoulders.

He reaches for his headphones, carefully slipping them over his ears. The moment he puts them on, his face becomes guarded, expressionless. His bandmates instinctively step back, understanding that he needs solitude before going live. They know that once Yechan is in his zone, he doesn’t want to be disturbed.

What no one knows and what Yechan himself keeps hidden is that every time he prepares for a live broadcast or a public appearance, he follows a ritual. He isolates himself, dons his headphones, and plays a specific playlist titled "Jyan." The playlist has remained untouched despite numerous changes to his phone. He’s switching phones, deleting and reinstalling apps, but that playlist persists like a stubborn, silent guardian of his memories.

When asked about it, he only offers a sad smile, a quiet acknowledgment of something painful. His bandmates, sensing that there’s more beneath the surface, have long since stopped pressing him. They respect his silence, knowing that some wounds are best left unspoken.

The radio station’s comeback broadcast begins. The familiar hum of the studio, the chatter, the crackling of microphones all become the backdrop of their daily routine. The atmosphere is peaceful, almost harmonic, filled with jokes, casual conversations, and the excitement of reconnecting with their fans.

Yechan sits quietly behind the microphone, his expression calm but intense. The studio staff signals that it’s his turn to speak. The host, a cheerful DJ, turns to him with a warm smile.

“Yechan-ssi, we have a question from one of your fans,” the DJ says, glancing at the screen. “They want to know now that you’re famous, with a talented group, a large fanbase, and a comfortable life what is something you still desire that you haven’t yet achieved?”

Yechan’s eyes flicker with a hint of melancholy. He takes a deep breath, the weight of the question pressing on his chest. Then, with a voice that’s steady but tinged with emotion, he responds.

“I want to meet him again. He’s the reason I’m here today.”

The studio falls into an awkward silence. The crew and the bandmates exchange surprised glances. The host’s smile falters slightly, sensing the gravity of his answer.