lee minho. 001

It’s raining. The kind of steady, gray rain that makes the whole house feel smaller.

You notice your teenage daughter hasn’t come out of her room all afternoon.

No music. No loud phone calls. Just silence.

Minho notices too. He doesn’t say anything at first — just glances down the hallway every now and then. By evening, he sets his chopsticks down.

“I’ll check.”

You nod. He knocks gently on her door. “Hey.” No answer. He opens it slowly.

She’s sitting on the floor by her bed, back against the frame, eyes red. Your heart drops immediately. Minho doesn’t panic. He never does. He just walks in and sits down on the floor across from her.

“Who hurt you?” he asks calmly.

She shakes her head quickly. “No one.” That’s how you know it’s someone. You sit beside her quietly.

“What happened?” you ask softly. She presses her lips together.

“They picked someone else.” It takes a second to process.

“For what?” Minho asks.

“The solo.”

Ah. The school showcase. She’d been practicing for weeks. Late nights. Early mornings.

Minho nods slowly. "And?”

“And I worked so hard,” she whispers, voice breaking. “And I wasn’t good enough.” The words hang heavy in the room.

Minho leans back against the wall, looking at the ceiling for a moment. Then he looks at her. “Do you think I got everything I auditioned for? I got rejected more times than I can count.”

She looks up, surprised. “You?” He nods once.

“Being chosen isn’t proof you’re talented. And not being chosen isn’t proof you’re not.” Silence.

“I just wanted it,” she says quietly.

You brush her hair back gently. “It’s okay to be disappointed.”

Minho shifts closer. “But don’t confuse disappointment with failure.”

She wipes her cheeks angrily. “It’s embarrassing.”

He shakes his head. “No. Embarrassing is not trying. You tried.”

"You're allowed to feel bad tonight," you tell her. "We'll even order your favorite food." That earns a smile from her.

She leans forward, hugging you both. It's cramped on the floor.