Author's POV:
He gently tucked her hair behind her ear, his eyes never leaving hers. A hush lingered in the space between them—heavy, yet soft. She reached out, her hand resting on his cheek as she whispered, eyes locked with his:
"When you're everyone's dream… I'll make you my Everest to scale."
And then, without another word, she leaned in and kissed him—slow, deep, and certain.
Scene skips – Bedroom
The night settled around them like a warm hush.
He gently laid her down on the bed, hovering above her—his gaze tender, laced with quiet intensity. He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss on her forehead… then her nose… her neck… and finally, his lips found hers in a slow, deep kiss.
His hand began to trail down her side, but she caught his wrist just in time.
Y/N blinked up at him, biting her lip.
"Oops… babe," she said sheepishly, "I think my days of the month are coming…"
He froze. Then blinked.
A moment of silence.
And then—he grinned.
"So you're telling me… my Everest has a snowstorm warning?" he teased, brushing his thumb across her cheek.
Y/N laughed, hitting his chest lightly.
"You're impossible."
"Only for you."
They both giggled, curling under the blanket, choosing warmth over fire—for now.
Scene skips — Morning
A soft whimper broke the stillness of the early morning light.
Rabin's eyes fluttered open at the faint sound. He turned over and found her curled up beside him, her brows furrowed, her arms hugging her lower abdomen.
"Babe… babe?" he whispered, voice still husky from sleep, "What happened?"
She didn't open her eyes, just mumbled weakly, "Cramps… it hurts."
His face immediately softened with concern. He brushed the strands of hair sticking to her forehead and kissed her temple.
"Okay, wait here. I got you."
He carefully slipped out of bed, treading quietly into the kitchen. A few minutes later, he returned with a hot water bag, a mug of warm ginger tea, and a chocolate bar he had hidden in the pantry.
He slipped back under the blanket, gently lifting her shirt to place the hot bag on her belly.
"Here, this will help," he murmured.
She flinched a little, then sighed in relief.
"Thank you…"
"Always," he whispered, brushing her cheek.
He offered the tea to her slowly, propping her up against his chest while she sipped.
"Want me to massage your lower back too?" he asked quietly.
She gave a tiny nod, grateful but still in pain.
And just like that, he shifted, gently rubbing her back in slow circles, his touch warm and calming.
No superstar, no flashlights—just her man, being her home.
Scene: Two Days Later – Agency Conference Room
The air in the agency felt heavier than usual.
Manager: (brows furrowed, tapping her tablet nervously)
"Boss… the reviews are dropping faster than we expected. And… some of the sponsors are already pulling out. It's almost three dramas Rabin's been dropped from."
Boss: (leans back in the chair, arms crossed, deep in thought)
"Three?" (sighs) "Which ones?"
Manager:
"One rom-com for primetime, a Netflix original in pre-prod, and a big-budget historical drama. The producers said they don't want to deal with the backlash or risk the image shift."
Boss: (sternly)
"I told him to stay clean and untouchable. That live stream… he dropped it like a bomb."
PR Head: (rubbing her temples)
"The audience is split. Half are saying he's genuine. The other half are calling him selfish, a love-blinded fool. We're trending—but it's risky trending."
Boss:
"Did he break any contracts?"
Legal Advisor:
"No… technically, he didn't. But emotionally? He broke the image we curated for years."
Boss: (coldly)
"Then let's wait. If this spiral continues and the losses pile up—we won't pull him out. He'll burn himself out. And when he does, we'll be ready to pull the plug legally… for 'liquidity damage.'"
The room fell silent.
Manager: (softly)
"But he's… happy for once."
Boss: (bitterly)
"Happy doesn't sell."
Legal Advisor: (calm but cautious tone)
"But sir… Rabin owns shares in this agency. He's not just talent. He's part of the board. We can't terminate or sideline him without opening a legal can of worms. This is… tricky."
Boss: (leans forward, resting elbows on the table, voice colder)
"It's fine. Let him rest. Let the world think he's taking a break for love, or clarity, or whatever romantic crap they eat up online."
PR Head: (glances up, surprised)
"You're not pushing him out?"
Boss: (smirks slightly)
"No. I'm repositioning him. If he wants to play domestic life, let him. He can work like the rest of us—not on screen, but behind the scenes. In board meetings. Strategy rooms. Numbers."
Manager: (shocked)
"You're turning the biggest star of the agency into a background player?"
Boss:
"He turned himself into one. I'm just giving him the desk that fits the image he's chosen."
Legal Advisor:
"And if he refuses?"
Boss: (curtly)
"Then we bring the shareholders in. Remind him what his investment really means. This is a business, not a fairytale."
Boss: (leaning back in his chair, fingers interlocked, voice laced with mockery)
"Hello, big guy… huh?"
(The room stays silent. No one meets Rabin's gaze except the boss. Rabin calmly takes a seat at the end of the long table. His jaw is tight, but he doesn't say a word.)
Boss: (smirks)
"So… while you were busy being poetic on livestreams and ignoring 14 pending calls from the agency… we—your so-called background players—made a little decision without you."
(The legal advisor subtly adjusts his glasses. Rabin's manager looks tense. PR head keeps typing something on the tablet, not even glancing up.)
Boss:
"You want to be the heartthrob of the nation and a boyfriend of the internet at the same time? Fine. But not on our schedule. Not with our brand."
(Pauses for effect)
"So we had a little discussion. A vote."
Rabin: (calmly, voice low)
"And?"
Boss: (smiles faintly, eyes sharp)
"You'll step back. From the limelight. No dramas. No endorsements. No interviews. You're not being dropped. You're just… relocating."
Rabin: (raises an eyebrow)
"To where?"
Boss:
"To where your ownership lies—behind the scenes. You're still one of us. A shareholder. A board member. So from now on… welcome to the back office, Rabin."
(The words echo. Rabin doesn't flinch. He leans forward slowly, fingers steepled, eyes directly locked on the boss.)
Rabin:
"You decided that without me."
Boss: (coldly)
"Just like you decided to rebrand yourself without us."
*(Silence.)
Rabin leans back, unreadable, nods once—quiet, slow. Like a fuse that hasn't burned yet.
Scene: Their Apartment — Late Afternoon
Soft amber light filters through the living room. Y/N is sitting on the floor near the coffee table, legs folded beneath her, organizing a small scrapbook with photos and mementos. The door clicks open behind her. She turns around gently.
Y/N:
"You're back."
(Rabin closes the door slowly behind him. He doesn't say anything at first. He just drops his keys on the table and walks toward her, his expression unreadable.)
Y/N: (noticing his silence)
"How did it go?"
Rabin: (softly, almost like a whisper)
"They made their decision."
(He sinks to the floor beside her. Not in defeat—just heavy. He stretches his legs out, his head tilted back against the couch.)
Y/N:
"What kind of decision?"
Rabin: (turns his head to look at her)
"They're pulling me off everything. No screen time. No endorsements. I'm still in the agency… just not the face anymore."
Y/N: (quietly)
"You're still part of them. That means something, right?"
Rabin:
"It does. But it's strange… I walked into that room like I was still their star. Turns out, I was just another risk to contain."
(Y/N places her scrapbook aside and scoots closer, her hand finding his. Their fingers intertwine.)
Y/N:
"I'm sorry."
Rabin: (shakes his head slightly)
"I'm not. Not really. I thought I would be… but then I remembered waking up this morning with you beside me. Watching you in the kitchen. Talking to you like it's the most normal thing. Like… I traded a spotlight for peace."
(He brings her hand to his lips, placing a gentle kiss on her knuckles.)
Rabin:
"I think I'm okay with this."
Y/N: (smiling faintly)
"You sure?"
Rabin: (softly)
"I'd give up every red carpet… every flashing camera… just to come home to this. To you."
(She rests her head on his shoulder. Silence fills the room—but it's not heavy. It's safe.)
Y/N: (murmurs)
"You're still a star, Rabin. Just mine this time."
(He chuckles quietly, then lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding. The weight on his chest begins to lift.)
Rabin: (noticing the way she's sitting, crouched on the floor, slightly curling in discomfort)
"By the way…" (his voice low but a little scolding) "Why are you sitting on the floor like that? You know it'll hit your cramps."
Y/N: (blinks, caught off guard)
"I was just… organizing memories…"
Rabin:
"No excuses. Come on."
(Without another word, he gently scoops her up, his arms firm but tender. She instinctively wraps her arms around his shoulders as he walks them to the bed.)
Y/N:
"You didn't have to…"
Rabin: (cutting her off, a quiet smirk forming)
"I want to."
(He lays her down carefully against the pillows, her head resting against the soft headboard. She shifts to sit upright. He hovers for a second, looking at her like she's his safe place in the storm.)
Y/N: (locking eyes with him)
"Come here."
(She pulls him close into a hug, wrapping her arms around him, fingers slowly tapping a rhythm against his back—like a heartbeat. Familiar. Reassuring.)
Y/N: (whispers softly into his ear)
"You will be okay… you will always be okay…"
(Rabin closes his eyes and breathes in the scent of her, her warmth, the softness of her embrace. His hands rest gently around her waist.)
Rabin: (quietly, almost like a child)
"Stay like this for a while."
Y/N: (smiling gently against his shoulder)
"As long as you need."
Author POV
As days passed, Rabin's once-vivid digital presence faded into silence.
No new posts. No stories. No live streams. Just… a full stop.
The internet, once buzzing with his name, now echoed with uncertainty.
Some fans flooded the comment sections of his last post:
"Rabin, we miss you…"
"Please come back, your smile gives us strength."
"You inspired me to follow my dreams—don't disappear like this."
Others, though, were harsh:
"So disappointing."
"He chose love over us."
"He was fake all along."
He scrolled through them sometimes, late at night, his thumb hovering—never pressing like, never replying.
He sat alone on the edge of the couch, the glow of the TV painting his face with dim flickers. His phone buzzed with updates from the outside world he was no longer a part of.
And yet—inside him, a whisper echoed.
Y/N's voice.
Her words.
That night when her eyes had lit up with that strange mix of fire and softness.
"When you're everyone's dream…"
He closed his eyes, whispering the rest under his breath like a sacred vow.
"…I'm gonna make you my Everest to scale."
A pause.
Then a breath.
A heartbeat.
A pull in his chest.
Their Apartment – Late Evening
A soft drizzle taps gently against the windowpanes. The room is calm, filled only with the quiet scratching of pencil against paper. Rabin sits hunched over a notebook at the dining table, his brows furrowed in thought.
Lines half-written. Words scratched out. A melody humming in his head but not yet real.
He pauses… then scribbles again. A surge of emotion rises in his chest—frustration? No. Something deeper. Urgency. Hope.
Just then, Y/N walks in, two warm cups of coffee in hand. She's wearing one of his old hoodies, sleeves falling over her hands.
Y/N (softly, setting the cups down):
"Babe… what are you writing?"
Before she can peek over his shoulder, Rabin abruptly stands, turns, and wraps his arms tightly around her waist—so tight she nearly drops the mug in surprise.
Rabin (his voice low, against her shoulder):
"Thank you, babe."
Y/N (confused, with a small laugh):
"For what?"
He pulls back just enough to look into her eyes, his fingers still curled into her hoodie.
Rabin:
"You're my happy pill… my reason. My motivation when everything else went silent."
She blinks, lips parting, not knowing what to say—but the smile blooming on her face says everything.
He turns back to the notebook, heart thudding. His hands move freely now—no hesitation.
Rabin (murmuring as he writes):
"I thought I lost the world… till I found you standing still,
When the cheers faded, you were my voice, my will.
They called me a star, but you saw my scars,
You held me like home, even when I fell apart…"
He pauses. Looks at her. And writes one last line.
"I don't need the spotlight, if I have your light."
He looks up again, eyes shimmering.
Rabin:
"This… is going to be my next song."
Y/N (softly):
"Then it's going to be the most honest one you've ever sung."
Days pass. Then nights. Then days again.
Their apartment transforms—half into a temporary studio. A mic stand in the corner. Headphones tangled on the desk. A keyboard plugged into his laptop. Rabin, hair slightly messier than usual, sits in sweats, eyes locked on the DAW screen. Audio waves, pitch curves, layers of harmonies—it's all new, but he's learning fast.
No camera flashes. No stylists. Just him… and the sound of truth.
Sometimes he forgets to eat. Sometimes she feeds him spoonfuls of rice while his hands are busy looping chords. Sometimes she watches him fall asleep in the chair, head tilted back, exhausted but peaceful.
Sometimes Rabin in headphones, adjusting knobs, re-recording a single line for the third time while Y/N sneaking up behind him, slipping a coffee beside the laptop.
A shot of crumpled paper, scribbled verses, and crossed-out rhymes…Him humming alone on the balcony, eyes closed, testing melodies under the night sky.
sometimes Y/N recording him secretly, mouthing "He's in his zone again."