"You're not a person, Aria. You're a brand. Try not to forget that."
Those were her manager's last words before she shut the door of the van.
Aria leaned her head against the tinted window as the van sped through the city. The lights of Seoul passed like lightning—bright, dizzying, cold. She pulled her cap lower, hiding her face, even though no one could see her.
She whispered under her breath, "If I'm a brand, then why do I feel so empty?"
The driver glanced at her through the rearview mirror. "Ma'am, are we still going to the private retreat?"
Ariana hesitated. Her fingers tightened around the strap of her handbag.
"No," she said softly, then more firmly. "Take me to Yuseong Station. And please—don't tell anyone."
The driver blinked, confused. "But… your schedule—"
"I'm canceling everything. Just drive. Please."
He paused, then nodded. "As you wish."
---
Hours later, the train screeched into a small town station. The air smelled like rain and dust. Ariana stepped off with a simple suitcase and a racing heart.
A middle-aged woman at the tiny station counter looked up briefly. "You're not from around here."
Ariana smiled politely. "No. Just… visiting."
The woman shrugged. "Not much to see here."
"That's exactly what I need."
---
She walked alone down the quiet street, the sound of her suitcase wheels echoing softly. Her heels clicked on the stone path, but no one turned to look. No flashes. No fans. Just a man riding a bicycle and a cat sleeping in a shop window.
The innkeeper, a wrinkled lady with sleepy eyes, handed her a key without asking too many questions.
"Name?" she asked lazily.
Aria paused. Not Aria, she reminded herself. Not tonight.
"Aria," she said. "Just Ari."
The woman wrote it down. "Room 3. No smoking. No noise after ten."
"I'll be quiet," Ari whispered, more to herself than anyone else.
---
Later that night, she stood on her small balcony, hugging a cup of tea. Her long hair was damp from the evening mist, her makeup washed off, revealing the tired but peaceful girl beneath the superstar.
She looked up at the sky.
"So many stars," she murmured.
A memory came rushing back—her grandmother's voice: "Whenever you feel lost, look up. The stars remember who you are, even when the world forgets."
She smiled through a sting of tears.
Tomorrow, she would explore the town. Maybe read. Maybe write. Maybe just exist without being watched.
And maybe… she'd meet someone who saw her not as Aria the celebrity, but as Ari— the girl who just wanted to breathe.