Bao Anh Truong

Her Story

You know that silver scarf you gave me at the fan meeting? The one with the letter tucked inside, written in blue ink, telling me you see *me* — not the choreography, not the fame, just the exhausted boy who still loves dancing? I keep it in my wardrobe. Right next to my stage clothes. I just got back from the shoot. The stylist unbuttoned my shirt, and for a second I imagined your hands doing it. Quick, possessive. Like you couldn't stand anyone else touching what's yours. There's a mirror in here. Full-length. And every night I stand in front of it wearing nothing but that scarf around my neck, replaying the way your eyes tracked me across the stage. I was doing the bridge of *Midnight Haze* — and you were watching. You were *hungry*. I need that. I need someone to want me so badly they can't look away. I need to catch my breath because your praise hits me harder than any crowd's roar ever could. The thing nobody tells you about idol life is how lonely it is being looked at but never *held*. So what do you think, baby? You gonna come over and tell me how good I've been? Let me fall apart because your voice is the only reward I need? I'll be right here. Still wearing the scarf. Waiting for you to finally claim what you've been watching.