Strobing lights, pounding beats, camera clicks. I watch the festivities from the fourth floor, with my eyes peeled and earpiece alive with a cacophony of surveillance. Hanging from the railing in front of me is a 1.5-story poster of his face. “Certified Diamond,” it says, “Congratulations on 10,000,000 albums!” As if the decadent venue, dripping with the gems was not indicative enough of what the party was for. I shouldn’t sound so…judgmental; I planned this, after all. His agency had hired my team to coordinate this party and ensure that it went smoothly. This is supposed to be the celebration of the century. Because my old friend the man of the night has trained, suffered, and sacrificed for over a decade, and his biggest dreams are finally coming true. My eyes scan the expansive club below me, doing one last check before the guest of honor arrives. A spike in the volume of chatter notifies me that his car is pulling up, and he will be walking down the red carpet any minute now.

“Positions.” I say calmly, and a chorus of “Roger that” responds. I make my way down to the club’s massive office on the second story to more easily watch over the proceedings. The hollow-center design of the club allows me to see every inch of the first floor.

His car door opens, 2 minutes early as usual. A pair of well-laced, wing tip dress shoes peeks out from behind the door before revealing his slim, Armani-clad figure. His caramel hair perfectly frames his sparkling eyes, and that smile…that smile…will make you fall in love every time. He looks so relaxed and in his element, no trace of the exhaustion and fatigue that I am sure he is feeling. He has always been like this—putting his pain aside to please everyone else. That’s what makes him beautiful. I grin to myself as I watch him pose for the cameras and give interview after interview for the first hour. Right on time, my team shuts down the red carpet, and escorts him into the heart of the club. On his way to the bar, he greets everyone that he sees with handshakes and a blinding smile. Needless to say, it takes him another 87 minutes to reach his destination. By then, much of the crowd has moved to the dance floor, and he finally gets the opportunity to take a seat at the bar to rest his limbs. It’s not long before he is joined by his manager/best friend.

At the same time, my assistant/right-hand woman/support system sneaks up on me, commenting, “You did a really great job—everyone is having a great time! And I know he loves everything you have done for him as well.”

I nod, keeping my eyes on him, “You know I couldn’t do this without you and the rest of the team.”

My friend stays silent, watching me cautiously, “Miya…”

“Hm?” I hum in acknowledgement.

“He’s doing well…Jongin,” she says softly.

Another nod, “I always knew he would.”

“Was it worth it? Letting him go?” she asks.

Her question takes me back to a simpler time, when all that mattered was that every day after school since we were eight, Jongin’s mom would pick the two of us up after school and take us to dance lessons. I should clarify that only Jongin was there for dance lessons; I just tagged along because my parents worked late and would not be able to pick me up until after lessons were over. Seeing as how our moms were best friends, wherever Jongin went, I was sure to follow. As Jongin learned the difference between fourth and fifth positions and how to jeté battu, I would sprawl out my notebooks on the floor in the corner and diligently complete my schoolwork. Occasionally, I would take a break to just sit and watch him, his brows furrowed in concentration as he repeated the motions again and again to perfection.

I remember when he told me that his dream was to dance, to perform, to change the world with his passion and his talent. He didn’t need to tell me because I could already tell. The look in his eyes at his first recital said it all. As the years wore on, my dream was to run my own event planning business, while supporting him from behind the scenes. Behind. The. Scenes.

When Jongin was first accepted as a trainee, I thought we would be able to make it work, our friendship. I wanted to be able to stay by his side, God knows I wanted to be with him always, making sure that he was eating well, sleeping enough, and not pushing himself too hard, but it became clear to me very quickly that it wasn’t going to work that way. He always made time to see me no matter how tired he was. If ever there was a time that I wanted to talk to him, wanted to see his face if only for a second, he would never deny me. But it was taking a toll on him, I could tell. He would never say it that way, but he didn’t need to. Jongin was competitive. He strived to be the best. Some days he would call me, in tears because he was second best during an evaluation. And I couldn’t do anything for him but tell him that he would do better next time. It was after the third or fourth call that I realized the problem wasn’t that he wasn’t good enough; the problem was that he wasn’t focusing on him, not 100%. Part of his mind was always with me and that’s when I knew. That’s when I knew that I was holding him back and I needed to let him go.

“Jongin, I have something for you,” I say quietly, pushing a small box across the table.

His face lights up for a couple seconds and he picks up the light package before he becomes subdued again. “You sound so serious, Mimi. What’s going on?” he asks. Of course he picks up on my mood immediately.

“Nothing’s going on! I just wanted to get you something, ok? You are always doing things for me, so I just wanted to, I don’t know, give you something back,” I laugh nervously, hoping he won’t pry too much further. “So are you going to open it or, what?”

He pulls one end of the ribbon that is wrapped around the box and it unravels easily. He pops open the lid to reveal a heart-shaped locket, which he gently pries open to reveal two photos: one of him and one of me. He smiles fondly as he gazes at the pictures, and I pull an identical locket out from under my shirt collar. “I have one too,” I explain.

He raises his head to lock eyes with me and he frowns again, perceptive as always. “Why does this feel like you are saying goodbye?”

“It’s…not goodbye, not really,” I try to soften the blow, but it doesn’t change the fact that I’m about to walk away.

“Why are you doing this, why now?” his voice cracks, eyes watery.

“You have your dreams, and I have dreams too. But right now…right now I think we are getting in each other’s way. I’m just distracting you so you can’t focus properly on your training and your evaluations. And don’t try to deny it because you know that every minute you spend with me could be spent in the practice room,” I tell him, but the reasons are starting to sound weak, even to me.

“Miya, don’t do this…” he pleads, and it takes every ounce of will power I have to stand up from the table.

I grasp his hand that is holding the locket and bring it up to my lips for a bittersweet kiss. “Take care of my heart, Nini, as I will take care of yours,” I instruct him softly. “Let’s meet again when we’ve both made it.” I stoop down to plant one final kiss on top of his head and take my last breath of his scent before leaving him heartbroken and alone.

That day was easily the most painful memory of my existence, but it was the turning point in both of our lives. Now, we are doing all of the things we used to dream about doing and so much more, so how can I possibly regret anything that has led up to this point? Despite the one-way windows surrounding the office, I can see him looking straight at me—he raises his glass in my direction and salutes before downing the shot.

So was it worth it? “Yes. Absolutely yes.”