Milo:

She’s really cute.

That was the first thought that crossed my mind as she slipped back into her seat. She’d come out of the bathroom looking slightly less disheveled, her hoodie still on but her hair now smoothed down, and the smudged mascara mostly wiped away. Even with everything she’d been through, there was something undeniably endearing about her. Maybe it was those big hazel eyes, wide and expressive, that seemed to hold a mix of emotions she hadn’t quite figured out how to hide. Or maybe it was her dark hair, now a little tamed but still hinting at the chaos she’d been through.

Her features were striking in a soft, understated way—a cute button nose and full lips that looked like they were made for smiling, even though she hadn’t done much of that since she sat down. There was something about her that drew me in, something that made me want to know her story, even if it was just to understand why she’d ended up on this flight, looking like she was running from the world.

As she settled back into her seat, I couldn’t help but feel a little more relaxed myself. The truth was, I wasn’t exactly calm either. This flight was just another step back into a world that I had barely gotten used to before I was thrown into the chaos of it all.

ADRIIFT—the group that had become both my family and my entire life over the past few years. We were six guys, each of us different in our own way, yet somehow, when we came together, everything just clicked. Dak-ho Soo, our leader and the oldest, had this undeniable way of commanding the room, both with his voice and his presence. He didn’t have to try; he just owned it. Yoo-jin Choi—who we just called Yoo— the main dancer, moved like his body didn’t know what bones were, but beyond his incredible talent, he had this way of making everyone feel like they were part of something bigger, like our success was all of us together, not just individuals.

Kwan Il had the looks—tall, sharp-jawed, and effortlessly handsome—but he was far more than just a pretty face. His voice was smooth, rich, the kind that could either soothe you into a trance or shatter your heart, depending on the song. And then there was Jae-sung, our rapper. He brought the edge, the grit, and the attitude that balanced us out. His fierce energy on stage was electrifying, giving us the rough contrast we needed to round out our sound.

And of course, there was Daiki Sakai—our Japanese idol, the maknae. He could out-dance anyone without breaking a sweat, making even the most complex choreography look like child’s play. His visuals were something else entirely, though—those striking eyes, his perfect, boyish charm. He was the one that made heads turn, the reason fans’ eyes were glued to us whenever we hit the stage. Without a doubt, Daiki was the secret weapon that set ADRIIFT apart in an industry crowded with talent.

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Then, there was me—Milo Lee. The American sub-vocalist, rapper, and dancer. I wasn’t the leader, I wasn’t the main anything, but I’d carved out my place in ADRIIFT. My low, deep voice stood out, a contrast to the higher notes of the others. Years of taekwondo had made me more flexible than most, and that added something extra to my performances. I wasn’t the flashiest, but I was solid, dependable—the guy you could count on to deliver when it mattered.

Four years into this journey, we’d seen success, more than most groups dream of. But with success came pressure—an ever-present weight on our shoulders. Every comeback felt like we were standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting to see if we’d soar or plummet. The music industry wasn’t kind, and no matter how hard we worked, there was always that lingering fear of falling behind.

I loved it, though—the energy, the performances, the bond we’d formed. But it wasn’t always easy. The company had been strict, especially in the early days. No dating, no distractions. It wasn’t like I was desperate for a relationship, but after three years of being told who I could and couldn’t be with, it was hard not to think about what I was missing.

Dak-ho and Yoo, the oldest, had started to push the boundaries, sneaking around to see their girlfriends. It caused some tension, especially when they weren’t where they needed to be because of it. I got it, though. They were older, they wanted more than just the group, and sometimes I wondered if that would be me in a couple of years. But for now, I was content—mostly.

I hadn’t really had the chance to think about anyone outside the group. There were no distractions, no time for anything other than the music and the grind. But sitting here, next to Orla, I started to wonder if maybe it was time to think about more. There was something about her that drew me in, something that made me want to know her story, even if it was just to understand why she’d ended up on this flight, looking like she was running from the world.

The plane hit a bit of turbulence, and I shifted in my seat, wincing as my knee twinged. The injury was still bothering me, but it was getting better. I’d pushed through worse. I had to be ready—our sixth comeback album was in the works, and we couldn’t afford any setbacks. The company was expecting us to come back stronger than ever, and I wasn’t going to be the reason we didn’t deliver.

But as I glanced over at Orla, I couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe there was more to life than just the next performance, the next album. This unexpected encounter made me realize that there was a world beyond ADRIIFT, beyond the stage lights and the screaming fans.

I didn’t know why she was the one who sparked these thoughts, but I knew I needed to learn more about her—before the plane landed and we never crossed paths again.