Rewrite the Rules

Time Stolen: Part 26

The fourth sound check felt like a formality. Gone was the nervous anticipation that had fueled my dash through security the first three times. This time, I opted for a leisurely stroll, savoring the pre-concert buzz that crackled in the air.

As I shuffled towards the familiar security checkpoint, a pang of annoyance hit me. The line snaked its way out the door, a testament to BTS's ever-growing popularity. Just as I resigned myself to another wait, a gruff voice cut through the chatter.

"VIP pass?" a security guard barked, his gaze scanning the crowd.

I rummaged through my purse, my fingers brushing against the smooth black-and-gold backstage pass. This wasn't the standard VIP pass I'd expected – this was the holy grail, the VVIP pass that promised expedited entry. A surge of excitement bubbled in my chest; a secret weapon tucked away in my bag.

"Yes, it is," I replied, extracting the pass with a flourish.

The guard's eyes widened in surprise. "Whoa," he whistled, his gruff demeanor momentarily replaced by awe. "That ain't just a VIP pass, ma'am. That's the VVIP pass. Front of the line, express entry, the whole shebang." He gestured towards a short, empty pathway on the side.

"No more waiting in line?" I clarified, a playful smile tugging at my lips.

He chuckled, a gruff sound that seemed almost friendly. "Not a single minute, ma'am. VVIP gets you right in. Black and gold, huh? Press credentials, maybe?"

I wasn't about to burst his bubble. "Something like that," I replied with a cryptic wink.

"And backstage access too, if that's your thing," he added, a knowing glint in his eyes.

Now I understood the desperation of the woman a few concerts ago. This VVIP pass wasn't just a shortcut – it was a golden ticket to a world I hadn't even dared to dream of. A world that included not just the concert, but potentially a glimpse behind the curtain, a chance to see the real Namjoon beyond the blinding stage lights.

A tremble of excitement danced down my spine as I bypassed the throng of waiting fans and strolled towards the express entrance. This night just kept getting more and more interesting.

I texted Daisy.

Me: Just got invited to the BTS after-party! SOS – what should I wear?

My breath hitched. This wasn't part of the plan. Surely my carefully curated selection of concert tees and jeans wouldn't cut it.

Daisy: Nothing you own.

I stared at the message, my stomach churning. Nothing I owned? Did she mean a complete wardrobe overhaul? A desperate reply formed on my lips.

Me: Then what?! Help a girl out!

Silence. My texts hung unanswered in the digital void. Had Daisy abandoned me in my hour of need? A wave of frustration washed over me, followed by a cold dread. Maybe I should have stuck with the original plan – jeans and a cute top. At least it felt like me.

Minutes ticked by, each one stretching into an eternity. Just as I resigned myself to fashion oblivion, the arena lights dimmed, plunging the space into a sea of excited chatter and flickering phone screens. The sound check was about to begin, and I was still clueless about the after-party.

Taking a deep breath, I squared my shoulders and forced a smile. Tonight wasn't about red carpets and designer labels – it was about the music, the energy, and the shared experience with thousands of fellow fans.

With newfound resolve, I pushed thoughts of the after-party aside and focused on the pulsing anticipation that filled the air.

As I made my way to my designated seat – a prime spot right in the front row – a peculiar feeling washed over me. It wasn't the nervous excitement I'd expected, but a strange sense of unease.