Days turned into weeks, and the world's fascination with Rosé's sudden disappearance only intensified. Speculation surged like wildfire, with each theory more outlandish than the last. The internet was awash with rumors. Some claimed she was in hiding, preparing for a grand comeback. Others were convinced she had quit the industry entirely, unable to handle the pressures that came with her level of fame. But perhaps the most disturbing were the claims that Rosé had met an untimely death, a victim of some hidden malady or a fatal accident carefully concealed by the industry to protect its image.
Rosé found the narratives strangers spun about her life both amuseming and depressing. It was strange how people were so eager to fill in the blanks with their own speculations, as if they were entitled to weave her story for her. They knew nothing of her reality, yet they dissected her every move, her every silence, as if they owned a piece of her.
One afternoon, Rosé decided to step out of the solitude of her apartment and visit a small café she had discovered tucked away in a quiet corner of Downtown L.A. The place had become a sanctuary of sorts, where she could sip her coffee and watch the world go by, unnoticed and unbothered. But today, even this refuge was destroyed.
She had just settled into a corner booth when she overheard a conversation from the table next to her. A group of young women were huddled together, their voices low but filled with the kind of excitement that only comes from discussing something scandalous.
"Rosé? I heard she had a breakdown and went off the grid," one of them said, her tone laced with a mix of pity and intrigue.
"No, no, that's not it," another interjected. "She's dead. I read somewhere that they're covering it up because they're protecting her ex-boyfriend."
Rosé's grip on her coffee cup tightened, her knuckles turning white as the heat from the cup seeped into her palms. It was surreal, sitting there as strangers casually discussed her as if she were some tragic figure in a fairytale. They spoke of her life—and death—with the same detachment one might reserve for a celebrity gossip column, unaware that the very person they were speculating about was sitting just a few feet away.
Unable to bear it any longer, Rosé quickly finished her drink and slipped out of the café, her heart pounding in her chest. "I can't escape it," she thought bitterly. No matter how far she ran or how drastically she altered her appearance, she would always be Rosé to the world—a star who had once shone brightly but had now, in their eyes, fallen from grace.
The isolation she had initially sought out in L.A. now began to feel suffocating. The once peaceful solitude of her apartment had turned into a prison of her own making. Days stretched endlessly, with only her dog and her thoughts for company. She tried to immerse herself in music, to find solace in the melodies that had always been her refuge. But even the piano keys felt foreign under her fingers, the music that once flowed so freely now choked by her uncertainty and fear.
"Maybe I'm done," she thought one night, her fingers hovering above the piano keys before dropping listlessly into her lap. The idea of never performing again sent a chill through her, but so did the prospect of returning to a world where every note she sang and every step she took was under scrutiny, dissected and judged by millions.
Despite the distance, Mrs. Choi remained a constant presence in Rosé's life. She called regularly, her voice a beacon of stability in the chaos of Rosé's thoughts. "You don't have to decide anything now," Mrs. Choi said during one of their late-night conversations. "Just take your time. We'll figure this out together."
Rosé wanted to believe her, to find comfort in the idea that she didn't have to have all the answers right away. But the uncertainty andanxiety got to her, undermining the confidence that had once defined her. She had always been so sure of her path, so determined to reach the pinnacle of her career. Now, she felt like a ship lost at sea, with no compass to guide her.
One particularly restless day, Rosé decided to visit the beach, hoping the vastness of the ocean might provide some clarity. She walked along the shore, her feet sinking into the cool sand as the waves lapped gently at her ankles. The rhythmic sound of the water, the endless horizon stretching out before her—it all used to bring her peace. But even here, on this familiar stretch of coastline, her thoughts were a storm she couldn't outrun. The ocean, once a sanctuary, now mirrored the tumult inside her. She stood at the water's edge, the wind tugging at her hair, and let out a long breath.
"Who am I without all of this?" she whispered into the wind, her voice swallowed by the roar of the waves. Without the stage, without the spotlight, without the adoration of millions, what was left of Rosé? She had spent so long building her identity around her career, around the expectations placed upon her, that she wasn't sure if there was anything left of herself beneath it all.
As the sun began to set, casting a golden glow over the water, Rosé turned away from the ocean and started the long walk back to her apartment. The day was ending, but the questions that haunted her remained, unanswered and unresolved. She was still adrift, searching for a direction that might never come. But for now, all she could do was keep moving, one step at a time, hoping that eventually, she would find her way back to herself.
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Reaching My Star | A Chaennie AU
FanfictionIt's been years since Jennie last attended a concert of her former idol, Rosé. She went to relive her past and have some fun, but everything took a turn when Rosé recognized her in the audience. An Original Story. A Non-Fanfiction Version will also...
