Reaching My Star | A Chaennie AU

Chapter 25: I Still Got It (Jennie 28; Rosé 31)

The evening of the concert arrived. As Jennie pulled her jacket tighter around her shoulders, she wondered how simple it had been to arrange everything. Hayoon was with her parents, who were more than happy to spoil their granddaughter for the night, and the shop was in capable hands with her trusted employees, and for the first time in a long while, Jennie had nothing to worry about—no crying toddler, no customer orders, no deadlines. Just her.

Stepping into the venue, she couldn't help but feel out of place. She hadn't dressed up like she used to for concerts; no sparkly outfit or meticulously styled hair. Her mom jeans, soft sweater, and sneakers were practical, comfortable—miles away from the girl who used to plan her concert outfits for weeks. Still, she carried one piece of her past with her: the old lightstick, worn from years of use but still glowing brightly.

Jennie approached her seat at the front row, the sensation was familiar, like muscle memory kicking in. Being this close to the stage felt surreal after so many years

Jennie wanted to send flowers to Rosé to congradulate. She knew she wouldn't be able to hand them over personally, but after a quick convincing conversation with a kind-hearted concert staff member, Jennie managed to get her bouquet of roses to be delivered backstage. As she handed the flowers over, she giggled softly, feeling a surge of pride.

I still got it, she thought, a small smile dancing on her lips.

Backstage, Rosé paced restlessly, her hands clenching and unclenching as she tried to steady her breathing. The familiar buzz of pre-show jitters coursed through her veins, making her heart race. Even after all these years, after countless performances, the anxiety never fully went away. But tonight was different—tonight, the pressure was even heavier.

Her team scrambled around her, a flurry of makeup brushes, fabric adjustments, and final touches. But Rosé could barely focus. This was her first major event since the hiatus, and it felt like everything was riding on this performance. The weight of proving she still had what it took, that she hadn't lost the magic during her time away, bore down on her. What if they didn't care anymore? What if she wasn't the same?

Her manager, Mrs. Choi, entered with her usual reassuring smile. "You've done this a hundred times before," she said softly. "The moment you step out there, you'll remember why you love it."

Rosé nodded, trying to take comfort in her words. She closed her eyes for a moment, letting herself slip into her pre-show ritual: a few minutes of silence, deep breathing, and a stretch to loosen the tension. Then, softly, she began humming a familiar tune, a melody that always calmed her nerves before stepping onto the stage.

"You've got this," she whispered to herself, opening her eyes and catching her reflection in the mirror.

As the lights in the venue dimmed and the crowd roared, Jennie's heart fluttered with anticipation. She lifted her lightstick, watching the sea of glowing lights sway in rhythm, and suddenly, she was thrown back into her teenage years—those moments of pure, unbridled excitement when nothing else mattered except the music and the connection with the artist on stage.

The first few chords of the opening song rang out, and Rosé appeared, bathed in a cascade of lights. The crowd erupted, and Jennie's breath caught in her throat as Rosé's voice filled the venue. It was still as captivating as ever—rich, powerful, and laced with an emotional depth that hadn't always been there.

But as the concert went on, Jennie couldn't shake a strange feeling that had settled in her chest. She was enjoying the music, swaying along with the crowd, but something was missing. The rush, the overwhelming thrill she used to feel—it wasn't the same.

Why don't I feel the same way? she thought, biting her lip. The music was incredible, and Rosé was performing flawlessly, but Jennie felt a small twinge of frustration. Maybe it's because I'm older now. Or maybe... maybe it's because I've changed.

She glanced around at the crowd—fans screaming, singing along, tears streaming down some of their faces. The connection they had with Rosé was so noticeable, so intense. Jennie smiled, feeling a bittersweet feeling in her chest. She still loved this, but it wasn't the all-consuming passion it used to be. Life had happened—motherhood, the shop, the responsibilities of adulthood. She had changed, and so had the way she experienced these moments.

But then the ballad section began.

The stage lights softened, and Rosé stood alone, under a single spotlight once again. The first notes of the ballad echoed through the venue, slow and haunting. Jennie felt her chest tighten as Rosé's voice carried the raw emotion of the song—pain, love, loss.

Jennie's eyes welled up with tears as the lyrics hit close to home. The song seemed to speak to her directly, echoing her own struggles, her heartache, and the quiet strength she had found over the years. As Rosé sang, Jennie could feel her voice wrapping around her like a warm embrace, offering comfort in a way that only music could.

And then, it happened.

Rosé's eyes scanned the front row, and for the briefest moment, they landed on Jennie. It was just a second, but Jennie swore she saw a flicker of recognition in Rosé's eyes—a flash of something that made her heart race.

Did she see me? Does she still know me? Jennie wondered, her pulse quickening. But before she could process it, Rosé had already moved on, her gaze shifting to the rest of the crowd. Still, Jennie couldn't shake the feeling that something had passed between them in that split second.