Chapter 122– Christmas Ball Aftermath
Miexha’s point of view
I don’t remember how many times I tripped.
I lost count after the third. Or fifth. Who wears four-inch heels with socks on a freezing December night, soaked in juice, betrayal, and emotional damage?
Me. The answer is always me.
My knees stung. My ankle throbbed. I’m pretty sure my soul floated away somewhere between the lamppost and the dead rat on the sidewalk.
I finally reached the convenience store—lungs burning, heart limping—when I heard a can drop and someone shout:
“LittleLune?!”
Bluechord blinked, then his eyes went wide. “Holy crap.”
Next thing I knew, I was airborne.
“W-Wait!?” I squeaked.
He was carrying me. Carrying. Me. Like some half-frozen princess, except I had dirty knees, sticky skin, and zero dignity left.
“You’re so light,” he muttered. “Did you eat?”
“I had pudding,” I sniffled. That counts, right?
We reached the studio. Sonata and Echojam were packing up for tomorrow’s show, while Musika and Nightingale cleaned cables and mics.
They all froze.
Red eyes. Sticky hair. Juice-stained shame coat. Literal bruised knees.
“LittleLune?” Nightingale asked like I’d just survived war.
Musika rushed over. “Who did this to you? Wait—red flag boyfriend?”
My mouth opened. Nothing came out but betrayal-flavored tears.
“He—he betrayed me,” I croaked.
Cue the waterworks. Round two. No commercial breaks.
They didn’t judge. They grabbed towels. Led me to the bathroom like I was a soggy stray. Washed my hair. Washed my soul. Musika gently scrubbed away the sticky. Nightingale massaged shampoo in like she was exorcising my trauma.
“You’re literally the prettiest wreck I’ve ever seen,” Musika whispered while drying my hair.
Nightingale pulled out a clean outfit. “Here. I bought this for tonight, but you need it more.”
They dressed me:
Sleeveless top. Barely-there shorts. New underwear that actually matched.
And—wait—the bra was a size too big.
“This isn’t mine—”
“But it makes you feel hopeful,” Nightingale winked.
I gasped. “I’ve never shown this much skin in my life—”
“You’ve got the softest, glowiest skin I’ve ever seen,” Musika squealed. “You look magical.”
Then Nightingale tied my hair in a high bun. Musika added a glitter headband, sweeping my bangs aside like opening the curtains on my hidden identity.
They gasped. Screamed. Fangirled.
“WHY DO YOU LOOK LIKE AN ANGEL??”
They took selfies. Even I didn’t recognize myself.
When we stepped out, the boys froze. Bluechord had a water bottle suspended midair. Sonata’s jaw dropped like gravity forgot him.
“Is that... LittleLune?” Sonata whispered.
YOU ARE READING
Golden Melody (Editing)
RomanceZenips Paradise Series: Golden Melody Even in a world built on lies, love finds its own melody. From dream to truth and back again. In a reality shaped by broken timelines and rewritten destinies, falling in love might be their only salvation... or...
