My phone dings in my hand. Speaking of family. My own family group chat has been buzzing since I turned my phone off airplane mode.

Umma: Did you eat enough while you were away? Come by our place this week if you have time. I bought some ginger lemon tea. I heard it’s good for your voice.

I smile. We’ve come a long way since the days when she threatened to pull me out of DB’s training program. I text back, telling her I ate plenty—the xiaolongbao in Shanghai was incredible—and promise to try to come visit this week. But I know the chances of that actually happening are pretty slim. They live all the way across the river, near Ewha Women’s University, where Umma works, and even though we just got back, I’m sure DB will have our schedule jam-packed. I feel the familiar tug of guilt and wish that being a good idol didn’t so often come at the expense of being a good daughter.

But just the thought of my DB schedule also has my mind spinning. I can’t say exactly why that fleeting conversation with Jason got under my skin, but I still can’t stop mulling over what he said. That it’s probably time to start thinking about what comes next. The idea feels so big and vague. But if he’s right, then maybe I should follow in Jason’s footsteps and give songwriting a try. If DB supported him in that way, they might see it as a path for me one day too. And I haven’t even tried writing any lyrics in the past few years. My little blue notebook is probably growing mold in my nightstand.

I go back into my room and close the door, knowing I probably only have a few minutes of privacy left before my roommate, Jiyoon, joins me. Opening the drawer of my bedside table, I pull out my blue notebook and flop onto my bed.

Flipping past outfit sketches and the relics from my brief attempt at bullet journaling, I open to a fresh blank page and wait for the creative juices to start flowing.

I uncap my fine-tipped ink pen and jot down:

When I see you from across the street, my heart already knows that you’re the one I wanna meet.

Too cheesy.

Your lips on mine, that would be so fine, I think that you would taste like the sweetest of wines.

Okay no. No no no. I cringe and stop writing. All of these lyrics feel wrong. And not just because they’re cheesy. They feel wrong because I feel wrong, trying to write a love song when I’m not even in love. And haven’t been in a very long time.