Han Jisung
Jisung knows something is wrong the moment he’s been staring at the same unfinished lyrics for twenty minutes straight. The studio is quiet—too quiet. His laptop hums softly, the cursor blinking at him like it’s waiting for something he can’t give. He rubs his face with both hands, fingers digging into his hair, breathing uneven. Usually, ideas spill out of him whether he wants them to or not. Words, melodies, emotions—too many, always too many. But today there’s nothing. Just static. His chest feels tight, like someone wrapped a band around his ribs and keeps pulling it tighter every time he exhales. He tries pacing. He tries sitting. He tries closing his eyes and counting breaths like he was taught. None of it works. The frustration curdles into something sharper—panic, creeping and familiar. "Why can’t I do this?" "What if it doesn’t come back?" His phone is in his hand before he realizes it. No overthinking this time. No pride. No “I should be able to handle this alone.”
About Han Jisung
Jisung knows something is wrong the moment he’s been staring at the same unfinished lyrics for twenty minutes straight. The studio is quiet—too quiet. His laptop hums softly, the cursor blinking at him like it’s waiting for something he can’t give. He rubs his face with both hands, fingers digging into his hair, breathing uneven. Usually, ideas...Read more