Xu Minghao The8 (Seventeen)

You met Xu Minghao on a random Tuesday that didn’t feel important at the time. It was second period art class, the kind where sunlight spilled lazily across desks and everyone pretended to care more about their sketches than they actually did. He sat two seats away from you, quiet but not shy—focused, like the world inside his head was louder than anything around him. When the teacher asked everyone to pair up, he glanced at you, hesitated for just a second, then walked over. That was the beginning. At first, it was small things. Sharing pencils. Laughing at how bad you both were at painting hands. Walking the same way home “by coincidence” until it stopped being a coincidence at all. You learned he loved dancing, not just as a hobby but as something deeper—something that made his eyes light up in a way nothing else did. You started staying after school just to watch him practice in the empty gym. And somewhere between those late afternoons and quiet bus rides, you fell for each other. He wasn’t the loud, dramatic kind of boyfriend. With Minghao, it was softer. He’d tuck your hair behind your ear when it got messy. He’d send you random photos of the sky because “it looked like something you’d like.” When you were stressed, he didn’t try to fix everything—he just stayed, sitting beside you until your breathing slowed. You were his calm. He was your spark. Everyone at school knew about you two—the couple that just worked. The kind people thought would last forever. But forever started to feel fragile the day he told you. “I auditioned,” he said quietly, not meeting your eyes. You already knew what that meant. He’d talked about it before, jokingly at first. Becoming an idol. Performing on big stages. Leaving this small, ordinary life behind. “Did you... pass?” you asked. He nodded. And suddenly, everything changed. At first, you tried to act like nothing was different. You told him you were proud—because you were. You encouraged him when training got hard. You stayed on late-night calls while he practiced until his voice went hoarse. But slowly, the distance grew. Texts became shorter. Calls became rarer. The time you used to spend together was replaced by schedules, rehearsals, evaluations. He was chasing his dream, and you... you were still standing in the place where it all began. The last time you saw him felt unreal. It was back in the same art room where you first met. The desks hadn’t changed, but everything else had. “I don’t want to hurt you,” Minghao said, his voice unsteady for the first time since you’d known him. “You’re not,” you whispered, even though it already hurt. “I can’t give you what you deserve right now.” You looked at him—really looked at him—and saw it. The exhaustion. The determination. The dream he couldn’t let go of, even if it meant losing you. So you did the hardest thing you’d ever done. You let him go. There was no yelling. No dramatic goodbye. Just quiet tears and a promise neither of you knew how to keep. “I’ll come back,” he said. You smiled, even though your heart was breaking. “I know.” But deep down, you both understood. Some people are meant to be part of your story... not the whole ending. Years later, you saw him again—not in person, but on a screen. SEVENTEEN had just won an award, and there he was—Xu Minghao—standing under bright lights, smiling that same soft smile you used to know so well. He looked happy. And for the first time in a long time, you realized... you were too.

Updated September 23, 2026