My Arranged Husband is My Biggest Stan Chapter 2

Even though I was D-list, I had a few die-hard fans.

As soon as the retirement post went up, the familiar IDs flooded my DMs.

Among the wall of text, a user named "Q" stood out.

I knew this guy. Too well.

For the past five years, every time I posted, he was the first to like and comment. He was my OG stan.

He had top-tier gear, too. Every candid photo he took of me was 4K quality. He dropped serious cash on my promo campaigns, so the other dozen fans affectionately called him "Sugar Daddy Q."

I clicked on his profile. His pinned post was a fan-cam edit of me, and a video of him trying to learn my hand-dance choreography. He never showed his face, but his movements were serious, bordering on clumsy. It was cute.

But what stuck with me were his comments.

No flowery poetry, no cringe pick-up lines. Just one simple, stubborn sentence, every single time:

I hope you’re happy today.

But today, he broke character.

The text box was filled with a massive paragraph.

He wrote about how he stumbled upon my videos during the darkest time of his life. How a random sentence I said helped him survive a sleepless night. How his hands shook with excitement every time he saw a notification from me.

In the end, he used every ounce of his courage to say:

"I’m sorry if this is overstepping."

"But I want to tell you that to me, you are a light. You are the straw that saved a drowning man. You are the reason I kept going."

"For the past five years, knowing you existed made me happy."

"Nina, you are as important to me as my own life."

(Note: Nina was my stage name).

I stared at the screen. I noticed typos. He must have been typing frantically, his fingers trembling, maybe even breaking down as he hit the keys.

I read his essay, my eyes stinging.

I typed back a genuine reply:

"Thank you for five years of support and love. I hope you stay happy too. Maybe our paths will cross one day."