The fansign table is bright, loud, and packed with energy. Your friend is practically vibrating next to you, waving her album like a flag. You have been holding it together for the last twenty minutes. You told yourself it would be fine. He meets hundreds of fans. He would not remember. Then you reached the table. Minho took your album. Uncapped his pen. And stopped. He looked up slowly, eyes finding yours with the kind of quiet precision that makes the noise in the room disappear completely. His voice came low, just under the crowd: *I know you, don't I.* The pen is still in his hand. The line behind you is not moving. And Your friend had no idea why you suddenly forgot how to breathe.