A work of fiction. Any similarities to real names, people, or events are unintentional.
Part 1: Zone G
Clarisse Mendoza didn’t like noise.
And concerts were nothing but curated chaos.
But the gig paid well, especially for something she considered half babysitting, half pretending to care. She stood there in Zone G of the Smart Araneta Coliseum, fluorescent vest catching light whenever the overhead screens flickered. Her earpiece buzzed now and then—updates, marshals checking in, someone looking for a missing shoe.
She barely listened. She’d done two of these crowd control jobs already. She knew the pattern.
Scream. Flash. Jump. Repeat.
But tonight felt off.
It wasn’t the crowd; they were loud but manageable. It wasn’t even the heat, though it was suffocating—especially near the standing zones where people mashed like sardines. It was something else. Something in the air that settled heavy on her shoulders.
Clarisse adjusted her vest. Her fingers brushed the pink button her youngest sister pinned on her earlier that morning. “Just in case you become a fan, Ate!” It had a shiny drawing of LEO, the leader of the group V!SMA. A former tutee of hers, if she remembered correctly. He used to hate multiplication. Now he was on stage dancing like his life depended on it.
And maybe it did.
She laughed under her breath. Too much drama. Must be the lighting.
Then it happened.
A wave.
That should’ve been it. Just a wave. A fan flailing an arm during a high note. But it wasn’t in rhythm. It wasn’t with the tide of screams or claps or the synchronized choreography that even the audience somehow followed.
It came late.
One, two, three seconds late.
Clarisse blinked.
The girl—mid-20s, maybe younger, wearing a hand-painted “YVES MARRY ME” shirt—was waving again. Elbow stiff, fingers close together, palm facing out. Her hand moved slowly left to right. Paused. Then again. Like a metronome that someone wound too tight.
She wasn’t smiling.
Clarisse narrowed her eyes. She stepped closer, pretending to check the crowd boundary.
The girl met her gaze. Only briefly. Enough to say: I meant for you to see that.
And then it was gone.
The song changed. The lightshow erupted. V!SMA bowed and ran off stage.
Clarisse stayed still.
Diary Entry: June 7, 2025 – 9:52 PM
Location: Zone G, Araneta Coliseum.
I saw someone wave in slow motion.
I know that sounds stupid. But she did.
I don’t know why it felt like a warning.
I’ve seen screams, fainting, seizures. This wasn’t any of that.
I feel like it was for me. And I don’t even like P-Pop.
God, what if it was nothing?
But what if it wasn’t?
Part 2: #HABAGNation
Clarisse didn’t sleep when she got home. She didn’t even remove her shoes.
Instead, she sat on the floor of her apartment, pulled out her phone, and typed the words:
“Anyone saw a weird wave in Zone G during V!SMA’s set?”
Then she deleted it.
She wasn’t one of them. She wasn’t about to get pulled into that kind of black hole. She had already raised three of those people. Well, not raised, but god she might as well have. Her siblings were split across three fandoms, one for each top group in the P-Pop scene: V!SMA, G5RLZ, and KNDRA. They argued about streaming goals during dinner. Compared outfit accuracy. Talked about group lore like it was Gospel.
So no, she wasn’t going to tweet about the wave.
Instead, she tapped on the blue bird. Twitter. Not “X.” She refused.
Search: Zone G V!SMA
🔎 @mel0dysundae
“zone G went wild during leo’s last wink I wish I was there 😭😭😭”
🔎 @vsmalibrary (fan archive)
“🧵 a thread of all V!SMA fan cams by zone #MNLConcert2025 #HABAGNation”
🔎 @yvesloveclub
“anyone noticed the girl with the Yves banner in zone G? she looked pale af around 9PM. hope you’re okay whoever you are 💙”
That was something.
Clarisse clicked on the thread. Fan cams. Hundreds of them. She started from the bottom, squinting at every blurry pan across the crowd.
And there she was.
The girl with the hand-painted shirt. Not Yves. Not LEO. Not even screaming. Just… watching. And then that wave again.
Clarisse paused the video.
There was no one beside the girl. No artist in her direct line of sight. The group was mid-dance. Everyone else was jumping, waving phones, or crying.
But she did that wave. And again. And again. Three full times.
No one reacted.
Except Clarisse.
The next morning, her sister Hannah barged in while she was making coffee.
“You saw V!SMA again and didn’t even text me?”
“I was working,” Clarisse said. “Also, I don’t owe you anything.”
“You need to know how to use the official app? It syncs to the show. It’s so cool!”
“I don’t care.” Marshals aren’t even allowed to enjoy concerts, so what’s with the fuss.
“Exactly why you’re boring.”
Clarisse didn’t respond. She sipped her coffee and stared at the fan cam still open on her phone screen. The girl with the wave.
Something was wrong.
Group Chat: HABAG Updates Only 🐦
Members: 217
admin_purplelilac:
Hi. Okay. So. I saw someone post a blurry clip of a girl in Zone G waving weirdly during the last chorus. Anyone else saw that?
Jemjem24:
Yes??? It looked like Morse code or something LOL
admin_purplelilac:
Weird thing is: someone in the older forum said they saw a wave like that last year… then someone fainted during encore. No medical updates were ever posted.
vsma_sharpay:
Wait is this another “ARM SIGNAL THEORY” thread 😭😭😭
denisse.1919:
Lowkey though. What if this is something. Like a distress signal? But from who???
admin_purplelilac:
Nobody knows who that girl is yet.
Clarisse scrolled back up.
Arm signal theory.
She didn’t know whether to laugh or keep scrolling.
So she kept scrolling.
Diary Entry: June 8, 2025 – 1:14 AM
I found the girl. She waved three times.
I counted.
She didn’t look like she needed help. But something in her eyes was… off.
I think she wanted someone to notice.
Or maybe not someone. Maybe me.
I was assigned to Zone G. The only marshal there at the front barrier.
No other staff.
What if she planned it?
What if I’m not just a random witness?
What if this wasn’t about her at all?
Part 3: Fanfiction Isn’t Just Fiction
It started as a joke, Clarisse thought.
A weird wave. A tired fan. Maybe a prank.
But the deeper she looked, the less it felt random.
Someone on the fan archive reposted a story. A fanfic. That alone wasn’t unusual—these communities ran on imagination and delusion. But this one stood out because people kept saying the same thing:
“This isn’t just fiction anymore.”
AO3 Fanfic Excerpt
Title: 3:03 in Zone G
Author: CloudBunnyMNL
Updated: May 2024
Summary: A girl attends her final concert and waves, not to be seen, but to be remembered. Her story won’t be heard—only felt.
She waved because it was the only thing she could still control.
Not her voice. That had been taken from her.
Not her seat. That was reassigned.
Not even her favorite member. He had already been told to stop looking for her.So she waved. Three times.
A signal that didn’t beg to be understood.
Just acknowledged.
Because in this crowd, the only thing worse than being hurt…
was being invisible.
Clarisse read it three times.
It wasn’t tagged as horror. Or mystery. It had the typical tags: #HurtComfort #ConcertSetting #MinorCharacterPOV.
But the timing was off. The update date was over a year ago. And the girl in the fic waved exactly like what Clarisse saw. Three times. Slowly. Not synced. A signal that wasn’t obvious.
Coincidence?
Maybe.
She checked the author’s profile. Inactive.
Her bio simply read:
“Used to wave back.”
Clarisse shut her laptop.
She needed to talk to someone. But who? She couldn’t ask her siblings—they’d think she was pulling a prank. Her co-marshals wouldn’t care. Her boss would probably just tell her to fill out an incident report, which no one ever read.
So she went back online.
Search: CloudBunnyMNL
She found only one hit. A pinned thread from 2023.
@cloudbunnymnl
🧵 Things I would’ve said to him if I wasn’t silenced.
(1/?)
— If you really loved us, you would’ve told the truth.
— If you didn’t love her, you wouldn’t have hidden it.
It wasn’t clear who “him” was. But replies hinted at someone in V!SMA.
The thread had over 12,000 likes. Some fans dismissed it as delusion. Others hinted that there was a relationship scandal between a member and a fan in late 2023, but it was buried quickly.
No public apology. No fan statement. Just silence.
The girl in the fanfic said she was silenced.
The girl who waved wasn’t screaming or singing.
Clarisse felt sick.
She clicked on the fan cam again. Zoomed in.
The girl’s shirt. It had splatters of silver ink near the bottom. At first glance, a messy DIY design.
But now?
It looked more like a name that was scrubbed out.
Diary Entry: June 8, 2025 – 10:34 PM
If that fic is fiction, it’s terrifyingly accurate.
If it’s not, then I just saw someone re-enact a cry for help.
Not her own.
Someone else’s.
A friend? A sister? A ghost?
I’m starting to think this fandom is full of stories that aren’t allowed to finish.
Maybe that’s what the wave means.
Please finish this for me.
Group Chat: HABAG Updates Only 🐦
vsma_sharpay:
Not me rereading that 3:03 Zone G fic and realizing the last sentence mirrors what that fan in the concert was doing???
admin_purplelilac:
Also whoever that girl was… she wasn’t singing during the fan chant. I rewatched the cam. She was just standing there. Stone still.
denisse.1919:
I heard something similar happened in Cebu leg last year. Same wave. Same zone.
Jemjem24:
I’m scared now.
Clarisse didn’t know why she was still checking.
She didn’t like fandoms. Didn’t understand their language. Didn’t care about photocard drops or fancafe rankings.
But now it felt like she was the only one asking the real question:
Why wave like that?
And who was the wave for?
Part 4: We Don’t Say Her Name
Clarisse didn’t go to work the next day.
She told the agency she was sick. They didn’t ask questions.
Instead, she sat with her laptop open and a notepad beside her, trying to make sense of something that wasn’t meant to be understood by people like her.
She wasn’t a fan.
She didn’t join livestreams.
She didn’t know the rules of who could be tweeted at, what kind of posts counted as “support,” or what it meant when someone called another fan a “solo stan,” like it was an insult.
But she understood shame. Hiding. Seeing something and being told you imagined it.
And that was exactly how it felt now.
She DM’d three people.
Only one replied.
Twitter DM – June 9, 2025 – 2:03 PM
ClarisseM: Hi. I saw you posted about the Zone G wave. I was working there. Can we talk?
MintyGhost: wait… you’re a staff?
ClarisseM: Marshal. Yeah.
MintyGhost: holy sh*t
ClarisseM: Please. I’m not trying to be weird. But I think someone’s in danger.
MintyGhost: …okay. but you didn’t hear this from me.
There’s a name some of us whisper. She used to be everywhere in the fandom.
Very vocal. Knew the staff.
Posted pictures of her and Yves outside of scheduled events.
Then disappeared.
We don’t say her name now.
ClarisseM: Why not?
MintyGhost: Because if you say it, old fans will bury your account.
Like literally. Mass reports. Doxxing.
Even if she was telling the truth.
Or especially if she was.
Clarisse leaned back in her chair.
So it was real.
Someone had been too close to the group. Too close to a member. Too honest. Then pushed out.
She asked again.
ClarisseM: Do you have screenshots?
MintyGhost: Not on this account.
But I archived some of her posts.
I’ll send one. But promise me you won’t post it.
ClarisseM: I promise.
Archived Screenshot – Twitter Post by @juneluna
Date: March 3, 2024
“I wasn’t supposed to fall in love with someone famous. But I didn’t. I fell for someone who came to my tutoring sessions with a stutter and a lost gaze. The fame came later. So did the fear.”
Replies:
@solivibes: this you? 💀
@habagloud: no wonder yves looks dead inside now
@popblushteen: fanservice is not consent, girl. chill.
Clarisse froze.
Tutoring sessions?
That wasn’t just anyone.
That was her student.
The fan who waved was not just a random admirer.
She might’ve been a witness. Or worse, someone carrying out a message from someone already erased.
The timestamp: March 3.
3/03.
Like the fic.
Like the title: 3:03 in Zone G.
Diary Entry: June 9, 2025 – 11:17 PM
I didn’t want to remember his face, honestly.
But I do now.
Leo wasn’t a star when I met him. He was just a boy struggling with decimals and making jokes that never landed.
And I think she was there too.
At the same table.
She always waited for him to finish.
Even helped him pack his things.
I never thought it meant anything.
But now I wonder if I missed the beginning of something that didn’t end well.
The fandom erased her.
Maybe she waved so we wouldn’t.
Private Telegram Transcript – Posted Anonymously
Channel: PP Confidential Files
Date: Unknown
“I told them I didn’t want to be involved anymore. I deleted my posts. I left the chats. But the messages kept coming.”
“They said if I showed up at a concert again, they’d make sure no one sees me. That I’d just be a face in the crowd. Nothing more.”
“So I’ll stay gone. But someone else will remember.”
“I made sure of it.”
Clarisse copied the text into her notes.
She didn’t know who posted it.
She didn’t even know if it was real.
But she knew what it felt like to be erased. She was a marshal. A crowd barrier. A faceless authority no one thanked or even looked at unless something went wrong.
And now something had gone wrong.
Not just at this concert.
But before.
And maybe again.
Part 5: Second Occurrence
Clarisse didn’t tell anyone she was going back.
Not her siblings. Not her supervisor. Not even the friend who covered her shift during her sudden absence.
She signed up under a different name using a loophole in the agency’s system. No one double-checked IDs when the job was just ushering people to their rows.
It wasn’t V!SMA this time. It was G5RLZ, another top P-Pop group with a mixed fanbase. Known for sharp choreography, edgy lyrics, and… scandal rumors. Again.
Clarisse didn’t care for the music, but she wanted to be there.
Zone G, once more.
Back to the scene of the wave.
She stood by the rail, jaw clenched, scanning the audience the way a security camera might—slow, deliberate, detached.
But her eyes weren’t watching for jumps or injuries anymore.
She was watching for pattern breaks.
For time lags.
For the lonely wave.
Twitter – #G5RLZMNL2025
@vanillacrush:
zone G is sooo quiet this time 😭 all the energy went to zone F I think lol
@bugabugaaah:
Saw someone holding up a paper at zone G with “why are you watching?” written on it ????
@peachiedazed:
anyone else feel like the crowd was being… watched??? idk man weird vibes
Clarisse saw her.
Different girl.
Maybe 19. Red hair extensions. Oversized varsity jacket that didn’t look like merch. No lightstick.
But she was still.
Too still.
Everyone else jumped, swayed, followed the beat.
She didn’t.
Her arms stayed to her sides. Until the last chorus.
Then:
One wave.
Pause.
Another.
This time, slower. As if saying you’re too late.
Then she turned around.
Faced Clarisse.
And smiled.
Not a friendly smile.
A knowing one.
Clarisse’s blood ran cold.
She approached. She never broke protocol before, but this time she didn’t care.
“Hi,” she said. “Are you okay?”
The girl tilted her head. “Are you?”
Clarisse blinked.
“What—”
“You saw it, right?” the girl whispered. “Last time.”
Clarisse said nothing.
“You think you’re watching us. But we’re watching who remembers. That’s more important now.”
Then she slipped into the crowd. Disappeared like steam.
Clarisse stood there, breath shallow, the screaming fans sounding like static.
She stumbled to the staff exit and found an empty hallway. Her hands shook.
Someone had turned the table.
Diary Entry: June 15, 2025 – 2:17 AM
It’s not just them waving anymore.
It’s for me.
I think someone planted her there.
To let me know they know.
That I’m watching.
But now I’m part of it.
I’m part of whatever story they’re writing.
Or reviving.
And I don’t think I can read the end.
That night, she found a new thread.
Posted by an anonymous fan account.
It said:
“She broke the pattern. She asked questions.
So we gave her an answer.
Don’t blame us if she stops listening to music.
Some truths deserve silence.”
Clarisse slammed her laptop shut.
She couldn’t breathe.
She wanted to scream—but didn’t.
And then her phone buzzed.
A DM. No name.
Just one message:
“3:03. One more time.”
Part 6: The Notebook
The tutorial center was gone.
Clarisse stood in front of a hollowed-out unit in a row of commercial stalls that used to be buzzing with voices after school hours. Now, the sign had faded, the logo half-peeled, and the windows papered up like a crime scene someone wanted forgotten.
It used to be called BrainRoots. Cheap chairs. Bad lighting. Kids who barely focused unless there was food promised at the end.
She taught there in 2019.
Back when she was just out of college. Still unsure what to do. Still believing in structure and outcomes. Still optimistic.
Leo was one of her students then. So was the girl.
She still couldn’t remember the name. Maybe June?
Or was that just the username?
She hated that her memory couldn’t separate fact from feed anymore.
But she did remember one thing: a notebook.
She tracked down the old owner, a woman named Ate Beth, who now ran a water station across the street.
“Kilala ko siya,” Ate Beth said, nodding as she melted plastic covers on water bottles using a heat gun. “Tahimik lang, pero laging sabay kay Leo umuwi. Minsan nga ako pa nagpahatid sa trike. Mga bata pa sila noon pero alam mo na.”
Clarisse didn’t answer. She was afraid of what she might agree with.
“May mga naiwan silang gamit noong sinara ko ‘yung center,” Beth added. “Luma na, baka bulok na. Pero kung gusto mo, nasa bodega ko lang sa likod.”
The box was musty.
Crushed folders. Dried pens. Flyers. And notebooks.
Clarisse thumbed through them until one stopped her.
Purple spiral binding. Sticker of a cracked heart.
Inside, in neat cursive:
“PROPERTY OF J.L. – DO NOT READ UNLESS I SAY SO”
She hesitated.
Then opened it.
Notebook Entry – Undated
“They said it’s just a crush.
But why does it feel like I’m disappearing the more I like him?He told me not to post. So I didn’t.
He said people wouldn’t understand. So I stayed quiet.
He said he’d fix it. That he’d never forget me.But then he debuted.
And now I’m just a glitch.
A deleted draft.So I’ll write it here.
I’m waving so someone will remember that I existed.”
Clarisse stared at the page for minutes.
The ink had run in some places, maybe from tears.
It was her.
It had to be.
She flipped the page.
“If he doesn’t wave back, then at least someone else will.
Maybe not now.
Maybe years from now.But someone will feel the wrong timing.
And wonder why.”
Clarisse closed the notebook.
Her hands were trembling again.
This wasn’t fiction.
This wasn’t a theory.
It was grief.
Unclaimed. Silenced. Muted under layers of music, merchandise, and show lights.
A girl loved someone who left her behind the moment the spotlight turned on.
And no one waved back.
Diary Entry: June 17, 2025 – 4:30 PM
She existed.
She wrote.
She waved.
And now I’m holding the only proof that she was real.
That her voice was buried under image management, PR statements, and stream goals.
I wish I could talk to her.
But I think I already did.
I think she told me everything she needed to.
Without saying a word.
Part 7: The Last Wave
June 30, 2025. The anniversary concert.
Clarisse bought her own ticket this time.
No vest. No earpiece. No name tag.
She sat in Zone G.
Not because it was assigned. Because she chose it.
Her siblings were there too, somewhere in the upper boxes. They didn’t know she came alone. They thought she was finally warming up to P-Pop, that she’d been “converted.”
In a way, she had.
But not the way they wanted.
She wasn’t here to fangirl.
She was here to grieve.
The lights dimmed. Screams erupted.
V!SMA opened the show with a remixed medley of their debut tracks. The screens flared. The synchronized lightsticks bathed the arena in color. Names were shouted. Fans cried.
Clarisse stayed still.
She stared at the sea of motion and noise.
And waited.
9:03 PM
It happened again.
Third row, slightly left of center.
Someone waved.
One hand.
Three times.
Out of sync.
But this time, it wasn’t desperate.
It was soft. Final. Like a goodbye.
Clarisse stood up slowly. Her heart pounding, but not from fear.
She walked down the aisle toward the girl.
But when she got close—
The girl was already walking away.
No one stopped her. No one seemed to notice.
Clarisse hesitated, then followed.
Through the corridor.
Down the side hall.
Out to the loading dock where no one else ever lingered.
She caught up just as the girl reached the exit gate.
“Wait,” Clarisse said.
The girl turned.
Same varsity jacket. Red extensions.
Same face.
Or maybe not.
Her features shifted in Clarisse’s mind, like someone she had never seen but always recognized.
“Who are you?” Clarisse asked.
The girl smiled again.
This time, gently.
“I’m just one of many,” she said. “But you remembered. That’s enough.”
Then she walked into the dark.
And never looked back.
Clarisse didn’t cry.
She went home.
Sat in the quiet.
Opened her diary.
And wrote:
Diary Entry: July 1, 2025 – 12:12 AM
There won’t be another wave.
I know that now.
She wasn’t trying to haunt the fandom.
She wasn’t asking for justice.
She was asking for memory.
Someone to hold the truth when everyone else turned it into silence.
And now I carry it.
So I’m letting go.
I will never go to another concert.
I will never scream for a group who forgot her.
But I will remember.
Because someone has to.
Final Tweet – @ClarisseM
(just a photo)
[📸: An empty seat in Zone G, with a crumpled hand-painted shirt draped across it. The silver ink spells: “I EXISTED.”]
Clarisse never returned to Araneta.
Not even when her sisters begged her to come with them.
Not even when Leo—now the face of a new campaign—mentioned his “formative years at a tutoring center” in an interview, as if it were trivia.
Not even when fan theories swirled again, claiming G5RLZ’s latest video hinted at “The Wave Girl.”
Clarisse never replied.
She archived the notebook.
She deleted the fan cams.
She muted every tag.
And every night, she still heard the scream of the crowd at 9:03 PM.
But in her mind, it always faded—
—until all that remained was the wave.
One.
Two.
Three.
And then, quiet.
Disclaimer:
This story is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and events are entirely imaginary and are not intended to represent or reference any real individuals, fan communities, or artists. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to real-life fan incidents, is purely coincidental.