Waiting for BTS: A love letter to the boy band that saved me

Indian Express

04-07-2025

BTS fans across the globe let out a collective sigh of relief earlier this week, as the K-pop giants officially announced their comeback. After a nearly three-year dry spell, the seven global icons of Bangtan Sonyeondan (BTS), aka the Bangtan Boys, reunited on a livestream that felt like both a homecoming and a reset. Not only did they confirm they are back in the studio, but they also promised a brand-new album (rumoured to be their most personal yet) by the spring of 2026. And if that wasn't enough to send the ARMY into a frenzy, they also promised a full-blown world tour. (!!)
Their first reunion after a prolonged absence wasn't a flashy concert or a headline-grabbing performance. It was the usual, a live session, just like the old times, with the seven of them in a room, laughing, teasing, and catching up. The chat exploded; millions of fans worldwide were crying, laughing, and gasping in disbelief. For years, we had dreamed of this moment, and suddenly, it was real. My world instantly felt a little brighter and a lot happier.
(And can we address the elephant in the room? They came back buff! The military training had done its thing. Their shoulders were broader, arms looked stronger. V's jawline was sharper. And Jungkook? He looked like a Greek statue. RM's already famous physique now had the entire fandom spiralling. The jokes were endless. 'BTS didn't just serve the country, they served these gains,' one said.)
But beyond the glow-up, there was a tenderness to their reunion. You could tell they had missed each other, the way we missed them, whether it was RM looking at others like a proud parent holding back tears, or the way Jin cracked a joke just to keep everyone from getting too emotional.
When BTS announced that they would be enlisting for mandatory military service starting in 2022, it felt like a punch in the gut. South Korea mandates that all able-bodied men serve, and pop stars are not given any concessions.
The timeline started with Jin, who enlisted first. Watching him post his final selfie with his shaved head broke everyone. It was real. It was happening. Then j-hope went in. Then SUGA. And eventually, RM, Jimin, V, and Jungkook followed.
The day each of them enlisted, fans trended hashtags like #UntilWeMeetAgain, #ARMYWillWait and #SeeYouSoon. People held virtual streaming parties, marathon viewings of old concerts, and endless replays of Run BTS episodes. Edits, fan art, and Twitter threads became lifelines. The fandom clung to every lyric, as if the songs were letters left behind. 'Promise me now, if you leave today, don't forget me,' from 'The Truth Untold,' suddenly felt less like a love song and more like something BTS was singing to us.
We lived off crumbs — a blurry photo of Jin in uniform, a tiny video of J-hope marching in formation.
But BTS had ensured that their fans never felt truly abandoned. Before leaving, they prepared an overwhelming amount of content, including solo albums, music videos, photoshoots, interviews, pre-filmed Run BTS episodes, and even little things like handwritten letters.
Now that the boys are reuniting, there's a whole lot of catching up to do, and they know it. As SUGA candidly pointed out during the livestream, 'The market's changed a lot in the meantime.' And he's not wrong. In their absence, the K-pop scene hasn't stood still. Groups like BLACKPINK, IVE, and NewJeans have been dominating charts, stages, and hearts.
But have they truly dethroned the OG kings of K-pop? If the electric buzz surrounding BTS's comeback is anything to go by, the answer might just be a resounding no.
For many, including me, BTS isn't just a boy band; it's a source of comfort, a safe space from the chaos of the world. I fell in love with BTS — head over heels, if I may add — not in my teens or early twenties, but when I was well on my way to turning 30. Not in my wildest dreams did I imagine I would be fangirling over seven men at this stage of my life.
But it was 2020, peak Covid-19 time. Life was reduced to four walls and an endless cycle of despair and isolation. I vaguely remember 'Dynamite' was playing on VH1 in the background at home one day, and I remember thinking, 'Hmm… sounds nice, but I wonder who listens to their Korean songs'. Fast forward a few months, and I was completely obsessed with them.
They say love makes you do strange things. In my case, it made me a BTS fan.
At the time, I was looking to impress a certain someone who loved BTS. And to keep the conversation going, I did what anyone would do in a crush-fuelled frenzy. I read about BTS, memorised their names, started listening to their songs, and even googled the meanings of Korean lyrics. But somewhere along the way, the band stopped being a conversation starter and became my comfort, my happy place. As cliché or even ridiculous as it may sound, they pulled me out of one of the darkest times of my life.
When the world outside felt like it was collapsing, BTS became a thing of joy. Their reality shows like Run BTS, Bon Voyage, and In the Soop were my escape. In the Soop featured no concerts or performances. It had just seven men cooking, painting, fishing, and being themselves. Watching them do mundane things felt strangely healing. It humanised them. I didn't see idols, but people who were witty, thoughtful, vulnerable, and endlessly kind.
Slowly, I found myself getting the inside jokes: Niagara pho pho, Carabonara, or Lachimolala. I still laugh thinking about Chipotle changing its name to 'Chicotle' because Jungkook couldn't pronounce it.
Being an Indian millennial fangirling over a K-pop group wasn't always easy. My cousins mocked the posters on my wall. 'Why do they look so feminine?' they would ask, as if kindness, beauty, and softness were things to be ashamed of. That toxic masculinity, especially among Indian men, made me realise how much BTS challenged stereotypes and how much people feared that. People love to criticise what they don't understand. But here's the thing, you don't have to understand; you just have to let people be.
There are many stereotypes around K-pop. Some say it's all style and no substance, or that it's shallow or extremely rehearsed. But BTS shatters every one of them. Their music speaks about mental health, loss, love, hope, growing up, and the complexities of being human. From 'Black Swan' to 'Boy With Luv' to 'Dis-ease', every song and its visual world offers something different.
Consider 'Black Swan', my personal favourite. In a haunting reflection on losing passion, it lays bare an artist's fear:
The heart no longer races
When the music starts to play
Tryna' pull up
Seems like time has stopped
Oh, that would be my first death
I been always afraid of
However, it's not just a song about artistic struggle. It's about the terrifying moment when something you once loved, like music, a passion, or a dream, stops moving you. It captures that feeling of stagnancy, of inner emptiness, that every human faces at some point in life.
Each BTS song reveals a different facet of who they are as artists, as storytellers, and as humans. Their music wrestles with mental health, burnout, identity, self-love, grief, and growing up. They made vulnerability cool long before the world caught on.
They say BTS finds you, not the other way around. In this fast-paced, often unkind world, my only hope is that anyone who needs BTS may find them, love them, and hold onto them forever.