The sunrise painted the sky in soft gold and pink.
For a moment, Lian almost forgot that the world outside was already waiting — with flashing cameras, rumors, and endless rehearsals.
Here, on this quiet street, it was just the two of them.
Rian had his guitar leaning against the café wall, steam rising from his untouched coffee.
"You really started your own label?" Lian asked, staring at him like he still couldn't believe it.
Rian nodded. "Yeah. Small, messy, poor… but it's mine."
Lian smiled faintly. "You? Poor? That's hard to imagine."
Rian chuckled, eyes softening. "I spent everything buying back my rights. Every old song, every melody I ever wrote. Freedom isn't cheap."
That made Lian quiet.
He thought of all the songs he'd practiced until his throat bled, all the times the manager said, 'smile more, talk less.'
He thought of how they edited his personality into something shinier.
Freedom wasn't cheap, no.
But maybe it was worth everything.
---
"Come with me," Rian said suddenly.
"What?"
Rian stood up, slinging his guitar over his shoulder. "There's something I want to show you."
They walked for twenty minutes through half-awake streets — past convenience stores and morning buses — until they reached an old building with a flickering sign:
Vale Studio.
It wasn't much — peeling paint, cracked steps — but when Rian unlocked the door, Lian's breath caught.
Inside was chaos in the best way.
Guitars hung from walls, cables sprawled across the floor, and a single red couch sat in the middle of the room. A small team was huddled over a mixing desk, laughing about something.
"This is your studio?" Lian whispered.
"Home," Rian said simply. "We record everything live. No filters, no fake fans, no rules."
One of the staff waved. "Boss! You brought someone cute!"
Lian blushed. "Oh—I'm just—"
Rian interrupted, tone even. "He's not just anyone. This is Lian."
The whole room went quiet for a second — recognition lighting their faces.
"The rookie from 'Echoes of the Sky'?" one of them said. "The one who hit ten million views in a day?"
Lian rubbed his neck awkwardly. "Uh… that's me."
Someone handed him a cup of coffee. "You were amazing. That song—"
"—had soul," another added. "You don't hear that in mainstream idols anymore."
Rian just smiled, leaning against the wall, watching the way Lian's shoulders relaxed for the first time in months.
---
After the introductions, Rian gestured toward a small recording booth.
"Want to see where I made Starlight Requiem?"
Lian nodded, stepping inside. The booth was small — just a mic, a stool, and faded lyric sheets taped to the wall.
He picked one up. The handwriting was Rian's.
> If the world forgets our names,
let the song remember us instead.
His throat tightened.
"You wrote this about… us?" he asked softly.
Rian didn't answer right away.
He just looked through the glass window at Lian, eyes unreadable.
Finally, he said, "I wrote it when I couldn't sleep. Every night, I kept hearing your voice — that one note you hit wrong in the bridge—"
Lian groaned. "You still remember that?"
Rian's mouth twitched. "I do. It's unforgettable."
That broke the tension — they both laughed, the kind of laughter that comes from shared exhaustion and old memories.
---
"Try singing something," Rian said.
"Now?"
"Now."
He played a simple melody on the keyboard outside the booth, and Lian started humming — soft at first, then stronger, until his voice filled the small space like sunlight through glass.
When the song ended, Rian didn't move for a long time.
Then he said, "You sound free."
Lian met his gaze through the glass. "Maybe because I finally am."
---
Hours passed like minutes. They talked about music, stage lights, the smell of rehearsal rooms. Rian told him about how he'd been blacklisted after leaving his old company. Lian told him about the pressure to smile even when it hurt.
And then, when the clock hit midnight, Rian said quietly, "They'll come after you if they find out you're here."
Lian shrugged. "They already own everything I do. Maybe it's time they don't."
Rian's jaw tensed. "You'll lose everything."
Lian looked right at him. "Then I'll start again — like you."
There was a beat of silence.
Then, slowly, Rian smiled. "You're braver than I thought."
Lian smirked. "You told me once to make the song mine. I'm just doing that."
---
Outside, rain began to fall.
The city glowed under streetlights, reflections rippling across the pavement.
Inside the studio, Rian stepped closer — close enough that Lian could see the tiny scar under his eye, the one the camera never caught.
"You know," Rian murmured, "I kept saying I didn't need anyone. But every song I've written since you left… sounds empty."
Lian's heart pounded. "Then fill it again."
Rian's breath hitched — like the words had caught him off guard.
He didn't reply, but his eyes softened in a way that said everything.
For a long, quiet moment, they just stood there — rain tapping against the windows, their hearts beating in time.
---
Later that night, when Lian left the studio, Rian watched from the window as he disappeared down the street.
He whispered under his breath, "Don't make me regret this."
But somewhere deep inside, he already knew — he wouldn't.
Because for the first time, his next song wasn't about loss.
It was about hope.
And her name was Lian.
---
End of Chapter 12 — The Song That Found Us Again
To be continued…