The air in the recording studio was thick with tension. Rhea stood in front of the mic, holding the new song she had written. She was alone this time, just her and the band, no producers, no label reps breathing down her neck. Micah's words still echoed in her mind — Remember who you are — and she was finally ready to do just that.
But the band didn't share her confidence. They shuffled nervously behind their instruments, clearly unsure of what she had in mind. She'd pulled them together last minute, barely having time to explain the song, let alone its meaning. The room felt too small, the pressure too much, but Rhea wouldn't back down. Not this time.
"I know it's a bit rough around the edges," she said, her voice cutting through the tension, "but this is real. This is me. And if it doesn't work, we'll figure something else out."
The drummer, Andy, tapped his sticks on the floor nervously. "It's just… different, Rhea. A lot different from the stuff we've been doing."
"That's the point," she replied, her tone firm but tired. "We've been following what everyone expects from us. I need to do this for me."
The bassist, Lily, glanced up, chewing on her lip. "Okay, but what if it's not enough? What if they don't like it?"
Rhea took a deep breath. "They can't like it if it's not me. This is all I have left."
She closed her eyes and played the opening chords, the sound raw and imperfect. The band hesitated for a moment, but then they followed her lead, each instrument finding its way into the song, unsure but willing to try. The music swirled together, messy and powerful, building with a kind of energy Rhea hadn't felt in months.
She sang, her voice trembling with emotion. The words poured out — a confession, a reckoning, a plea. The room felt smaller, but in the best way possible. It was no longer about perfection or polish. It was about truth.
And for the first time, she didn't feel like she was selling herself. She was just being herself.
When the song ended, there was silence. Rhea opened her eyes, her fingers still resting on the strings, waiting for a reaction. The band was staring at her — wide-eyed, unsure. Then, one by one, they started to nod.
"That was… that was something else," Andy said, his voice rough.
Lily's face softened. "I didn't expect that."
Rhea wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, feeling the sweat cool against her skin. "It's not perfect. It's not what they want. But it's what I need."
"I think it's what we all need," Lily said quietly.
They sat in the silence for a while, the weight of the song settling between them. No one moved, no one spoke. The tension had dissipated, replaced by something else — something softer, more raw.
Then the door to the studio opened. It was Celine, her heels clicking sharply against the floor. She walked in, clipboard in hand, and looked at the group. "You're all still here?"
Rhea didn't speak. She didn't need to.
Celine's gaze shifted from Rhea to the band and back again. Her eyes narrowed. "You know what's at stake, right? This doesn't fit the brand. It's too… vulnerable. Too real."
Rhea stood her ground. "I don't care about the brand anymore. This is my music. Take it or leave it."
Celine's face tightened, but she said nothing for a long moment. Then, with a curt nod, she turned to leave. "Fine. But don't say I didn't warn you."
As the door slammed shut behind her, Rhea felt something shift inside her. The fear, the pressure — all of it seemed lighter now. She had made her choice.
The world could judge her, criticize her, or worship her. But none of it mattered. What mattered now was the music, the truth, and the people who still saw her — not the mask.
"We're doing this," Rhea said, her voice steady. "For us. For the music."
And for the first time in months, she believed it.