Vanessa
Leo walks out, approaches Liora, and I feel my heart leap out of my chest. I knew it. But when he thanks her for coming and she turns around, visibly angry, I can't believe it. He tells me the band chose me, that they're ready to meet me, and that we'll talk later to finalize the contract terms.
When I walk into the studio and see them there, sitting, laughing like the world doesn't weigh on them, I smile. Not because of the situation—but because of the absurdity of the coincidences that keep tying us together. It's like the universe has an obsession with crossing our paths at every corner.
"So, Italian, huh?" jokes Shawn, seeing the name on the portfolio.
"Chiara Rosetti sounds like a European film actress," adds Konnor, with that smile that always seems to know more than it says.
I laugh, but not much. I don't want to talk about it. Not today. Not here.
"How did your parents meet?" asks Zane, with sincere curiosity.
"It was a beautiful story," I reply, without looking at anyone. "They met on a trip. Fell in love quickly. Died young."
The room goes silent. My voice doesn't tremble, but my body does. My mood shifts—I know it. Konnor, Maeson, and Zane notice. Shawn, more distracted, keeps trying to talk about it, as if he didn't feel the change.
"And your mom was from which part of Italy?" he insists.
"Shawn," says Maeson—not raising his voice, but firm.
Shawn stops. I just look at them, unsure what else to say. My throat burns. Swallowing is hard. I ask for a moment and step out, looking for Mel—like I need air, but really, I just need not to fall apart in front of them.
Melissa
While Vanessa is in her interview, Wenn and I stay in the waiting room. There's silence, but not the uncomfortable kind. It's like the air knows something is about to be said.
"Want me to tell you something crazy?" says Wenn, looking toward the door. "Shawn and I met when we were kids. Just once. At a family party. I was seven. He was nine. We played hide-and-seek among the trees. I remember because he made me laugh so hard my stomach hurt."
"And after that?" I ask, intrigued.
"Nothing. Never again. Until a year ago. I went to a concert with a friend. I didn't know he was performing. When I saw him on stage, I felt something strange. Like my body remembered him before my mind did."
"And him?"
"He recognized me. I don't know how. But he did. He looked for me after the show. Asked if I was the girl from the trees. And I cried. Like an idiot."
We laugh. But there's something else in her eyes. Something she wants to say and doesn't know how.
"There's more, isn't there?"
Wenn nods. Bites her lip. Lowers her voice.
"I'm pregnant."
I stay silent. Not from shock—but from tenderness. From the way she said it. From the fear leaking through her eyes.
"How long have you known?"
"Two days. I haven't told any of the guys. I found out with Vane."
I hug her. She collapses into me like she needs someone to hold her.
We pause the conversation when we see Vane walk out of the room looking like she needs a hug.
Vanessa
I look for the girls. I find them speaking softly, hands intertwined. I approach. Mel sees me and stands without saying a word. Wenn just nods. I step aside with her. Outside, I sit on the edge of a planter. Mel sits beside me, silent. Just waiting. And that's enough.
"I don't know why it hit me so hard," I say, my voice already breaking. "I barely knew them. But when I talk about them, I feel like I'm missing something I never had."
Mel hugs me. I cry. I cry for my dad, who never got to teach me how to see the world with his curiosity, though I only remember him in fragments. I cry for my mom, who left before I could ask why she named me Chiara. I cry for my grandmother, who raised me with tenderness—but also with silences she never wanted to explain.
When I return, they act like nothing happened. And that, too, is something to be grateful for. Shawn approaches, with an expression I hadn't seen before.
"Sorry if I was too pushy," he says, lowering his voice.
"Don't worry," I reply, sincerely. "It wasn't malicious."
And it wasn't. Shawn isn't bad. Just clumsy sometimes. Like all of us.
We talk about the contract. I explain that I want to sign as C.V. Rosé. They don't pressure me. Don't ask why. They just nod.
"And my face doesn't go on social media," I add, like it's just another clause.
"Nothing?" asks Konnor, surprised.
"I don't have any accounts with my face," I say, making up an excuse about being shy.
Zane looks at me like I just said I don't have fingerprints.
"Not even a private Instagram?" asks Shawn, like that's illegal.
"Not even that."
Each reacts in their own way. Konnor seems intrigued. Zane, confused. Shawn, skeptical. Maeson just looks at me. Says nothing. But in his eyes, there's something I can't name. Something that doesn't judge. Something that understands.
And so, between clauses, silences, and glances that defy explanation, I begin to become part of their world. Not as Vanessa. Not as Chiara. But as someone who wants to tell stories without showing her face. As someone who needs art to speak for her when words fall short.