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.
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