The Last Note

Welcome to The Last Note.

If you haven't read When the Music Fades, don't worry. Here's what you need to know.

This story picks up after the whirlwind romance of Rio Noda and Daniel Poole, two people from completely different worlds who found love in the unlikeliest way. Rio was once Japan's biggest pop star, burned out by fame and broken by the industry. Daniel was an American teacher who helped her rediscover her voice, not just on stage but in life. Their story was about second chances, quiet strength, and choosing love when the world told them to walk away.

The Last Note is what happens after the fairytale. It is about what comes next, marriage, family, healing, and the challenges of building a life after the music fades. This is a story about rediscovering purpose, confronting ghosts from the past, and fighting for the love you built when the spotlight turns off.

If you're new here, you'll meet Rio, Daniel, their daughter Hana, and the people who became their family along the way. You will see what happens when the curtain falls and life begins.

Whether you have been with them since the first song or you're starting fresh, welcome. This is The Last Note

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Chapter - "Living the dream"

(RIO POV)

Journal Entry -- March 17th

Rain tapping the windows, Daniel humming in the kitchen

"Some songs don't need a stage to matter. Some are sung across morning coffee, bedtime stories, and the way someone says your name like it's a promise."

R. N.

Six years.

I still wake up half-expecting the silence to return. That heavy, echoing kind that used to live between applause and hotel rooms, between showlights and the ache of missing someone you weren't supposed to love. But it's gone now, replaced by the sound of a small voice asking if birds can sing in the rain, and a deeper one answering that all the best songs come from storms.

Her name is Hana. She's four, opinionated, and has Daniel's calm eyes and my stubborn heartbeat. I sing to her every night, quiet lullabies, silly jingles, the song we wrote just for her. She says Daddy's songs don't rhyme, but they "feel cozy," so that's high praise coming from a critic in footie pajamas.

Daniel still teaches. Same school, same old copy of Leaves of Grass falling apart at the seams. The students adore him. He's the teacher everyone thanks in their graduation speeches, the one parents request for siblings, the one who makes Shakespeare sound like your best friend's drama. He's never stopped being the man who changed my life by telling me to never hide my voice. He just added "pancake-flipper" and "nursery rhyme backup vocalist" to his resume.

As for me? I'm still Rio. I still get residuals from songs I can't listen to anymore. The label calls sometimes. My face still shows up on streaming playlists and old concert clips that go viral with captions like "When love songs meant something." But I don't miss the tours. I don't miss the scripted interviews or the empty hotel suites that felt more like dressing rooms than homes. I play now when I want to. Small venues, little cafes around the Sound, a bookstore in Fremont that lets me keep the tip jar even when it overflows.

It's always full.

Daniel jokes that I'm more famous now than when I was touring. That our story made people believe in love again. They still try to buy it, film rights, docuseries offers, even a Broadway pitch once. But we always say no. Because this story isn't for sale. It's handwritten in pencil between homework sheets and baby handprints. It lives in the quiet, in the ordinary, in the way Daniel always waits until I've fallen asleep before turning off the light, just in case I still get nightmares.

Sometimes I think about who I used to be. The girl who stood on rooftops with lyrics in her hand and too much fear in her chest. She thought she had to sing to be heard, that her worth lived in the notes she reached and the crowds she moved. She didn't know that one man listening, really listening, was enough to rewrite her whole life.

So here I am, writing again. Not for an album. Not for the charts. Just because today felt soft and full, and I needed to catch it before it passed. Hana's giggling down the hall, probably decorating the dog with stickers. Daniel's voice is humming something half-tuned, probably the melody we started last night and forgot to finish.

And me?

I'm finally home.

Not just in this house, or this country, or this new name on my passport.

But in this life we wrote together.

Rio

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Chapter - "Cherry blossoms in my hair"

(RIO POV)

Journal Entry -- March 22nd

Riverside Playground / Cherry blossoms in my hair

"I used to dread spring because it reminded me of all the things I hadn't said. But now? Now it's just sunlight and second chances."

R. N.

It's early spring again, and for once, the season doesn't feel like a goodbye. The cherry blossoms are blooming across the city like soft punctuation marks in pink and white. For the first time in a long time, I'm not watching them fall from a rooftop with a notebook pressed to my chest. I'm watching them fall into my daughter's hair as she runs across the playground in sneakers with little wings on the sides. She's laughing with that wild, full-bellied joy that only four-year-olds can master. I sit on the bench with a thermos of tea and a heart that finally feels like it knows where it belongs.

The other moms used to be wary at first. Curious smiles. Whispered questions. One woman even asked, very politely, if I was "the real Rio." I told her I was just Hana's mom now. But they saw past the headlines eventually, past the viral ballads and old performance clips, and started to know me. We talk now about preschools and meal planning, about how to get sticker residue off hardwood floors and which yoga class has the best childcare. There's a comfort in that, a grounding I never thought I'd crave. A woman named Elise, sharp-witted, two kids, and a husband who teaches high school biology, once told me, "You're more impressive as a mom than you ever were as a pop star." I think that might be my favorite compliment of all time.

I hadn't meant to build a life this quiet. I used to equate stillness with stagnation. But watching Hana draw stick figures in the dirt with a twig while I laugh over thermoses and snack swaps with other moms has shown me how much magic lives in the ordinary. I'm not hiding from the stage. I just don't need it to feel seen anymore. And honestly, the audience of one who calls me mama is more than enough most days.

We lingered longer than usual today. The sun was too kind to rush, and Hana had befriended a beetle she named "Captain Sprinkle." I was helping Elise plan snacks for the spring picnic, her words not mine, I'm just the watermelon logistics coordinator, when my phone buzzed. I nearly ignored it. But when I saw my agent's name on the screen, something in my stomach fluttered like it used to before a big performance.

"Rio," she said, voice bright and clipped, always in forward motion. "I know you're busy and blissfully post-spotlight, but I have a favor to ask." Her tone told me this was already a thing. "There's a girl. New pop star. Mako Mizutani. Blonde. Gorgeous. Stunning voice, but... flat. The audience isn't connecting. The label's worried she's all shine, no spark. They want you to meet her. Maybe mentor. Maybe collaborate. Something." I could practically hear her smile. "They trust your instincts. You make people feel. And she... doesn't. Yet."

I blinked at the sandbox like it might offer me an answer. "She's eighteen?" I asked, more out of habit than concern. "So was I," I added before she could say it. There was a long pause before I said softly, "And she's already drowning, isn't she?"

"Honestly?" my agent admitted, "Yeah. She's flailing. The label's doing the usual image machine, fashion, flirtation, flashy teasers, but nothing's landing. Her debut tour's half-sold, and she cried during rehearsal last week. They think you can help her find her voice. Like you did, when it mattered."

I glanced up and saw Hana balancing on the edge of the play structure, arms stretched wide like she was walking a tightrope over a canyon made of wood chips. I used to feel like that, every performance, every choice, every note a balance between who I was and who they wanted me to be. And maybe this girl, maybe she's standing there now, terrified of falling, with no one waiting beneath her.

"Okay," I said quietly. "I'll meet her."

Not because I missed the spotlight.

But because maybe this time, I could help someone else step into it without losing herself along the way.

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Chapter - "The contest"

(DANIEL POV)

It was supposed to be a normal Thursday lecture on narrative motivation, but by the time I got halfway through the slide deck, I could already tell who had checked out and who was just pretending not to be staring. A group of girls near the windows whispered more than they typed, eyes flicking toward me like I wouldn't notice. I've been teaching long enough to recognize the signs, the glazed-over look that says I'm not taking notes, I'm daydreaming about you in a bad romance novel.

I cleared my throat and paused mid-sentence. The chatter dropped, just enough for a pivot. "You know," I said, setting the clicker down, "motivation in writing isn't always about trauma or some grand act of revenge. Sometimes, it's about the things we're afraid to say out loud." That got a few brows to raise. I leaned against the edge of my desk. "When my wife was sixteen, she wrote a song in the back of her English workbook during class. She never meant to sing it. Said it was too personal, too raw. But she wrote it anyway, because the words wouldn't leave her alone."

That did it. Full silence. Phones went down. Heads turned.

"She told me later that she didn't think the song was for anyone else. That it wasn't even for an audience. It was just... a way to hold on to something that mattered." I didn't say someone, no need to connect those dots for them. "That song, the one she almost didn't write, it ended up changing everything for her. That's what I want from you on this next assignment. Don't chase applause. Chase truth."

There was a hum of energy now. Someone in the back whispered, "Wait, is this going to her?" I gave a small smile.

"Tell you what," I said. "Whoever shows the most heart in their piece, real motivation, real honesty, I'll make sure Rio reads it herself. And if she's as moved as I hope she'll be, she'll dedicate her next performance to you."

The room lit up. You'd think I offered a backstage pass to heaven. Suddenly, laptops opened. Fingers started flying across keys. I even saw the window crew straighten in their chairs like they'd just remembered where they were. Sometimes, dangling a dream in front of teenagers is the only way to make them want the work.

When the bell rang, the chatter spilled into the hallway with a different tone, hopeful, buzzing. A couple of students jogged after me, rapid-firing questions about word count and if poetry counted. "I'll be in my classroom an hour after school," I told them, "but only if you're serious." They nodded like it was gospel.

In the teacher's lounge, I headed straight for the back counter and retrieved my sad turkey sandwich and thermos of black coffee. Claire was mid-conversation with Mr. Kaufman about next year's AP track changes. Her eyes met mine for a half-second, and then nothing. She kept talking like I hadn't just walked into the room. That wasn't new. That was routine now.

I sat at a table near the window, alone for all of ten seconds before Jodie Rees made a beeline across the room.

"Mind if I join you?" she asked, bright smile, blonde ponytail bobbing. She always asked but never waited for a real answer. "I swear, I need a quiet table or I'm going to start grading essays with snarky commentary."

"Go for it," I said politely, gesturing to the seat across from me.

She launched right into chatter about her morning classes, her opinion on cafeteria coffee (atrocious, but weirdly addictive), and then the casual landmine, "So, any plans for the weekend?"

"Yeah," I said, popping the lid on my thermos. "I'm taking Rio and Hana out to Leavenworth. It's kind of our early spring ritual. Her favorite place. All that Bavarian charm and blooming trees, it just makes her light up."

There was a twitch in Jodie's expression. Not a full frown, but close. More like a pout someone hadn't earned. "That sounds... sweet," she said, trying to recover. "You guys do a lot of cute things together."

I smiled politely and nodded. "We do."

And then I stood, sandwich in hand, coffee balanced just right. "Anyway, I've got some grading to finish before sixth period," I said, already moving. "Enjoy your lunch, Ms. Rees."

I didn't look back.

But I could feel the eyes behind me, and one pair in particular that had finally looked up when I stood.

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Chapter - "Weekend Plans"

(CLAIRE POV)

Daniel walked into the lounge mid-sentence. I saw him out of the corner of my eye, shoulders relaxed, thermos in hand, that ever-present quiet about him like he carried his own weather. My heart did what it always does, that soft flutter that's more muscle memory than longing now. An ache that never quite left, but one I've learned to live around. I turned back to Mr. Kaufman before the feeling could settle in. "So if the board pushes for dual enrollment expansion, we're going to need at least one more AP Lit section," I said, a little more forcefully than I needed to.

I didn't miss the way Jodie Rees perked up like someone had just called her name across a dance floor. She stood quickly, too quickly, and made her way toward Daniel with her usual purposeful bounce. I didn't have to look. I could feel it. The tilt of her smile. The way she leaned in like every word out of her mouth might be a spark he was waiting to catch. I stirred my tea with exaggerated calm and listened, half out of habit, half because I already knew how the script ended.

She asked him about his weekend, of course she did, and when he said he was heading to Leavenworth with Rio and Hana, I could practically hear the pout in her silence. She made some flustered noise, maybe something meant to pass for disappointment meeting playfulness, and then he excused himself with the kind of grace that always made me wonder if he practiced it in the mirror. Footsteps. Thermos. Door. Gone.

Mr. Kaufman, never one to let awkwardness pass unremarked, cleared his throat and leaned closer. "Seems like Ms. Rees has grown rather fond of Mr. Poole." His smirk was smug in that older-brother sort of way that made me want to roll my eyes and also break my pen in half.

"I've noticed," I said, standing with deliberate ease. "Maybe it's time someone set her straight."

Before he could say another word, I crossed the lounge and slid into the seat Daniel had just vacated. Jodie blinked at me, clearly not expecting a follow-up act. She gave a tight smile. "Oh, hey, Ms. Taylor."

"Hey," I said smoothly, uncapping my tea again and letting a breath pass. "So... Mr. Poole, huh?" I kept it casual, like a friend chatting over gossip, but my eyes stayed on hers.

Jodie leaned in a little, clearly enjoying the opportunity. "I mean, come on, he's hot and smart. What's not to like?"

"And what are your intentions?" I asked, still friendly, but with enough edge that she blinked once before composing herself.

Jodie laughed. "Intentions? I'm just being playful. There's no harm in a little flirting, right?"

Before I could respond, Mr. Kaufman, never subtle, never silent, chimed in from his seat, voice wry. "You're wasting your time. He's not going to respond."

Jodie raised a brow. "How would you know?"

He sipped his coffee, then shrugged toward me. "Because Daniel and Claire used to date. A few years ago."

Jodie's jaw opened slightly in shock. "Wait. Seriously?"

I didn't answer. I just stared into my tea like the leaves might offer me better answers than the past ever had.

Mr. Kaufman, still enjoying the spotlight, offered the final blow with a smirk. "Yeah. Then Rio happened."

Jodie scoffed under her breath, folding her arms. She looked at me for a beat, maybe searching for something, an apology? A reaction? A crack?

She didn't get one.

The silence that followed was loud enough.

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Chapter - "Smells like heaven"

(RIO POV)

I hung up the phone with my agent and stood for a moment in the soft spring light, the hush of the park still clinging to my skin like a memory. Hana was tugging at my hand, her other arm cradling a half-crushed dandelion bouquet she insisted was for "daddy only." I smiled, ruffling her hair as we walked the short path home, her sneakers scuffing against the pavement in a rhythm that somehow always matched the beat in my chest. My fingers still tingled from the phone call, but I tucked that conversation into my pocket for now. There was something far more important waiting for us at the end of the sidewalk.

The scent hit first, garlic and ginger and that warm, unmistakable comfort of Daniel's sesame miso noodles. Hana squealed as soon as we opened the door, tossing her shoes aside with the urgency of a child on a mission. "Daddy!" she shouted, barreling toward the kitchen. I followed more slowly, watching her launch into his arms. He caught her with that easy strength that always made my heart ache in the best way, spinning her once before kissing the crown of her head like it was instinct.

"Hey, little star," he said, voice full of affection. He looked up at me next, smiling over Hana's shoulder. "And hey, you."

"Smells like heaven in here," I said, setting down my bag and walking over to press a kiss to his cheek. I lingered there a moment, just breathing him in. This moment, the three of us together, dinner bubbling on the stove and the fading sun painting the walls, it was everything. I'd written a hundred love songs in my life, but none had ever been for this. I already felt the lyrics forming somewhere beneath my ribs.

"How was your day?" I asked, as he stirred the noodles.

"Loud," he said, grinning. "But good. I gave the kids an assignment on personal narrative, and, well, I may have promised that whoever does the best job gets a song dedication from my very talented wife." He glanced at me like he was bracing for a reaction.

I laughed, setting out chopsticks. "You bribed your students with a potential Rio performance?"

"Guilty," he said, raising a hand. "But it worked. They lit up like it was Christmas morning."

"I'd love to," I said, and I meant it. There was something sweet about it, something human. The kind of thing I would've loved to hear when I was sixteen and full of lyrics I was too scared to sing. "And speaking of work," I added, quieter now, "my agent called. They want me to help with a new artist. Mako Mizutani. She's eighteen, blonde, and apparently gorgeous but... not connecting."

He paused mid-scoop, brows lifting. "Do you want to do it?"

"I think I do," I said. "I understand that kind of lost. And it gives me an excuse to visit my parents. They've been begging to see Hana."

Daniel nodded, but I saw it in his eyes, the flicker of guilt, of longing. "I wish I could come," he said, setting the ladle down. "I can't take time off right now. Will you be okay traveling with her alone?"

I touched his hand. "We'll be fine. You'll be missed, but we'll FaceTime every day. Maybe twice."

Later that night, after Hana was asleep and the dishes were done and the two of us had curled into each other like puzzle pieces that never stopped fitting, I rested my head on Daniel's chest and listened to the rise and fall of his breath. The room was quiet, still hazy with warmth. His arm wrapped around me tighter, thumb tracing idle patterns on my hip. I was happy. Completely. But even as I pressed a kiss to his collarbone, a small part of me already ached with the thought of leaving, even for a short time.

He shifted slightly, as if sensing it. "You okay?" he whispered.

I nodded. "Yeah," I murmured. "I just... don't like the idea of going without you."

"Then don't stay long," he said gently, kissing the top of my head. "Come back to me fast."

I didn't answer right away. I just held him closer and silently promised: I will.

Two days later it was a quiet storm of zippers, folded clothes, and half-checked to-do lists. I packed in steady bursts, moving from room to room with my phone tucked under my chin, confirming flight times and last-minute details with Emiko. Daniel, ever the planner, had already laid out Hana's suitcase by the time I got to her room, her tiny outfits folded with military precision, a stack of storybooks tucked neatly beside her stuffed rabbit. I smiled watching him double-check her backpack, sliding in a small pack of crayons and her favorite snack like it was instinct.

"Don't forget her headphones," I called from the hallway.

"Already in," he replied, zipping up the bag and slinging it over his shoulder. He moved like it was just another school day, but I caught the way his hand lingered on Hana's tiny jacket before slipping it into the carry-on.

When everything was packed and checked again, Daniel loaded the suitcases into the Jeep and we headed for SeaTac, the early morning sky still streaked with hints of orange and blue. The drive was filled with soft conversation and Hana's sleepy humming from the backseat, her little hands gripping the edge of her stuffed rabbit. Every mile felt heavier, every exit a little harder to take.

Daniel held Hana's hand tightly as we stood just outside the security checkpoint, the early morning bustle of SeaTac Airport swirling around us in a blur of wheels, coffee, and goodbyes. His other hand brushed my cheek, lingering there for just a second longer than necessary. I could see the flicker of worry in his eyes. He hated not coming with us, even if he knew I could handle it. And I could. But that didn't mean I wasn't going to miss the way his arms always made the world feel smaller and safer.

"I packed extra snacks in her bag," he said, crouching to hug Hana again. "And your new sketchpad is in the front pocket, little star. You be good for Mommy, okay?"

"I will," Hana said, arms wrapped around his neck like a koala bear. "Can you draw me a castle while we're gone?"

"I'll draw you ten," he promised.

I kissed him once, quick but full of everything I couldn't say with Hana between us, and then we were off. I turned once before disappearing through security, just in time to catch him raising two fingers in a peace sign. I smiled, did the same, and walked into the terminal trying not to feel the ache already forming behind my ribs.

By the time we reached the gate, the whispers had started. It always begins with one glance, one raised brow, one phone that lifts a little too casually. "Are you...?" "Excuse me, but you look just like..." "Would it be okay if...?" They're always polite, always a little awed, sometimes shaking. I smiled, gracious and practiced, and posed with three different passengers before we even reached the lounge.

As we walked toward our gate, Hana tugged on my hand. "Mommy," she said, her voice loud enough for the passing crowd to hear, "do you know all those people who wanted pictures and your name on their paper?"

I knelt to her level, brushing a cherry clip out of her hair. "Not really," I said with a smile. "But I like to think they're friends. Just ones I'm meeting for the first time."

A nearby flight attendant laughed softly. She stepped closer and said, "That's beautiful. I'm Kim, by the way. I'm one of the R-Notes."

I blinked, then smiled wider. "Is that what they're calling you now?" I asked, amused. "Well, thank you for listening."

Once on board, the murmurs began again, soft and respectful, mostly from business travelers who weren't quite sure if they should say something. A couple of younger passengers whispered excitedly in Japanese a few rows back, and I caught my name said with breathless reverence. Some weren't fans at all, but even they were kind, giving us space, offering nods of recognition without intruding. It didn't feel invasive this time. It felt warm, earned.

Hana pressed her nose to the window as we took off, her little fingers gripping the armrest. I held her hand and let my head rest against the seat, the skyline shrinking beneath us as we soared eastward. A long flight ahead, a familiar city waiting, and a part of my old life I wasn't quite done with just yet.

But for now, it was just me, my daughter, a quiet cabin full of curious strangers, and a sky that still held songs I hadn't finished writing.

As the plane touched down on the runway, the soft jolt of the wheels hitting tarmac made Hana squeal with excitement. She pressed her face to the window, fingers pointing wildly. "We're here! Mommy, we're here!" I smiled, brushing the hair from her face. Her joy was infectious, and suddenly all the jet lag, the hours of quiet parenting negotiations over juice boxes and bathroom breaks, it all felt worth it.

Before we deplaned, I took a folded napkin from the seatback and scribbled a few lines. A thank-you note, in verse. Something simple and true. I handed it to Kim, the flight attendant who had quietly checked on us the whole flight, brought extra crackers for Hana, and who still wore the proudest smile every time she said "R-Note."

|For the voice behind the aisle,

|Who sees strangers as stars,

|You carried us higher

|Than just miles in the dark.

|Thank you for the kindness,

|The tea, and the care,

|For watching over my girl

|While we flew through the air.

Kim gasped, hand flying to her mouth as she read the lines. Then she shrieked, just once, and the sound made two other attendants rush over. "She wrote a song for us!" she whispered, eyes wide. They nearly forgot the final passenger announcements in their delight, quickly scrambling back to their duties while still stealing glances at me like I was made of glitter and gold. I caught more than a few passengers turning in their seats, phones already lifted, recording the entire interaction. I gave a small wave and a sheepish smile. No hiding now.

We disembarked to a flurry of curious whispers and camera shutters, but Hana was too excited to notice. She skipped ahead with her backpack bouncing and her little pink carry-on trailing behind her like a kite. As we made our way toward baggage claim, I scanned the crowd and then I saw him.

My father stood tall and unmistakable in his Japan Airlines pilot uniform, hat tucked under one arm, posture still perfect after all these years. Hana saw him before I could call out. "GrandPa!" she squealed, breaking into a sprint. "GrandPa!" Her Japanese was still tangled with English at times, but the word rang out pure and perfect. My father's face bloomed into a smile so big it crinkled every inch of his face. He crouched to catch her, wrapping her in a hug that lifted her off the ground.

I felt my throat tighten. There had been a time when this scene seemed impossible. Years ago, when I walked away from everything to look for Daniel, my father hadn't understood. He was furious I'd jeopardize a career we'd built together, stone by stone. The silence between us had lasted too long. But when Daniel and I came back, when we married in my hometown under sakura trees in full bloom and surrounded by a nation that had watched our story unfold on television, something softened in him. We never said sorry, not directly. But we didn't have to. The ceremony was our truce.

Hana pulled back and looked up at him. "GrandPa," she said, "how many words do I know in Japanese?"

He laughed and tapped her nose. "You tell me."

She started counting on her fingers. "One, two, three... nine... ten..." She frowned and held up her hands. "I ran out of fingers."

He burst into laughter and turned to me. "She's your daughter, alright," he said in Japanese. Then, switching back, "How was the flight?"

"Okay, but," I said with a grin, "it would've been better if you were flying."

That earned a real laugh from him, deep, warm, proud. He took my suitcase in one hand and Hana's bag in the other, already walking us toward the parking garage. "Have you been waiting long?" I asked as we passed the arrival crowds.

He shrugged like it was nothing. "Not long. Just five hours."

"Five hours?" I stopped. "Dad!"

He just smiled, unbothered. "I've waited longer for worse reasons. But seeing my daughter and granddaughter walk through that gate?" He looked back at me with eyes that held decades of memory. "That's worth every minute."

And just like that, Osaka felt like home again.

I had booked a seat on the Nozomi, the fastest of the Tokaido Shinkansen trains, leaving just after ten. The quiet efficiency of it all always soothed something in me. Sleek, fast, predictable, a straight line to Tokyo that cut through farmland and mountains and skyscrapers like the lyrics to a well-practiced song. Before boarding, I stepped to the side of the platform and called Emiko.

She picked up on the first ring. "Well, well, look who's back on my side of the world," she said, already teasing.

"I'll be at Tokyo Station around noon," I replied. "Lunch?"

"Absolutely. I know a place right in the station, killer soba, terrible lighting, but you won't care because we'll be laughing too much to see straight."

I smiled, warmed by the comfort of her voice. After everything, after the school festival, the silence, the fallout, she'd been the only one who never let go of me. She had waited, just like Daniel had, only louder.

The train ride passed in a blur of motion and reflection. I listened to old demos on my phone, thumb tapping the edge of my window. Every time I thought of Daniel, I felt his absence in my chest like a quiet harmony behind everything I did. But this was necessary. This was a part of the journey I had promised myself I'd walk.

Emiko was waiting at the Marunouchi North Exit, hair now cut into a short, choppy bob with purple streaks I hadn't seen in pictures. She hugged me like no time had passed, and for the first hour, it really felt that way. Over soba and shared tempura, we caught up on old jokes, new gossip, and life in a city that never stopped moving.

After lunch, we stood outside the station, the hum of taxis and crosswalk chimes swirling around us. "You'll be great," she said, squeezing my hand before I left. "Just be you. She's lucky to have you, even if she doesn't know it yet."

I smiled, tucked my sunglasses back on, and headed for the studio. Mako Mizutani was waiting, and whether she knew it or not, her next verse was about to begin.

The studio lobby smelled faintly of hairspray and ambition. It was bright, sleek, and humming with a kind of electric restlessness that felt like every idol's first audition rolled into one. As Emiko and I stepped through the automatic doors, I smoothed the front of my blouse, already feeling the shift from old friend to polished professional. My agents were waiting near the reception desk, practically vibrating with excitement.

"Rio!" one of them squealed, clasping my hands like I was royalty. "You look incredible. Thank you so much for coming."

I bowed politely. "It's my pleasure. Thank you for the invitation." My tone was measured, my posture practiced. My mother would've been proud.

Emiko, on the other hand, gave a quick wave and said, "Yeah, yeah, we're here. Let's cut to the good part." She earned a confused laugh from one of the assistants and a horrified look from another, which only made her smirk harder. I shot her a subtle glare, which she ignored. But truthfully, I needed her. The charm shield could only carry me so far. Emiko's ability to call out nonsense was something I knew I might require soon.

They led us down the hallway to a soundproof practice room with glass walls and a well-worn piano in the corner. "Mako's in there," one of the agents whispered, like we were about to disturb a sleeping tiger. When I stepped inside, I expected humility, shyness, something a little lost. Instead, I found a girl perched on the edge of a couch, legs crossed, hair bleached pale gold, and eyes that gleamed like she already owned the room.

"Finally," Mako said, standing and giving me a once-over. "I was starting to think you'd be taller."

I blinked. "You must be Mako. It's nice to meet you." I extended a hand.

She took it, barely, and turned to Emiko. "And this is your... emotional support person?"

Emiko's grin was instant. "No, but I am licensed in sarcasm. Want a demonstration?"

"Mako," one of the agents warned, eyes darting. "Let's keep it professional."

I raised a hand to settle Emiko, who rolled her eyes but backed down with a muttered, "Whatever, Barbie." The agents tried their best to keep the room from boiling over, offering bottled water and nervous laughter, but the tension had already settled in like smoke.

"It's clear you don't want anyone telling you what to do," I said carefully, meeting Mako's gaze. "So let me be clear. I'm not here to control you. I'm just here to observe, offer advice if you're open to it, and maybe help you find your voice."

Mako scoffed. "Advice from someone who threw away her entire career over a man? I'm good."

Her words hit like a slap, sharp and fast. For a moment, I just stared at her. A younger version of me might've fired back. But I'd learned how to let silence speak louder. I inhaled slowly, composed myself, and said, "Why don't you sing for us? Show me what you've got."

She rolled her eyes but strutted over to the mic stand with a kind of over-rehearsed confidence. The track began, something heavily produced, loud, built more for flash than feeling. Mako posed, moved, and sang. She hit all the notes, technically. But the room didn't move. There was no soul, no story, just posture and noise.

When she finished, Emiko clapped twice, slow and unimpressed. "Congrats," she said. "You're a karaoke queen."

I said nothing. I didn't need to. The silence that followed said more than I ever could.

Mako looked at me, defiant.

But beneath the attitude, I saw it.

The doubt.

And now, we had somewhere to begin.

Mako shrugged, arms folded, and tossed out a lazy challenge. "If you think you can do better, why don't you show us?" Her voice dripped with that too-cool-for-everything tone I remembered from being eighteen. I sighed, not out of annoyance, but something quieter, something like resignation. I handed my coat to Emiko, who took it with raised brows and a grin that said she already knew what was coming.

I turned to the sound engineer. "Queue up any of my older singles," I said. "Dealer's choice." He blinked twice before nodding, already scrolling through the catalog. The opening synth chords of "Sugar Glass Heart" filled the room. It was one of my flashiest hits, high tempo, dance-heavy, and soaked in glitter. I hadn't sung it live in years. I stretched my arms and did a few quick vocal warm-ups, rolling my neck and loosening my jaw.

"Any day now, princess," Mako muttered just loud enough for Emiko to hear. I didn't even have to turn. Emiko shifted forward like she was about to launch across the room.

I gave her a single look. That was all it took.

Mako watched with her arms still crossed. "You want the pitch-perfect earpiece or whatever it is they gave me last week?" she asked, smirking.

I shook my head. "No pitch correction. Just playback." The sound engineer nearly dropped his tablet. The rest of the room had gone still. It was the kind of silence that happens before a performance no one realized they were about to witness.

Then I sang.

Not half-hearted. Not careful. Full voice. Full heart. I moved like I used to, fluid, instinctual, letting the beat guide my body and the melody carry my words. Every lyric of "Sugar Glass Heart" hit with that blend of sweetness and ache that had made it a crowd favorite. I even remembered the breakdown. Emiko whooped from the back and clapped along like it was a concert, her laughter ringing out between choruses. When I hit the final run, eyes closed, head tilted toward the ceiling, the studio held its breath.

I opened my eyes to stunned faces.

Even Mako looked like she'd forgotten how to blink.

The music faded, and for a moment I just stood there, catching my breath. I felt the sweat at my temple, the thrum in my veins, the rush that only comes when you mean what you sing. I hadn't expected to enjoy it. I hadn't expected to miss it. But I did. Even the flash. Even the glitter. There was something honest buried in all that spectacle. A truth I'd nearly forgotten.

Mako was quiet for a second, then muttered, "Okay... okay, that was... yeah."

I smiled, gentle now. "Let's see what you've written. Show me the lyrics."

Mako looked down, suddenly less confident. "I haven't written any," she admitted.

I didn't judge. I just tilted my head. "Then tell me what inspires you."

She paused. "I mean... looking good, proving people wrong, going viral? That kind of stuff."

It wasn't deep. But it was honest, at least in its own way. I turned toward the agent still standing near the glass wall. "I'll write something for her. Something with her voice in it. But her real voice."

He exhaled like I'd just signed a miracle. "You'd do that?"

"I said I'd help," I replied. "Send me videos, past performances, anything you've got. I'll need to see how she moves, how she reacts when no one's watching."

They nodded and quickly got to work, phones out, emails flying. I gave Mako one last look. She didn't smile, but she nodded. A tiny one. And that was enough for today.

I turned to Emiko. "Let's go. We've got writing to do."

She tossed me my coat and winked. "Your place or mine?"

I grinned. "Yours. But only if you still have that terrible instant ramen I like."

Emiko laughed as we walked out of the studio, her arm slung casually around my shoulder. Tokyo buzzed outside the glass doors. For the first time in a while, I felt ready to sing something new.

The next morning, Emiko and I sat cross-legged on her living room floor, laptop open between us, replaying footage of Mako's past performances. I watched closely, examining her expressions, posture, breath control, even the way she held the mic. It didn't take long to see it. Mako wasn't feeling the music. Every movement looked rehearsed, every note calculated like it was ticking off a checklist. Her eyes didn't follow the rhythm. They searched the room like she was trying to remember what came next.

Emiko clicked pause mid-song. "She's gorgeous, sure. But it's like she's reading sheet music with her face." She leaned back against the couch. "I bet the agency picked her for the thumbnails, not the vocals."

I didn't argue. I couldn't. There was talent there somewhere, but it hadn't been nurtured. It had been styled, scripted, manufactured. I pulled out my notebook, flipped to a fresh page, and began sketching out a melody. Something simple. Something emotional, but with obvious pitch cues and guided phrasing. I wasn't writing for a pop star. I was writing for a girl who had yet to find her own story.

Later that evening, we ducked into a karaoke bar tucked just off a side street in Shibuya. Neon kanji flickered above the door, and the scent of soy and cheap beer greeted us like an old friend. Emiko queued up the demo track I'd recorded on my phone and, ever the extrovert, took the mic first. She sang the song with unexpected softness, less sass, more sincerity. And it worked. Her voice cracked in the right places. The pauses landed. Even the basic melody shimmered with a kind of raw vulnerability. I watched from the couch with my arms crossed, a quiet smile tugging at my lips.

"I don't say this often," Emiko said, handing me the mic with a dramatic flourish, "but this one's good. It's simple enough for her to land, but there's room to breathe. Room to feel something."

We stayed for hours, ordering fries and yakitori from the touchscreen, belting out old school J-Pop, western 90s hits, and a hilariously off-key duet of "Total Eclipse of the Heart." At one point, we even did one of my first singles, complete with Emiko's improvised dance moves that nearly made me cry from laughter.

By the time we left, our voices were half-gone and our cheeks ached from smiling.

"That was exactly what I needed," Emiko said, zipping her jacket. "God, I forgot how good it feels to just play."

"Same," I replied, looping my arm through hers. "It was perfect."

We found a late-night ramen spot tucked between a gaming arcade and a 24-hour photo booth. As we slurped our noodles, I caught glimpses, subtle but familiar. People nudging each other. Whispers. Phones raised just a little too discreetly. Someone whispered the name Rio as we passed. I kept my head low, but my pulse quickened.

They were starting to notice.

And for the first time in a long time, I didn't mind.

Emiko and I arrived at the agency's midtown office the next day, where the air smelled like coffee, dry-erase markers, and half-kept promises. Kaori Sugimura, my former agent and now Mako's handler, was waiting in the conference room with her usual sleek blazer, tablet in hand, and that laser-sharp look in her eyes that always made me sit a little straighter. She smiled when she saw me, tight-lipped but genuine.

"Rio," she said. "Still turning heads, I see. Let's hear what you've got."

Emiko plugged in the tablet and played the track we'd polished last night, complete with vocal demo and backing instrumental. Kaori's eyes widened slightly as the melody unfolded, and by the second chorus, she was nodding in time. When the song ended, she looked at me and said, "This... this could work. She can actually sing this." With that, she gestured for her assistant. "Call Mako. Tell her to get here now."

Naturally, Mako was late. Twenty-five minutes late. When she finally arrived, it was with oversized sunglasses, platform sneakers, and a glare that could curdle milk.

"You didn't even tell me we had a session today," she snapped, tossing her designer bag onto a chair. "And I haven't even had coffee."

"You're not here for coffee," I said evenly, stepping forward before Kaori or anyone else could deflect. "You're here to work. Get in the booth."

She rolled her eyes but didn't argue. The engineer cued the music, and Emiko gave me a subtle thumbs-up from behind the mixing board. Mako adjusted her headphones, sighed dramatically, then took a breath, and something shifted. The song began, and this time, she didn't fumble. Her tone was steadier. She hit the emotional beats with just enough restraint to let the lyrics breathe. It wasn't flawless, but it was real.

When the final note faded, the room sat in stunned silence. Kaori stood slowly, arms crossed, and let out a short, approving exhale.

"She can do it," she said.

Mako pulled off her headphones with a self-satisfied smirk. "Told you. I just needed something that didn't sound like it was made for a soda commercial."

Kaori turned to me. "I want twenty of these. Full album. Same voice. Same mood. Can you do it?"

I hesitated, not because I didn't want to, but because I knew what it meant. Another few weeks in Tokyo. More late nights. More separation from Hana and Daniel. But my agent, standing in the back with that quiet, knowing look, didn't say a word. He'd earned this. He stuck by me through the chaos of me walking away mid-tour to find Daniel.

I nodded. "I'll do it, but Emiko gets paid. She co-wrote the arrangement and cleaned up the vocal cues."

Kaori arched a brow, then glanced at Emiko. "Fine," she said. "Done."

When we left the building, Emiko turned to me on the sidewalk, her face still a mix of disbelief and joy.

"Did I just... get hired?" she asked. "Am I actually in the music industry now?"

"You are," I said, smiling. "And you earned it."

Later that night, I curled up on Emiko's couch with her spare blanket wrapped around me and dialed home. My mother answered, and before I could even explain, she said, "Of course we'll keep Hana longer. She's helping me cook every day and your father's teaching her airplane names. You do what you need to, sweetheart."

After the call, I stared out the window at the Tokyo skyline, bright, endless, busy. I thought of Daniel. Of his quiet warmth. Of his tea-steeped afternoons and how he always held Hana like she was made of starlight. I missed him so much it physically ached. I wondered what he was doing right now. Reading on the couch? Tucking Hana in with a video call? Maybe writing a lesson plan while our daughter snuck cookies under the table?

Whatever it was, I knew he was thinking of me too.

Because no matter how far I traveled, no matter how bright the lights or loud the applause, my heart always sang its loudest for him.

------------

|Rio's Journal Entry -- March 27

|"Funny how some songs come back to you in sleep. I dreamed he was waiting at the airport with flowers. That we never left |each other. That we were still young and unsaid. I woke up missing him like a verse I forgot to write."

------------

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Chapter - "Ghosts of the Exit Sign"

(DANIEL POV)

The airport always leaves you feeling a little bit hollow. Too many hellos and goodbyes compressed into metal ceilings and waxed tile floors. I stood there for a long moment after Rio and Hana disappeared through the security gate, her hand still waving until the last second, Hana's voice echoing behind her, "Bye, Daddy! I love you!"

And then they were gone.

I exhaled, ran a hand through my hair, and tried not to let the silence settle too deep. I could still smell Rio's perfume, faint and floral, clinging to the sleeve of my jacket. A few people bumped past me, their own lives in motion, but mine had paused. I needed to move. So I did, one step at a time, back to the parking garage, down two levels, into the driver's seat of a car that suddenly felt too empty.

The drive home was quiet. Just the low hum of tires on asphalt and the soft rhythm of a playlist Rio had left queued up. Every turn felt familiar, automatic. But when I reached the exit for Redmond, my grip on the wheel tightened. I hadn't visited her grave since I left the country. Sixteen years of avoidance, excuses, and quiet guilt. Stacy had always hated silence. And I'd given her nothing but silence.

Without thinking, I flicked the turn signal and took the exit.

The cemetery hadn't changed much. Rows of markers stretched like punctuation across the earth, commas for lives paused, ellipses for the ones who didn't get to finish. I wandered longer than I wanted to admit. Time erases more than pain. It erases direction, memory, orientation. I finally gave up and asked a staff member, embarrassed, apologizing under my breath. When they pointed me to the lot, my heart started pounding.

And then I saw it.

Her name etched in granite. Stacy Poole. The epitaph below it read:

"She taught love like it was her native language."

I dropped to my knees.

It wasn't graceful. It wasn't strong. It was guttural, tears rising before I could stop them. I covered my mouth with one hand and cried harder than I had in years. Loud. Messy. The kind of grief that only lives in the corners of your heart you swore you sealed off. A couple of nearby mourners glanced over but didn't interrupt. They knew. Loss has its own dialect, and they were fluent.

When the sobs finally slowed, when my throat was raw and my vision blurred, I started talking.

"Hey," I whispered. "I'm sorry. I should've come sooner."

The words kept spilling, about Japan, about teaching, about the girl who reminded me what it meant to feel again. I told her about Hana. About how she would've loved her. How she probably would've rolled her eyes at me for letting myself fall again. But I think, no, I hope, she would've understood.

"I still hear you sometimes," I said. "When I read Neruda. When the house is too quiet. When Hana says something with that same fire you used to have."

I rested a hand on the cool stone. "I think you'd like Rio. You'd hate how beautiful she is at first, think she's some spoiled starlet. But then she'd make you laugh, and you'd see it. The heart. The light. She makes me feel like I've still got something left to give."

The wind picked up slightly, rustling the nearby grass.

"I'll bring them next time," I promised. "Rio and Hana. You should meet them both."

Then I stood, wiped my face, and let the silence settle. It wasn't heavy anymore. It was gentle, like a sigh between verses.

On the drive home, I didn't feel empty.

I felt like I'd just sung a song I should've sung years ago.

And this time, someone finally heard it.

The drive back from the cemetery felt longer.

Maybe it was the weight in my chest, the kind that grief and guilt shape when you finally stop pretending they're gone. I hadn't realized how much I'd been carrying until I said her name out loud, Stacy. The syllables hit harder than expected, soft and brutal all at once. Years of silence hadn't dulled them. They'd just sharpened in the dark.

I kept one hand on the wheel, the other clenched in my lap, restless.

It wasn't just her I'd run from. It was everything. The weight of the sympathy. The whispers in the teacher's lounge. The way people looked at me like I was the one broken when I was just unfinished. I left because it was easier to disappear than to stay and not know how to be whole.

But running didn't fix anything.

I see that now.

And somewhere between the exit sign and the curve of the highway, another name started echoing in my head. Claire.

I hadn't been fair to her. I know that. We started slowly, cautiously, but I never let her get too close. Even when I laughed at her jokes, even when I let her kiss me, even when I smiled at the idea of something easy again, my heart was always a few steps behind. I thought I was being careful. Thought I was leaving enough space to keep us both from falling too hard.

But I think maybe Claire did fall.

And I think maybe I stood there, too scared to say, "Don't," and too selfish to admit I wasn't ready.

If she had come into my life before Rio, before the song, before the silence, before the weight of the past had a name, I could've loved her. I really could have. She's kind. Sharp. Steady in a way I've always admired. She didn't ask me to be anyone else. She just wanted me to try.

But I didn't try hard enough. And now?

Now I need to find closure without breaking what little remains between us. I owe her that. More than that, I respect her enough to know she deserves a truth that doesn't come laced in cowardice.

I can't keep doing this, measuring love at arm's length. Keeping people just close enough to warm the silence, but not close enough to see what's still wounded underneath.

If I want a future with Rio, and God, I do, I need to make peace with the pain I left in my wake.

Not just for her.

But for me.

And for Claire.

Because letting someone go shouldn't feel like abandonment.

It should feel like honesty.

And maybe, finally, it's time I stopped being afraid of both.

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Chapter 15 -- "After the Bell, Before the Truth"

(CLAIRE POV)

Parent-Teacher Night was the kind of event that looked simple on paper and always turned into emotional whiplash by the second coffee refill. By 6:30, I'd already been complimented, side-eyed, and asked if I was single by a father who clearly didn't realize how loud he'd said it. I kept smiling, kept nodding, kept pretending I was the version of myself that always had it together. The one who didn't scan the hallway every time Daniel's voice floated near.

He was stationed two classrooms down, our doors angled just far enough apart that we kept missing each other on purpose. At least, that's how it felt. Every time I stepped into the hallway for a sip of water or a breath of air, I swore I caught a flicker of his back just vanishing through the crowd. Not that I was watching. Not exactly. But when his laugh echoed past my door, soft and low, that laugh he did when trying to ease nervous parents, I felt it in the curve of my spine.

It wasn't until nearly eight that the crowd thinned enough to breathe. My last parent cancelled. His didn't show. And so there we were, two empty classrooms, two tired teachers, and a hallway lit in soft fluorescent gold. I stepped out first. Maybe by accident, maybe not. And when he looked up from the papers he was organizing, he froze just a second longer than he should have.

"Quiet night?" I asked, like we hadn't been avoiding each other since Rio left.

Daniel gave a small smile and leaned in his doorway. "Mostly. A few familiar faces. A lot of awkward silences. You?"

I shrugged. "One parent asked me if I ever considered writing romance novels. So. That's where we're at."

He laughed, and for a second, it was easy again. The kind of easy we used to be before we stopped knowing how to talk without stepping on the past. But then the quiet lingered. Neither of us filled it. Not with teacher banter, not with complaints about Jodie's perfume clouding the lounge. Just silence. Heavy. Not cruel, but filled with something that wanted to be said.

"I miss you," I said softly. It just slipped out, like a truth I'd been carrying too long finally found a crack.

Daniel didn't flinch, but he didn't move either. His jaw shifted. His eyes, those eyes that used to study me like poetry, lowered. "Claire..." he said gently, and in that one word was every apology he didn't know how to phrase.

I shook my head, already regretting it. "I'm not asking for anything. I just... I needed to say it once. Out loud. I know she's back. I know where this ends. But you and I, what we had, it mattered too."

He stepped forward, just enough for the light to catch the lines on his face that weren't there the last time I held it in my hands. "It did," he said, voice tight. "It still does. I'm sorry if I... if I ever made it feel like it didn't."

The hallway buzzed faintly with the hum of exit signs and the distant sound of a vending machine kicking on. He looked like he wanted to say more. Maybe he would have. But before either of us could speak again, a voice cut through the silence, bright, sweet, a little too amused.

"Oh, sorry, am I interrupting something?"

Jodie stood at the far end of the hall, perfectly silhouetted in the soft glow of the copy room light. Her smile didn't reach her eyes. And the way she held her clipboard made it clear this story wasn't over.

Not yet.

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Chapter -- "Extra Credit"

(DANIEL POV)

By second period, I already knew Jodie Rees was going to be a problem.

She had been circling since the start of the semester, lingering in the lounge just long enough to comment on my cologne, "accidentally" mixing up our mailboxes, dropping exaggerated sighs about being so overworked whenever I passed her desk. But since Parent-Teacher Night, her energy had shifted. It was no longer playful. Now, it felt like a dare wrapped in perfume. And I was too tired to pretend not to notice.

She cornered me after lunch, just as I was exiting the copy room with a stack of poetry unit handouts. "Mr. Poole," she purred like we were in a noir film, "you're a hard man to pin down." She stepped in too close, her manicured finger reaching to pluck an imaginary thread from my sleeve. I stepped back, firm but polite.

"I've been in the same room for twenty minutes," I said, holding up the copies. "Printer wasn't cooperating."

She laughed, high and sweet, like I'd just told the world's funniest joke. "Poor thing," she said. "You should've called for backup. I'm excellent under pressure." Her tone dropped on the last word. She smiled, waiting for me to play along. I didn't.

Instead, I said, "Actually, I need to prep for my lit seminar. Excuse me." I stepped around her and didn't wait for a reply. She followed anyway.

"Still thinking about that hallway moment last night?" she said casually. "With Ms. Taylor?" I stopped. She grinned. "It's just... sweet, really. That she still holds a candle. Must be exhausting, though, all that unresolved tension walking around in heels."

The dig landed like she hoped it would, but I didn't give her the reaction. I just looked at her, quiet and measured. "If you're trying to say something, say it."

"Oh, I'm saying plenty," she said, brushing past me with that faux-innocent smirk. "Some of us are just more available, is all."

I watched her go, a knot forming low in my chest, not from her words, but from the knowledge that this wasn't over. Claire had seen it coming. Emiko would have had a nickname for it by now. And Rio... Rio would have torn her apart in three well-aimed sentences and a raised brow. But I wasn't any of them. I was just me, trying to hold a line in a school where everyone seemed to be drawing their own.

The whispers had started, small, sharp things tossed between desks. Jodie's name in the same breath as mine. Claire's too. I didn't know who said what, but I knew how this looked. And how it felt.

It felt like a setup.

And tomorrow, I'd learn just how far Claire was willing to go to defend me.

Even if it hurt her to do it.

By the time the final bell rang, the whole school felt too small. I didn't want to be here. I didn't want to be near the rumors. I just wanted my daughter's voice and the one face that still made sense.

When I entered the apartment, it was too quiet.

The kind of quiet that made the walls feel closer than usual. I heated leftover curry and let the TV murmur in the background, something Hana had insisted we watch three times before Rio left. Her absence wasn't loud. It was soft. Familiar. Ache-shaped. I set my empty plate in the sink, wiped my hands, and opened my phone.

Hana answered on the second ring, her face filling the screen with the sort of enthusiasm only a four-year-old could sustain at 8:30 p. m. "Daddy!" she squealed, voice peaking as she scrambled to tilt the tablet just right. "We made curry rice but it wasn't like yours, and I saw a bug on the wall and Grandpa said it was a lucky one, and Mommy's room still has the pink stars on the ceiling!"

I laughed, sinking into the couch, the ache loosening just a little. "Wow. That sounds like a big day."

She nodded earnestly. "I showed Grandma my stickers and Grandpa taught me the word for airplane again, but I forgot it already. Can you come tomorrow?" Her face dropped slightly. "I wish you were here."

My throat tightened. I smiled anyway. "Me too, little star. But guess what?"

"What?"

"I drew you a castle today. With three towers. And a slide instead of stairs."

She gasped, eyes wide. "Send it to Grandma's printer! I need to show Sprinkle!" (Her imaginary beetle friend, I remembered too late.)

I promised I would. We exchanged goodnights and love-you-more's, and after she blew one last kiss to the screen, the call ended with her face still glowing in the back of my mind.

I stared at my phone a second longer, then tapped the contact I'd been thinking about all day.

Rio picked up instantly.

Her face appeared on the screen, lit with soft lamplight, hair tied in a loose knot, laughter already warming her expression. "Hey you," she said. Just two words, and something in my chest unclenched.

"Hey," I murmured, my smile real for the first time all day. "God, it's good to see you."

She tilted her head, that knowing look in her eyes. "Long day?"

"Something like that," I said, and then I told her. About Hana's joy, the curry, the castle drawing. About Jodie, briefly and carefully. And finally, about Stacy.

Rio's smile faded into something softer. Deeper. She leaned in, as if she could reach through the screen. "Was it hard?"

"Yeah," I said. "But it was... right. I should've gone years ago. I think I needed to tell her. About you. About Hana."

Rio didn't speak at first. Her eyes glistened, voice tender when it came. "I'm glad you did."

But something else passed across her face then, so brief I nearly missed it. Not resentment. Not doubt. But a flicker of something quieter, a shadow of an old truth. The understanding that she wasn't my first love, and maybe never would be.

I wanted to reach through the glass. "Rio," I said. "I loved Stacy. And I lost her. But with you..." I paused, letting the words steady. "With you, I found a future again. You are everything."

She nodded, and her eyes were still wet, but the smile that bloomed next was all Rio, brave, warm, and fiercely mine. "I love you," she whispered.

"I love you," I said back.

We didn't end the call right away. We just watched each other breathe.

And even though Tokyo was oceans away, I felt her closer than ever.

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Chapter -- "I Remember Her"

(MAKO POV)

The door clicked shut behind me, and the moment it did, the armor cracked. No assistants. No handlers. No spotlights to sharpen my edges. Just me, the sound of my own breath, and the faint hum of Tokyo traffic through a sealed window. I dropped my bag by the door, kicked off my shoes with less flair than usual, and walked straight to my room without turning on the lights. I didn't need them. I knew the way.

My bed was unmade. My desk cluttered with drafts and half-finished lyrics. But the corner drawer of the vanity was clean, deliberately so. I opened it and pulled out the song sheet Rio had handed me. Still folded in half. Still warm from where I'd been gripping it in my coat pocket like it was a secret I didn't want to believe. I sat on the edge of the bed, holding it like it might change if I stared long enough. My fingers trembled. The first tear fell before I could stop it.

Eight years ago, I was ten, awkward, quiet, and always a little too much for the wrong reasons. I used to sit cross-legged in front of our TV, remote in one hand, a half-eaten rice ball in the other. I remember the first time I saw her. Rio. She was performing on Music Station, dressed in blue and gold, singing Lightless like it was the only truth that had ever existed. I didn't know what heartbreak felt like back then, not really, but when she sang, it was like she'd reached inside me and put words to every ache I didn't know how to name.

A year later, I was home alone again. My mom called from her office, her voice too bright, telling me not to wait up. "Dad and I have to work late again," she said. "Heat up some curry if you're hungry." I didn't even answer. I just sat on my bed with my headphones in, staring up at the posters that covered my ceiling, Rio mid-spin, Rio at the Tokyo Dome, Rio laughing in behind-the-scenes magazine shots. She didn't know me. But back then, she felt like the only friend I had.

That winter, I begged my parents to let me go to her concert. It was a battle, but they caved, guilt mostly. I got a seat near the front, saved up my allowance to buy the official glowstick and a hoodie two sizes too big. The moment Rio stepped onstage, the dome erupted, but I only heard her. Just her. At one point, during Gravity's Quiet, she looked out into the crowd and maybe it was the lights, or the way the camera moved, but I swear, she saw me. For a second, I believed she knew. That she could feel how much she meant to all of us. All of me.

Her fans in Japan adored her. Still do. We didn't just see a pop star. We saw a mirror. Someone who sang the things we were too afraid to say. She didn't just sing about loneliness; she sang from it. That's why it mattered. That's why I followed her every move, every note, every pause between lyrics where she let herself feel.

Then came the press interview. I remember sitting on the floor of my bedroom, the volume up, Rio on screen in a pale blazer, eyes soft, voice steady. "He changed my life," she said, talking about him, Daniel. And then, just like that, she announced she was quitting after the tour. No warning. No care for the millions of girls like me who'd held onto her like she was a lighthouse. I felt betrayed. She wasn't supposed to leave us. Not her.

Now, I sit on the edge of my bed, Rio's new lyrics still folded in my hand. I stare at my reflection, long lashes, perfect hair, the right kind of defiance burning just beneath the gloss. "I'll become a bigger star," I whisper, voice sharp in the dim room. "And I'll never abandon my fans... because I know what it feels like." My fingers tighten around the paper. "Not like she did."

I don't cry again.

I don't need to.

The fire will do just fine.

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Chapter -- "Ghostwriters and Glitter"

(RIO POV)

The small Tokyo apartment smelled like microwave curry, jasmine tea, and half-baked ideas. Emiko sat cross-legged on the floor, her laptop balanced on a cushion, a pencil behind one ear and a scowl that could melt a metronome on her face. Our "studio" was a blanket fort of inspiration, chord charts taped to the wall, snack wrappers scattered like confetti, and two mugs that hadn't been refilled in hours. I was five songs deep into my list, halfway through my sixth, while Emiko stared at the blinking cursor like it owed her money.

"You good?" I asked gently, not looking up from my notebook.

She sighed. Not dramatic. Not performative. Just tired. "I'm not good at this," she muttered. "I've been staring at the same verse for two hours and I'm pretty sure I stole it from a shampoo commercial. The rhyme scheme literally involves the word 'moisture.'" She tried to laugh. It came out cracked and flat. "Kaori didn't give me this gig because I'm talented. She just didn't want to tell you no."

I closed my notebook. "Emiko."

"It's fine," she said quickly, too quickly. "You're the real deal. You've always been the one with melody in your blood. Me? I'm the girl who screams lyrics off-key in karaoke booths and pretends to choreograph backup dancers while making instant ramen."

I leaned over and took her hand. She didn't pull away, but she didn't meet my eyes either. "Do you remember the first time I performed Lightless at the festival?" I asked softly. "I was terrified. Couldn't find the rhythm. Almost pulled the song. And then you said, 'Up the tempo. Make the sadness move.'" I smiled at the memory. "That version? The one that went viral? That wasn't just me. That was you."

Emiko blinked. "That was one line--"

"No," I said, voice firm. "That was a pattern. Every time I stalled, you nudged me forward. Every time I got lost in lyrics about him, you brought the songs to life. Daniel inspired the words. You gave them a beat."

Her eyes shimmered, just barely. She didn't cry, Emiko never did, not even at my wedding, but she pulled me into a hug so tight it knocked the air out of my lungs. "God, I needed that," she whispered. "I didn't realize how much until right now."

We sat like that for a while, tangled in memory and friendship and the kind of quiet that only comes from being known completely. Then she pulled away, wiped her nose with her sleeve, and grinned like a kid about to light something on fire.

"Okay," she said. "Let's burn through these tracks. You take love ballads. I'll handle the girl-who's-too-good-for-you anthems."

"Deal," I said, already reaching for my pen.

For the next few hours, we worked. Laptops clicking, pencils scratching, the occasional off-key harmony echoing off the walls. Every so often, we'd look up at each other, smirk, and giggle like we were seventeen again, back in my bedroom, rewriting pop songs with bubble tea stains on the lyrics. Somewhere between verse and chorus, between tea breaks and accidental brilliance, we remembered why this mattered.

Because even when the world forgets your name, the right person always remembers your song.

-------------

Chapter -- "What Loyalty Costs"

(CLAIRE POV)

Rumors move fast in schools. Faster than lesson plans. Faster than coffee. Faster than reason. By Thursday, the whisper network had mutated into something nastier than usual, Daniel's name surfacing in staffroom speculation, tangled with Jodie's in ways that made my stomach churn. The words weren't direct, not yet. Just loaded glances and knowing looks passed around between sips of burnt coffee. And I hated it.

I didn't do it for him. That's what I told myself.

It was during lunch when I heard the worst version of it yet. Ms. Summers from the science hall leaned in to Mr. Kaufman like she was narrating a scandal. "Well, he did move back here around the same time she went quiet on tour. You don't think...?" She didn't finish the sentence, but her smirk did the rest. My fork paused mid-air. I stared at my salad like it had personally offended me.

"He's not like that," I said. Calm. Crisp. Louder than I meant to. The entire table turned.

"Excuse me?" Summers asked, blinking like I'd broken some unspoken code.

I set my fork down. "Daniel. He's not someone who chases power or proximity. He's a good teacher, a good man. And he didn't ask for any of the attention you're tossing around like confetti." My voice didn't rise, but it didn't soften either. "You can't weaponize gossip just because the hallway got boring."

Kaufman raised his eyebrows but didn't speak. Jodie, across the room, lifted her head at just the wrong--or right--moment. Her eyes caught mine. Something unreadable passed between us.

The table fell quiet. Summers muttered something about "just making conversation," and I pushed my tray away, appetite gone. I left the room before I could say something sharper. Something truer.

Later, in the quiet of my classroom, I leaned against my desk and tried to unpack what I'd done. Defended him. Publicly. Unequivocally. I'd meant every word, but the regret that curled in my chest wasn't about the truth. It was about how much it still mattered to me. How quick I was to come to his defense. How instinctive it felt. And how I wasn't sure anymore if I was protecting him or the part of me that still wanted to believe he was worth protecting.

That night, I sat on my couch with a glass of wine and the kind of silence that isn't peaceful. It was loud with questions. Did he know I'd stepped in? Would he even care? Would she?

The worst part wasn't that I defended him.

It was that a part of me still hoped he'd notice.

And tomorrow, Jodie would make sure he did.

The thought sat like a stone in my chest as I drove home, headlights cutting through the gray of early evening. By the time I pulled into the driveway, the clouds had thickened, pressing low and heavy over the neighborhood. I barely made it through the door before the first drops started hitting the windows, steady and relentless.

It was raining again.

Of course it was. Rain has a way of slipping in when the past comes knocking. I was cleaning out the second drawer of my desk, looking for nothing in particular, when I found it. Tucked between outdated lesson plans and a broken pair of reading glasses. A worn leather-bound journal, small enough to disappear in a purse, thick enough to still pulse with weight.

I should have left it buried.

But my fingers moved before my logic could catch up, and suddenly I was flipping pages. Coffee stains, ink smudges, pressed flower petals from a spring I barely remember. Then I saw the date.

March 11, six years ago.

The page was dog-eared. The ink heavier than usual. I remembered the pen, the green one I used when I was trying not to sound bitter. And the handwriting, smaller, more careful, like even the letters knew they were too loud.

I read it anyway.

He said he was sorry.

He said it wasn't about her, not exactly, not yet. But that he couldn't keep pretending we were building something if part of him was already turning away.

He never lied. That was the worst part. He told me the truth. That he was confused. That he didn't mean to fall for a student. That nothing happened, but everything had.

I told him to go.

And then I sat on my kitchen floor for three hours with a bottle of white wine and the dress I had bought for our dinner date still hanging in the closet. I didn't cry until I saw the empty side of the bed.

It wasn't the betrayal. It wasn't even the silence that followed.

It was the fact that he didn't look back.

My eyes burned, but the tears didn't fall.

Not right away.

The pain didn't hit like a slap. It slid in like a whisper. Familiar. Lingering. Like the ghost of a bruise pressed too long beneath layers of pretending. I remembered how quiet I was that week. How I told everyone we'd just grown apart. How I kept smiling in staff meetings like I didn't feel like a secret had been pulled out from under my skin.

I closed the journal slowly, fingers trembling against the leather cover.

Six years. And I still remembered the sound of his voice when he said my name that last time. Soft. Apologetic. Already distant.

And maybe that's what hurts the most now.

Not that he chose her.

But that I never stopped wondering what would have happened if he hadn't. If she had never walked into his classroom. If I had kissed him a little sooner. Laughed a little louder. Shown up a little braver.

But I didn't.

And neither did he.

Now the ink is dry. The pages are old. But the wound? The wound remembers.

And tonight... I let it speak. Just once more.

-------------

Chapter - "Echoes of a Stage Left Behind"

(RIO POV)

We finished the last of the twenty songs just after midnight. Emiko slammed her laptop shut with a dramatic flourish, arms raised like she'd just crossed a marathon finish line.

"Done!" she declared, collapsing onto the couch beside me. "We're officially geniuses. Or sleep-deprived lunatics. Either way, I'm celebrating with sugar and caffeine." She rummaged through a bag of snacks, humming under her breath while I sat quietly, notebook resting on my knees. The final lyric still echoed in my head, but instead of relief, I felt... nothing. Just a strange emptiness, like I had cracked open the door to my old life only to close it again before I could breathe.

Emiko nudged a can of cold coffee into my hand, her grin wide and unfiltered. "C'mon, Rio. We did it. This is the good part. The part where we toast our brilliance with weird vending machine drinks and cry over fried chicken." I smiled for her, or tried to, but it didn't quite reach. My voice was hoarse, my fingers ink-stained from revisions. Twenty songs. Twenty carefully crafted stories, sculpted to fit someone else's voice. I used to write like this for myself, each note a truth I needed to sing. Now, it felt like I was ghostwriting for a girl I couldn't quite reach.

She turned on the radio as background noise while we sorted through lyric sheets and half-eaten crackers. I didn't think anything of it at first, just another pop station playing whatever formula worked that hour. But then I heard it. The first few chords. The soft lift of the verse. My melody. My words. Sung not by me, but by her. Mako. Emiko froze, a smile curling on her lips.

"No way," she whispered. "They're already playing it."

I leaned back, letting the song wash over me. Mako's voice was good, technically perfect, in fact. Every note landed exactly where it should. But that was the problem. It felt rehearsed. Careful. Like someone following a map instead of telling a story. The song was alive when we wrote it, fragile and warm. Now, it sounded like glass, pretty, polished... and hollow. My stomach twisted as I listened to her sing the chorus with no weight behind it, no breath between the lines. She didn't feel it, not the way we had.

"You're doing that thing," Emiko said, eyes narrowing as she looked at me. "That floaty stare thing where you're thinking too loud." I blinked and forced a shrug, brushing her off with a half-laugh.

"Just tired," I said, reaching for another lyric sheet as if it needed fixing. "It's nothing." Emiko didn't push, but I saw the way she watched me, like she knew better. Like she had heard the hesitation I tried to bury under old ramen jokes and cracked smiles.

The song faded out, replaced by a burst of DJ chatter.

"That was 'Stay Dangerous' by Mako Mizutani," the voice on the radio said. "Fresh off her debut album and already climbing the charts. This one's a certified hit, Japan can't get enough." Emiko whooped, throwing a pillow in the air.

"We're charting, Rio! You wrote a damn hit!" She looked at me like we were seventeen again, sharing headphones and dreams.

I smiled. I really did. "That's great," I said, letting the words float gently between us. "I'm happy for her." And for Emiko, I was. She had found something real in this chaos. A voice. A path. Maybe even a future. But inside, I couldn't stop the quiet doubt curling in my chest. I wasn't sure if I was proud or just a little more lost. Because the song we wrote had made it. But the girl who wrote it? She wasn't sure she belonged in that world anymore.

And maybe, that was the hardest part of all.

-------------

Chapter - "Paper Crowns & Stage Lights"

(MAKO POV)

The spotlight finally feels warm. Not blinding like it used to. Not something I had to earn with rehearsed smiles and voice lessons designed to squeeze personality into pitch. Now, it belongs to me. The studio lights follow my every move, the cameras linger just a little too long on my smirk, and the media can't get enough of what they're calling my "raw rebellion." I don't even have to try anymore. I just am. And apparently, that's enough to make headlines.

The radio host grins as he slides the mic closer. "Mako, your latest single 'Stay Dangerous' just hit number one on the Oricon charts. What's your secret?" I laugh, brushing my bleach-blonde bangs from my eyes, fingers adorned in silver rings that clink when I move.

"No secret," I say. "Just a girl who didn't forget where she came from." I let that hang in the air for a beat, long enough for everyone to feel the jab, but not long enough for them to call it out. It's an art. Rio taught me that. Indirect is sharper.

They love it. The press eats it up like I'm feeding them sashimi laced with scandal. Every article has my name next to hers now. "Is Mako the new Rio?" "Mako Mizutani: Filling the Void Rio Left Behind." I don't correct them. Why would I? I lean into it just enough to make them wonder if I'm being disrespectful or just confident. Let them squirm. That's what Rio used to do, right? Keep people guessing. Except I'm not guessing anymore. I know exactly what I'm doing.

At the magazine shoot, the stylist fawns over my cheekbones. "You have that same timeless edge Rio had," she gushes. "But you're... edgier. Wilder." I give her a smirk and say, "Well, I didn't disappear when things got hard." She laughs nervously, unsure if I mean it. I do. Every word. Because Rio walked away from this. From us. And she left behind a spotlight she swore was hers alone. I just stepped into it. Is that so wrong?

Sometimes, when I sing one of her songs, I can almost hear her in the back of my throat, like a ghost haunting the melody. It used to scare me. Now I use it. Let the press think I'm honoring her. Let the fans wonder if I'm channeling her legacy. In reality, I'm repurposing her silence. Turning her absence into my anthem. And I sing the hell out of it, even if I don't feel every word. Feeling is overrated when the charts are screaming your name.

The fandom has started calling themselves "DangerNotes." I didn't pick it, but I didn't stop it either. They're loud, loyal, and petty in all the right ways. They defend me like I'm some misunderstood savior of Japanese pop, and maybe I am. Or maybe I'm just a girl who finally stopped waiting for permission to matter. Either way, I'm winning.

I scroll past another think piece comparing my stage presence to Rio's "softer mystique." They say I'm magnetic, unpredictable. They say Rio sang with a wound; I sing with a knife. I retweet it with a black heart emoji and a wink. I know she's watching. Somewhere. I hope it stings. Not because I hate her. But because I remember her. And she doesn't get to forget me.

Let her have her bookstores and bedtime songs. I have stadiums now. Screaming fans. A countdown to my first world tour. And when the lights hit me just right, and the music swells to that chorus I rewrote with my story in it, I don't think about Rio's legacy anymore.

I think about mine. And how loud it's about to get.

-------------

Chapter - "Whispers in the Booth"

(RIO POV)

"Hold on, Hana-chan, slow down," I laughed, balancing my phone between my cheek and shoulder while trying to open a bottle of water with one hand. "What time did Grandpa say the train gets in?"

"Eleven-oh-eight!" Hana chirped on the other end, her voice bright and proud. "The super fast one! The... the... Nozomi!"

My mother chuckled in the background, and I heard the familiar rustle of newspaper as my father added, "Platform 16. We'll be waiting with her favorite onigiri."

I smiled so wide my cheeks hurt. "Perfect. We'll be there right on time. I can't wait to hug you, baby."

Hana giggled, then whispered, "I'll save you the window seat."

"I love you more than the whole bullet train," I whispered back.

Emiko was curled up at the end of the couch, pretending to half-listen while scrolling through her phone. Her legs swung lazily off the side, but her brows had started to furrow, and her mouth twisted into something between a grimace and a snort.

"No way," she muttered. Scroll. Tap. "You've got to be kidding me." Scroll. Pause. "Seriously?"

I hung up the call with Hana after a few more I-love-yous and a "Don't forget to wear your jacket, it's cold in Osaka," then turned toward Emiko.

"What?" I asked, wiping the stupidly happy grin off my face. "What happened? Did someone steal your ramen stash again?"

She didn't look up, just handed me her phone, screen already lit, video queued. "You're not gonna believe this."

The moment I saw the thumbnail, my stomach flipped. Me and Emiko, mid-song at that Shibuya karaoke bar, laughing, unfiltered, loud. The grainy footage was clearly taken from someone in the next room, through the small glass window. And the song? One of Mako's--our--songs. The timestamp on the video was a week before it dropped.

Comments exploded beneath the video like a wildfire:

"Is this Rio Noda??"

"Wait... is she behind Mako's rise?"

"This changes everything."

"Confirmed: Mako's not the genius, Rio is."

The screen wavered slightly in my hand as I stared at it. The music kept playing in the background, our voices, our harmony, our words... out in the world without our permission. I looked at Emiko, her jaw tight, her eyes unreadable.

And I knew.

Nothing stays hidden forever.

-------------

Chapter - "Winds of Betrayal"

(KAORI POV)

The morning sun hadn't even cleared the skyline when I settled into my office, double espresso in hand, already knee-deep in tomorrow's scheduling briefs. My inbox was a battlefield of greenlit interviews, venue confirmations, and Mako's latest PR rollout. Everything was moving. Fast. Just the way I liked it. Until my assistant, Ayaka, knocked twice and entered without waiting. That alone told me something was wrong.

"We have a problem," she said, closing the door behind her with a grim expression. No stammer. No hesitation. Just the clipped calm of someone who knew better than to panic before I gave her permission.

"Define problem," I said, not looking up.

She walked across the room and placed a tablet gently in front of me. "This video just hit the networks. It's already being reposted across TikTok, Twitter, even YouTube reaction channels. You'll want to see this."

I tapped play. There they were, Rio and Emiko, singing one of Mako's charting singles at that dingy Shibuya karaoke bar. Rio's laugh rang out through the grainy footage, bright and careless. Emiko was off-pitch and loving it. And the song? It hadn't even been released yet when this was filmed. My lips twitched. Not in amusement, but in calculation.

"Leak confirmation," I said flatly.

Ayaka blinked. "You want me to confirm it's them? But... Kaori-san, that could tank Mako's sales. People will say she's just a puppet. That Rio ghostwrote the whole thing."

I finally looked up, expression unreadable. "Remind me, Ayaka... who made more money off her debut album? Rio or Mako?"

Ayaka hesitated, then said softly, "Rio. By a landslide."

"Exactly," I said. "This isn't a scandal. It's a spark. If we play this right, we don't just ride the controversy. We control it. And if Rio picks up a mic again," I leaned back in my chair, smiling now, "we'll make a fortune. Even if Mako's little career goes down in flames, she'll be the kindling for something far more valuable."

But as the words left my mouth, a flicker passed through me. It was quiet, unwanted. I remembered the first day Mako walked into my office, eighteen, sharp-tongued, scared under the eyeliner. Desperate for someone to believe she was more than a thumbnail and a pitch deck. And Rio? She was once that girl too. All heart and fire, looking at me like I could hand her the sky if I just believed in her enough.

It still tugs at me sometimes. That buried thing I try not to name. Regret.

But sentiment doesn't close deals. Strategy does. I smoothed the edge of the tablet screen with my thumb and shut the feeling down.

Ayaka didn't move. She just nodded slowly, the weight of what I was asking finally settling in. I turned back to my screen, already imagining the headlines.

"Rio Returns."

"The Voice Behind the Voice."

Sometimes the best opportunities come wrapped in betrayal.

-------------

Chapter -- "The Girl Behind the Curtain"

(MAKO POV)

They didn't even tell me.

I was in the middle of a rehearsal, full makeup, cameras rolling, stylist hovering over my shoulder like I was about to combust, when my phone buzzed with the alert. A friend sent it first. Then my backup vocalist. Then my cousin. And then it was everywhere.

OFFICIAL: Rio Noda Confirmed as Co-Writer of Mako Mizutani's Debut Album.

I stared at the headline like it was written in another language. Like if I blinked long enough, the words would shift into something that didn't make my stomach turn. My fingers trembled around the phone. I scrolled.

"We are proud to confirm Rio Noda's role in shaping Mako's early sound..."

Proud.

Proud.

The room kept moving around me. Someone was adjusting lights. Someone else was counting beats from the control booth. No one noticed that I was frozen. That I wasn't breathing. That the girl standing center stage wasn't me anymore. She was a mannequin in borrowed glitter.

They didn't tell me.

They used me.

I stumbled offstage mid-verse, muttering something about water, about a cramp, anything to get out. I locked myself in the bathroom and slid to the floor, still clutching my phone like it might explain something. Anything.

She promised.

She said she was just here to help.

She said it would still be my voice.

But the moment that confirmation hit the press, I disappeared. And now every trending tag, every fan reaction, every headline screams one thing:

"She didn't write it."

"It was always Rio."

"Mako's a copy. A puppet. A product."

I wanted to scream. I wanted to throw the phone so hard it shattered, just like the image I'd been clinging to since the day Kaori told me I had "a face worth betting on." I thought I was finally stepping out of someone else's shadow. I thought I was winning.

Instead, I've been reduced to a footnote in her comeback.

And the worst part?

They planned it.

Kaori. The label. Maybe even Rio. Like they had been sitting on this the whole time, waiting for the moment it would benefit them most. Let the rookie sell the lie, carry the weight. Then when the world's ready for something real again--bam. Insert the legend. Let her reclaim the crown.

And me?

Discarded.

Decorative.

I curled my knees to my chest and pressed my palms over my ears, as if that would drown out the noise.

But the echo stayed.

It sounded like laughter in the agency hallway.

It sounded like Rio's voice, haunting, careful, perfect.

It sounded like betrayal dressed in praise.

I wiped my face with shaking hands, mascara streaking across my fingers.

I won't be erased.

If they think I'm just going to step aside and let her take everything--

They've forgotten who I used to idolize.

And who I learned never to become.

-------------

Chapter -- "Comments and Consequences"

(Emiko POV)

It started with a notification. Just one.

I was scrolling half-awake, curled sideways on the couch in my oldest hoodie, trying to convince myself I wasn't still thinking about that video. The one some drunk karaoke voyeur decided to upload without permission. But I was. We both were. Rio had barely touched her breakfast. I hadn't touched mine either. Then the ping came, louder than it had any right to be, and I watched the screen refresh with a headline I never expected to see confirmed so fast.

Official: Rio Noda Co-Wrote Tracks for Mako Mizutani's Debut Album

Statement from Sugimura Entertainment: "Rio was invited to contribute behind the scenes. We are proud to confirm her role in shaping Mako's early sound."

There it was. No spin. No denial. No walking it back.

I opened Twitter. Then TikTok. Then the fan forums. And the explosion was instant.

"RIO IS A LEGEND. SHE CARRIED THAT ALBUM."

"Makes sense now. That song always sounded too emotional for Mako."

"I knew she had Rio's fingerprints all over her voice."

"So what? She quit. Let Mako have her moment."

"This is betrayal. Mako lied to us."

"Rio's trying to be relevant again. Sit down."

"Where's Rio's version? I want to hear how it was meant to be sung."

The timeline blurred. My fingers scrolled faster, like speed could make sense of the chaos. The comments swung from worship to warfare, with Rio right at the center. She was held up like a queen by some, dragged like a villain by others. No one cared that the songs were collaborative. No one remembered that Rio never asked for this spotlight. They just wanted a story.

I glanced across the room. Rio was staring at her phone, motionless. Her name was trending worldwide. Her face was in every thumbnail. Her silence, once her armor, was now the canvas for a thousand different narratives, and not one of them was hers.

And all I could think was,

We lit a match.

Now the whole world's on fire.

-------------

Chapter - "The Pause Between Notes"

(RIO POV)

I called my parents just before lunch. The silence on the other end of the line stretched too long before my father finally answered.

"Change of plans?" he asked, already knowing. His voice was calm, but not surprised.

"Yeah," I said, resting my forehead against the cool glass of Emiko's apartment window. "Something came up. I need to stay in Tokyo a few more days. I'll rebook my train."

There was a shuffling noise, then Hana's voice crackled through, small and disappointed.

"Mommy, you said the bullet train was today."

Her words hit like they always do, straight to the softest part of me. I closed my eyes.

"I know, baby. I'm so sorry. I promise I'll be there soon. I miss you so much."

Her tiny sigh nearly broke me.

"I saved the window seat," she whispered.

I swallowed hard. "Keep it warm for me, okay?"

My mom took the phone again. "We've seen the news," she said gently. "Is that why?"

I didn't bother pretending. "Yeah. It got... bigger than I expected."

She didn't press. Just said, "Handle it, but don't lose yourself again."

And I knew she didn't just mean career.

I ended the call and just sat there, staring out at the Osaka skyline, letting her words settle. A quiet reminder of the promises I made to myself, promises I'd already bent too far. I closed my notebook, grabbed my bag, and stood. Tokyo was calling. Questions needed answering. And Kaori Sugimura was the only person who could give them to me.

Kaori's office was all sleek surfaces and expensive restraint. Her assistant showed us in with that practiced smile that said she'd already been briefed on our arrival. I could feel Emiko tense beside me, but it was my voice that broke the stillness first.

"Why did you confirm it?" I asked. No hello. No pleasantries. Just the question that hadn't left my chest since the news broke.

Kaori didn't flinch. "Because lying would've made it worse," she said. "The story was already out. Denying it would have made you look manipulative. Worse, it would have made Mako look even more fake."

Emiko crossed her arms, lips pressed thin. I hated that she had a point. I hated even more that I couldn't argue with it.

"How's Mako?" I asked quietly.

"Devastated," Kaori said without hesitation. "She's being eaten alive online. Her fans feel betrayed. She's not speaking to anyone, not even her team."

I looked down at my hands. I hadn't meant for this. I'd been that girl once, the one everyone loved until they didn't. The one with trembling hands backstage, wondering if her voice would be enough. I should reach out, I thought. But what would I even say?

Then Kaori leaned forward, her tone shifting into something colder, calculating.

"But there's an upside, Rio. People are talking about you again. They're not just nostalgic, they're hungry. This could be your moment. Your comeback."

The words clanged inside me, too loud and too tempting.

"The world's ready for you again."

I blinked. My voice came out before I could stop it.

"I'm not sure I am."

It was the first time I'd said those words out loud. Not to a reporter. Not to Emiko. Not even to Daniel. Emiko turned her head sharply, brows raised. Not disappointed. Just... surprised. Like she'd heard something she didn't expect from someone she thought she knew every verse of.

Kaori leaned back. "What can I say to convince you?" Her eyes sparkled with quiet confidence, like she already knew the answer.

But I shook my head. "Right now? Nothing. Not like this. It wouldn't be right. And I need to talk to Daniel first."

I stood before she could counter. Emiko followed, silent, though her face was still processing.

As we stepped into the elevator, Emiko finally spoke.

"You really thinking about it?"

I looked straight ahead at our reflection in the mirrored doors. "Part of me is," I said honestly. "But not at the cost of what I have now. Not if it means trading quiet mornings and Hana's bedtime songs for flashing lights and hollow applause. I've sung for the world before. I'm not sure I want to again. Not unless it's me holding the mic this time. On my terms."

The elevator dinged. Doors opened. We stepped out together, but I knew we were carrying different questions now.

And for the first time in years, I didn't know what came next.

I called Daniel not knowing what to say, but his voicemail picked up.

"Hey, it's me. I... um... I just wanted to let you know that something's come up and I'm going to need to stay in Tokyo a few more days. I promise everything's okay, just... a little unexpected. Nothing bad. I just need a bit more time here to sort some things out."

"Hana's going to stay with my parents until I can get back to Osaka. She's totally fine, already convinced my dad to let her co-pilot the rice cooker and my mom's teaching her how to fold towels into animals, so... y'know, full five-star service over there."

"She misses you, though. She said this morning she's saving the window seat on the train just for you--not me, you. She can't wait to see her daddy again."

soft laugh

"Anyway... I'll call you later tonight once things settle down a bit. Just wanted to keep you in the loop. Love you."

-------------

Chapter -- "The Lesson I Never Taught"

(DANIEL POV)

The late morning sun filtered through the tall windows of my classroom, casting soft light across rows of half-filled desks. The board was still covered in half-erased quotes from yesterday's lesson, Frost, Angelou, and one bold underline beneath "what we leave unsaid is still a choice." I was just organizing my notes when I heard the knock.

Jodie Rees stood in the doorway, dressed a little too polished for a casual teaching day, holding a folder with that practiced smile she always wore when she wanted something.

"Hey, Daniel," she said, stepping inside before I could answer. "Got a minute?"

I nodded slowly, lowering my notes. "Sure."

She crossed the room with ease, setting the folder on the edge of my desk.

"I've been thinking," she began, voice light but calculated, "what if we collaborated on a project between our classes? Something interdisciplinary, emotional narratives maybe, tapping into how literature and psychology overlap. My students could use the kind of depth you bring to your lessons." Her eyes lingered on mine for just a second too long. "You've got such a gift for inspiration... and connection."

I felt her hand brush mine, so casually it could have been an accident, but it wasn't. Her voice dipped a little softer, a little closer.

"I just think it'd be good. For the students. For us." She leaned in, that inch too close, the kind that carried implications her words didn't quite say.

I stepped back, not rudely, just enough to create space. My tone stayed even.

"It's an interesting idea. I'll need to take a look at my lesson plan and see if there's room for alignment. But I have to prep for my next class now." I gestured gently toward the clock, already aware of how stiff my posture had become.

Jodie held her smile. "Of course. Take your time. Just let me know." She grabbed her folder and walked out with the same deliberate calm she came in with, nothing too obvious, nothing anyone would report. Just enough to leave something behind. That's how Jodie worked.

The moment the door clicked shut, I exhaled and rubbed the back of my neck.

You should have been firmer. I knew it. I wasn't interested. I'd never been. And yet I still let her linger, still hesitated, still sidestepped what needed to be said. Because the truth was, I hated direct confrontation. Always had. And maybe that reluctance had hurt people more than I ever meant it to.

I used to be better at boundaries, at clarity, at honesty that didn't hide behind kindness. But everything changed after Stacy died. I stopped correcting people. Stopped pushing back. I learned how to smile and nod, to take the easier road if it meant fewer questions. And sometimes, that silence did more damage than any harsh word ever could.

-------------

Chapter -- "What She Deserves"

(JODIE POV)

I kept the smile on my face all the way out of Daniel's classroom, even as my stomach turned. It was that tight, fake kind of grin, lips pressed just right, eyes soft but unreadable. A "teacher smile." I passed a few students on my way to the science wing, tossing out a quick, "Hey there," and "Good luck on that test," with the practiced warmth of someone who knew exactly how to play likable. They smiled back, oblivious. I was good at this. Always had been.

But inside, I was boiling.

It wasn't just the way Daniel pulled back, subtle, polite, like he thought I wouldn't notice. It was the fact that he always did. That passive deflection, the soft retreat. The worst part? He never said no. Never said stop. He just moved a little further away every time I got too close, like that was enough to clear him of responsibility.

Back when I was a student myself, I had a crush on a teacher. He was kind, funny, gentle in a way that made you feel seen in a world full of noise. I waited until I was legal, until graduation, before I told him. I thought it would be romantic, that he'd see how patient I was. But he just smiled that same Daniel Poole smile and said, "You're not the person I'm supposed to love." It broke something in me. Not because he didn't want me, but because it felt like I was always just shy of being worthy.

So when I got the job here, and heard about him, the teacher who left Japan, the one whispered about in staff lounges and late-night drinks, I thought maybe this was the universe's redo. The one who actually sees past rules and hears what matters. And when I heard about Rio--God, that idol girl--I thought, finally. Someone who doesn't act like it's shameful to be wanted by a student. He made it real for her. Why not for me?

It's not fair that someone like Daniel, with his unreadable eyes and quiet hands and quiet heart, could choose her, a girl who turned it into a fairytale, but can't even look at me without backing away like I'm some harmless mistake waiting to happen.

At lunch, I sat beside Ms. Summers in the lounge, stabbing at my salad while pretending not to care. She was half-distracted by something on her tablet when I finally said, low and casual, "You know... Daniel's always had a thing for students."

Her eyebrows lifted. "Seriously?"

I shrugged, letting the bait dangle. "Rio Noda? That whole story wasn't just a tabloid fantasy. There was something there. Everyone knew it. She was barely eighteen when they got... close." I didn't mention timelines. Didn't need to. Just let the words land. Her face tightened slightly, the way people do when they're not sure if they've just heard a secret or a scandal.

I smiled again, sweet and small. Let her fill in the blanks. Because if Daniel wanted to keep pretending he was the hero in all this, maybe it was time someone rewrote the story.

-------------

Chapter -- "The Doubt Between Words"

(CLAIRE POV)

By third period, the rumors had already begun to curdle the air. Quiet at first, passed between students like folded notes, then picked up in whispers at the copier, the way scandal always travels faster than facts. I heard it by the coffee machine. Then again near the lockers.

"He's always had a thing for students."

At first, I dismissed it. Not him. Not Daniel. It didn't line up. It didn't fit.

But the seed had been planted.

I watched him more closely that day. Not because I believed it, but because I needed not to. In the hallway, he stopped to help a student pick up spilled folders. He smiled at the janitor. He gave one of his seniors a high-five outside his classroom, gentle, casual, the way a good teacher does when they know how to connect.

Still Daniel, I told myself. Measured. Present. Good.

But doubt doesn't shout. It whispers.

And in the quiet of my prep period, I remembered Parent-Teacher Night. I remembered how he'd looked at me, soft, almost apologetic. I remembered what I'd said, "It mattered too." And how he didn't fight me on it. How he let the truth sit there, raw and unanswered.

Then I remembered the girl at the end of the hallway. Jodie. Clipboard in hand, smirk on her lips, watching, waiting. There had been something cold in her expression that night. Something knowing.

I told myself I was being paranoid, that my own history with Daniel was making me overly sensitive. I'd spent so long convincing myself we were just two people who missed the timing. But the idea that he might have blurred lines again gnawed at the edges of that neat conclusion. I didn't want to believe it. God, I didn't.

And yet...

He'd told me he wasn't ready. That she had come back. That she had his heart. I never asked if she was still his student when it began. I never wanted to ask. Because the moment you ask a question like that, you have to live with the answer. And maybe I wasn't ready for the answer.

That afternoon, I passed him in the hallway. He smiled at me, same soft eyes, same Daniel. But something in me hesitated before I smiled back. Just a beat. Just long enough for him to notice. His smile faltered, barely.

And that was the part that scared me the most.

Because maybe he already knew what I was starting to wonder.

-------------

Chapter -- "The Cost of Silence"

(Principal Howard POV)

I've delivered difficult news before, budget cuts, failed evaluations, even the occasional termination. But this? This was different. I sat at my desk for nearly an hour after the call with the board rep, staring at the folded letter in front of me like it might rewrite itself if I gave it enough time.

Daniel Poole.

In six years, not once had I received a complaint about him. Not from parents. Not from students. If anything, the opposite. He was the kind of teacher people requested by name. The one who stayed late to write recommendation letters, who ran poetry clubs on his own time, who remembered the names of siblings and offered books to kids who hadn't read one in years. He was solid. Quiet. Steady. Good.

And now I was being asked to suspend him.

The rumors had reached a boil almost overnight. Parents calling the front office. One board member forwarded a blog post, anonymous of course, insinuating impropriety with a former student, now turned pop star. There was no timeline, no evidence, just whispers recycled into pressure. And pressure, when it came from the board, wasn't something I could ignore. Not if I wanted to keep my own job.

I'd spoken to him just a week ago in the faculty lounge. He was laughing about a student who accidentally submitted their essay as a TikTok. Still drinking that terrible thermos coffee he brought from home. Still quoting Rilke like it was gospel. Nothing in his posture, his eyes, his voice suggested a man hiding something.

So when I called him in and handed him the letter, he just... blinked.

At first, I thought he didn't understand. Then I realized he did, but couldn't believe it.

"Pending investigation," I said, carefully avoiding the word accusation. "You're suspended with pay. We're obligated to review the situation due to community concern."

He nodded once, eyes unreadable, voice low. "What situation?"

And for the first time in my career, I had no answer that didn't sound like a betrayal.

-------------

BREAKING NEWS: Global Pop Icon Rio Noda's Husband Suspended Amid Allegations From Former Colleagues

What began as a local controversy has erupted into an international headline.

TOKYO / SEATTLE -- What started as quiet speculation at a suburban high school has now ignited into a global firestorm, as Daniel Poole, the husband of international pop sensation Rio Noda, has been officially suspended from his teaching position at Shirogane High School pending investigation.

The decision follows days of online speculation and a series of viral posts accusing Poole of having an "inappropriate history of relationships with students," specifically referencing his now-wife, Rio Noda, who was once his student during his tenure at the international program in Tokyo.

While no formal allegations have been made regarding misconduct during Rio's time as a student, a resurfaced timeline and vague comments from former colleagues have drawn public scrutiny. An anonymous former faculty member claimed Poole has "always had a thing for students," while others have questioned the ethics of a teacher marrying a former pupil, even if the relationship began after graduation.

The district issued a statement early this morning:

"While we do not comment on ongoing investigations, the district has placed Mr. Poole on administrative leave in response to public concern and to ensure a full, unbiased review of the matter."

The story gained international traction once tabloids picked up on the connection to Noda, who recently returned to headlines following rumors that she ghostwrote music for rising idol Mako Mizutani. With Rio's name now topping global trends and her career under renewed scrutiny, fans and critics alike are divided. Some are defending her and her husband fiercely, while others are questioning what the pop icon has kept hidden.

Social media has exploded with hashtags like #ProtectRio, #TeacherScandal, and #NotJustALoveSong as both fans and detractors weigh in.

So far, neither Rio nor Daniel has issued a public comment.

But one thing is clear:

This is no longer just a school scandal.

It is a cultural reckoning, one playing out in real-time on a global stage.

-------------

Chapter -- "What the World Doesn't Know"

(EMIKO POV)

I was sitting on the floor of my apartment, cross-legged, surrounded by empty coffee cups and lyric sheets, obsessively refreshing my feed. Not for gossip, God no, but because this whole Mako thing had turned Rio's name into a global headline again, and I needed to stay ahead of it. I've been her friend too long not to know how fast the narrative can slip out from under her.

Then I saw it.

"Former Idol's Husband Suspended Amid Student Affair Rumors."

My stomach dropped.

I clicked the article and read it three times just to be sure I wasn't misreading it. I wasn't. They named him. Daniel Poole. The quiet man who writes poetry in the margins of his lesson plans and still asks Rio how she's feeling before he talks about himself. They made him sound like a scandal, like a predator. I slammed my laptop shut and stood up so fast I knocked over a cup of ramen.

"Are you kidding me?" I shouted at no one.

I didn't even have time to process it. I just knew she had to know. And I had to be the one to tell her.

Rio was in the living room, cross-legged on the couch, eating cold takeout from the carton and humming something under her breath. A quiet tune. One of hers, maybe. Her phone was facedown on the table. She looked peaceful for the first time in days.

I didn't want to break that.

"Hey," I said gently, walking over and crouching beside her. I held out my tablet like it was something fragile. "You need to see this."

She blinked at me, took it slowly, and began reading. Her lips didn't move. She didn't say anything. But I watched the moment it hit. The shift behind her eyes, the way her fingers tightened around the device just slightly. She didn't cry.

She broke.

Not for herself. Not for her name splashed next to words like affair and suspension. But for Daniel. For the man who once waited months just to kiss her for the first time. For the man who never stopped believing in her voice, even when the world tried to strip it away. She broke for the man who was now sitting alone in a quiet house filled with lullabies and half-folded laundry, taking bullets he never should have had to dodge.

And I hated them for it. All of them. The board. The whisperers. The press. Because the truth wasn't loud enough to fight their headlines.

But I would be.

-------------

Chapter -- "The Song That Comes Home"

(RIO POV)

I didn't even realize I'd stopped breathing until I heard myself say it. Quiet, certain, like it had already been decided hours ago in some place deeper than thought.

"I'm going back," I whispered.

My fingers were still wrapped around Emiko's tablet, the headline burned into my mind. Former Idol's Husband Suspended Amid Student Affair Rumors. I could still hear Daniel's voice in my head, gentle, steady, undeserving of any of this.

"He needs me," I added, firmer now. "I'm not letting him weather this alone."

Emiko didn't argue. She didn't try to talk me out of it. She just nodded and said, "I'm coming with you."

There was no dramatic music cue, no movie moment pause. Just a friend making it clear she wasn't going to let me walk back into this storm by myself. I met her eyes, something unspoken passing between us. I didn't thank her. I didn't need to. She knew.

I grabbed my phone and stepped out onto the balcony, where the city buzzed unaware below us. One ring. Two. Then my mother's face filled the screen. She was in the kitchen, wiping flour off her hands. My father was behind her, holding a cup of tea.

"Rio?" she asked, instantly alert. "What's wrong?"

"I'm heading to Osaka this afternoon," I said. My voice didn't shake. Not yet. "I'll explain everything when I get there, but I need to talk to Hana first. Please."

They didn't ask more. They just turned the camera around. And then there she was, Hana, with bedhead and juice stains on her pajamas, sitting cross-legged on the floor drawing something chaotic and colorful.

"Mommy!" she squealed when she saw me. "You're coming back now?"

I swallowed the lump in my throat. "Yeah, sweetie. We're going to go see Daddy."

Her little brow furrowed. "Did he get sad?"

I nodded. "A little, yeah."

She stood up like it was mission time, brushing imaginary dust off her sleeves. "Then we need to sing to him."

I smiled, tears finally catching the edge of my lashes. "Yeah, baby. I think we do."

Tokyo can wait. My husband can't.

I grabbed my phone, fingers moving faster than my brain could keep up. A few quick swipes through my contacts, a curt message to my agent, "Postpone everything. I'll explain later," and I was on the airline app, searching the fastest way home. Direct flight, first available seat. I didn't care about cost. I didn't care about convenience. I just needed to be back in Seattle before another headline could make its rounds, before Daniel had to carry any more of this alone.

By the time the confirmation email landed in my inbox, my suitcase was already half-packed and Emiko was grabbing her things without question. Osaka faded in the rearview, and a few hours later...

The cabin lights dimmed as the pilot's voice crackled overhead, announcing our descent into Seattle-Tacoma International. I leaned my head against the window, staring down at the Pacific Northwest through a veil of clouds. The mountains peeked through like they were waiting for us. My heart beat faster. Not because I was nervous about the landing, but because in less than an hour, I'd be in Daniel's arms again. Three weeks. It felt like a year.

I turned to check on Hana. She was snug in her seat, her stuffed rabbit tucked beneath her chin, thumb half in her mouth, eyes still wide with wonder despite the long flight.

"You okay, baby?" I whispered.

She nodded sleepily, then pointed out the window. "Is Daddy waiting already?"

My throat tightened. "Soon," I said, brushing her hair back. "We'll see him soon."

Next to her, Emiko bounced slightly in her seat like an excited tourist. She pressed her nose to the window, then turned back to me.

"The trees here are huge. Like Ghibli forest-level huge. And the clouds? They look like watercolor. Are you sure you grew up here and not in a movie?"

I smiled. She hadn't stopped talking about America since we crossed the dateline. She'd spent half the flight brushing up on English, whispering conjugations to herself and asking if Hana's grammar was better than hers. It wasn't. Yet.

But even as Emiko babbled, my thoughts drifted. Back to Kaori's office. Back to the news cycle still burning across every corner of the internet. Back to Mako. And Daniel. And the truth I hadn't said out loud yet, that this might be the biggest fight we've ever faced. And not with each other... but for each other.

The landing gear groaned as the wheels extended. I gripped the armrest. Not because I was afraid of flying, I've lived half my life on airplanes, but because this arrival felt different. Final. Like crossing a threshold I couldn't come back from.

"Tokyo can wait," I whispered under my breath. "My husband can't."

The tires touched down with a soft jolt. Hana gasped in delight. Emiko clapped. I exhaled. For the first time in weeks, I felt grounded. In more ways than one.

As the plane taxied toward the gate, I reached for my phone, already picturing Daniel's face when he saw us. I didn't know what I'd say first. I missed you? I'm sorry? I'm here now? Maybe none of those. Maybe I'd just hold him and let silence do the talking.

Because love doesn't always come back with a song. Sometimes, it just shows up with swollen eyes, a suitcase full of secrets, and a heart that never stopped listening for home.

-------------

Chapter -- "The Waiting Doesn't End at Arrivals"

(DANIEL POV)

There's a particular kind of silence in an airport baggage claim. Not quiet, never quiet, but hushed in a way that feels reverent. Like the world is holding its breath between hellos.

I stood just outside the sliding doors, arms crossed, watching the carousel spin with practiced boredom. My eyes kept flicking up to the arrivals board even though I already knew the flight number by heart. I'd checked it at least four times since pulling into the parking garage.

Around me, life moved in all directions. A man in a suit cradled a bouquet of tulips in one hand and a wrinkled "Welcome Home, Baby!" sign in the other. A teenage girl burst into tears as her older brother came through the sliding doors, dropping her suitcase mid-sob. A young mom tried to wrangle two toddlers and a stroller, her tired joy written across every inch of her face as she kissed the man who reached for her like she was water after a long drought.

I tried not to think about what our reunion would look like.

I kept my hands steady. My face neutral. I didn't want Rio to see it, the weight I'd been carrying since the call from Principal Howard. The whispers. The silence from colleagues who used to nod when we passed in the hallway. The sting of Claire's goodbye echoing beneath the headlines. "Global Pop Icon's Husband Suspended Amid Scandal."

I hadn't even told my parents. I couldn't bring myself to. How do you explain that your life's work, your identity as a teacher and mentor, had been reduced to a rumor and a trending hashtag?

But I wasn't going to let Rio see that. Or Hana.

When they walked through those doors, I wanted my arms to be steady. My smile to be real. I didn't want to taint their arrival with my pain. They had flown across the world for me again, and they deserved a welcome full of love, not bitterness.

So I watched. Waited.

Let the carousel spin. Let the world return to each other in fits of laughter and relief.

And in my chest, I quietly rewrote the greeting I'd give her.

Welcome home. I missed you. I'm still here.

Even if the rest of the world wasn't sure who I was anymore, she still knew.

And that was enough.

-------------

Chapter - "The Reunion That Hurts"

(RIO POV)

We were moving too fast for grace and not fast enough for my heart. I could feel it hammering in my chest with every step, my grip tight around Hana's hand as we darted through the terminal. A few people looked up as we passed, some whispering, some raising phones, a few bold enough to speak, "Is that...?" But I didn't stop. I couldn't. Not for selfies, not for fan-stares, not even for politeness. I was only chasing one face.

Hana trailed behind, legs moving as fast as they could.

"Mommy, slow," she puffed, but we were already near the escalator. I scooped her into my arms before she could stumble, whispering, "Just a little longer, baby."

Her arms wrapped tight around my neck. Behind us, Emiko hustled with her carry-on bag bouncing behind her, muttering breathlessly, "You walk like a woman possessed."

"I am possessed," I snapped, not unkindly. "I haven't held him in three weeks."

The descent to baggage claim stretched like a song played too slowly, one note too long, one breath too held. Then I saw him.

Daniel.

Hana saw him too.

Before I could say a word, she wriggled in my arms.

"Daddy!" she shrieked, her voice lighting up the terminal. "Daddy, Daddy!"

She squirmed free despite my protest, "Careful," but she was already on the ground, pink sneakers slapping the tile as she ran straight for him.

He crouched just in time to catch her.

And God, his face. He smiled, really smiled for her, folding her up in his arms like she was the only thing holding him together. His hands clutched her shoulders, one rising to cradle the back of her head as if she might vanish.

"Hey, little star," he whispered. I could hear it even from here. I'd sung on arena stages, but that voice, his voice, had always been the only one that truly mattered.

I stopped walking. Just... watched.

Daniel didn't look at me right away. When he did, it wasn't the bright-eyed joy I was bracing for. It was something quieter. He looked older. Not in the way that time does, but in the way grief does. In the way scandal does. He held my daughter like a lifeline and offered me a smile that said thank you for coming back, but behind it, behind his eyes, I saw it. The ache. The storm.

I didn't cry.

But I felt everything.

Emiko stepped up beside me, panting, then straightened and cleared her throat like she was about to recite a poem.

"Hello, Sensei," she said in crisp English, bowing slightly with one hand still gripping her suitcase.

Daniel blinked, surprised, and then smiled. Not wide, not perfect, but real.

"Hello, Emiko," he replied gently. "Your pronunciation's improved. But 'sensei' isn't usually paired with 'hello.' Try 'Mr. Poole' next time." He tilted his head just slightly. "Still, good effort."

Emiko grinned. "Noted. You're still kind of terrifying." Then, quieter, "Thank you for letting me come."

Daniel stood, Hana still perched on his hip like she'd never left it.

"Thank you for bringing them back."

And just like that, the weight of everything we hadn't said settled into the space between us, thick, invisible, undeniable.

I stepped closer.

And this time, I didn't wait for permission to reach for him.

-------------

Chapter -- "The Weight and the Wind"

(DANIEL POV)

I didn't mean to kiss her like that.

Not here. Not now.

But when Rio stepped close, really close, her eyes wide and shimmering with everything she hadn't said on the phone, I just...

Needed.

So I kissed her.

Hard. Fierce. With all the months and ache and questions and missing wrapped into one breathless moment that didn't care where we were. Hana giggled against my shoulder. Emiko audibly gasped behind us. But none of it mattered. It was just her lips on mine and my hands gripping her waist like the world might try to pull her away again.

When we finally broke apart, her breath caught against my cheek. Her eyes were glassy. Her lips parted. I had a sudden, stupid thought that I should apologize, but then she leaned her forehead into mine and whispered, "You can't do that in public, Daniel."

I smiled.

And finally, I gave her my usual greeting, soft, quiet, steady. "Hey, songbird."

She exhaled sharply, and I felt it more than heard it. Her whole body relaxed into mine like she'd been waiting for that more than the kiss. Like that one name, that one word, had been echoing across an ocean.

We didn't linger at the airport much longer. Just enough to gather luggage, reassure Hana that yes, the car still had snacks, and that yes, the castle drawing was waiting at home. Emiko slid into the back seat with wide eyes, clutching her phone like it was both a translator and a shield.

Ten minutes into the drive, she gasped. "That's a mountain. That's a mountain! Rio, look!"

Rio chuckled. "Emi, you're going to get whiplash."

"It looks fake!" Emiko pressed her face to the window, eyes locked on the snow-capped peak rising beyond the skyline. "What is that?"

"Mt. Rainier," I said, keeping my voice calm despite the traffic. "It's the tallest mountain in Washington State. Used to be called Tahoma, which meant 'The Mother of Waters' in Lushootseed. It's a stratovolcano, still technically active, but mostly, it's just iconic. Hikers, poets, photographers, everyone sees it as a symbol. When it's visible, it means something. People say, 'The mountain's out today,' like it's choosing to be seen."

Emiko let out a low whistle. "Okay, that's poetic as hell. Is everything here dramatic?"

"Only the best parts," Rio said, giving my hand a squeeze.

The rest of the drive was Emiko asking questions in rapid succession, about coffee, about the trees, about the school, about how often the mountain exploded (answer: not recently), about bald eagles, about whether squirrels here wore little plaid vests.

I answered everything I could, chuckling at the ridiculous ones, grateful for the distraction. Every laugh pulled me a little further from the weight of the suspension, the headlines, the ache of being accused. For a moment, the car was just full of voices and warmth and absurdity.

For a moment, everything felt okay again.

-------------

Chapter -- "The Spaces Between Sound"

(RIO POV)

The living room was lit only by the soft amber glow of the floor lamp and the dying embers of a long day. Hana was asleep between us on the couch, her legs flung across Daniel's lap, her head resting against my thigh like she had planned it that way. She had been out cold for over an hour, her thumb slipping from her mouth sometime after her third story. The rhythmic rise and fall of her chest felt like a metronome for the quiet we were keeping.

Daniel's hand brushed against mine. Not intentional. Not dramatic. Just a graze of fingertips. But it was enough. I didn't move. Neither did he. The silence between us held more than words could. It carried weeks of distance, a thousand unsent messages, and the ache of what it meant to be finally, finally home.

After a while, he lifted Hana carefully from the couch, cradling her with that familiar reverence like she was spun from light. I followed them down the hall, leaned against the doorway as he tucked her in, whispering something about stars and castles and how proud he was of her. Then he kissed her forehead and stepped back.

I reached for his hand.

This time, I didn't let go.

I led him down the hall to our room, fingers laced tight. No words. None needed. When the door clicked shut behind us, the space between our bodies vanished. The kiss came fast, urgent, searching. His hands threaded into my hair, mine slipped under his shirt. We didn't speak. We didn't need to. The silence from earlier had turned electric, the kind that hums with everything unsaid, the kind that only touch can answer.

We made love slowly at first, reverently. Then hungrily, like we were making up for every moment lost, every night apart, every breath we hadn't taken together. It wasn't perfect. It was better--raw and real and alive. We moved together like music we had written without knowing the notes, like a melody we remembered before we ever heard it. And when it ended, we stayed wrapped in each other, skin to skin, hearts still racing in tandem.

The next morning, sunlight spilled across the kitchen tile in soft gold. I was pouring coffee when Emiko strolled in, still in pajama shorts, hair in a messy bun, holding her phone like it had betrayed her.

She didn't even look up when she said, "I love you both dearly... but next time? Maybe invest in soundproofing."

The mug clinked hard against the counter as I choked on my laugh. My face went scarlet. Daniel, behind me, far too smug, just sipped his coffee and muttered, "Noted."

Emiko grinned as she opened the fridge. "Honestly, though? About time."

And maybe... she was right.

------

Text Message Chain -- Rio & Claire

March 30 -- 9:17 AM -- iMessage

Rio:

Hey Claire. I hope this isn't weird.

But... I need to ask.

What's going on at the school?

Rio:

Daniel's trying to stay calm, but I can see it in his eyes--

He doesn't know anything. Not really.

And they won't tell him because he's the one being investigated.

Claire:

Hi Rio.

It's not weird. I was honestly expecting to hear from you sooner.

Claire:

And yeah. You're right.

They're keeping it vague on purpose. Everyone's walking on eggshells.

Some of the faculty are scared to even say his name in the lounge. It's that bad.

Rio:

Jesus.

We've barely been home a day and I can already feel the tension bleeding into everything.

Is it true what they're saying? That a board member got involved?

Claire:

Yes.

It came from higher up. Not just the school.

The rumors went viral so fast, the district had no choice but to act.

Claire:

But it's more complicated than gossip. There are... politics.

And someone inside the school is pushing it harder than they should.

Rio:

You know who, don't you?

Claire:

I have my suspicions.

Let's just say, some people are very good at playing innocent until someone's watching.

Rio:

Can we meet?

I don't want to talk about this over text.

Claire:

Yeah. Of course.

I'll be at Fairhaven Coffee today around 1:30.

Back corner, near the windows.

Rio:

I'll be there.

Thank you, Claire. Really.

Claire:

You don't have to thank me.

Daniel's a good man. He deserves better than this.

So do you.

-------------

Chapter - "The Truth We Carried"

(CLAIRE POV)

The moment Rio stepped into Fairhaven Coffee, the whole place seemed to take a breath.

She wore jeans, white sneakers, and an oversized slate-gray hoodie that hung slightly off one shoulder. Her hair was pulled into a low ponytail, no makeup except maybe a swipe of tinted balm, and still, somehow, she looked like a magazine cover waiting to happen. It wasn't fair. She looked casual and still managed to glow.

Two baristas behind the counter lit up instantly.

"Rio!" one of them called, voice warm. "You want the usual?"

She smiled. Not her stage smile. The real one.

"Yes, please," she said, brushing a hand across her ponytail as she scanned the room and spotted me.

I stood. Part of me expected frost. A polite nod. Maybe even that quiet distance people use when they know too much. But Rio's eyes softened as she approached. She pulled me into a brief, genuine hug.

"Thanks for meeting me," she said, sitting across from me at the corner table.

I nodded, still slightly disarmed. "Of course. I'm glad you reached out."

Once the coffee arrived, hers iced, mine hot, I got down to it.

"Here's what I know," I said. "The investigation is real. And it's focused on your history with Daniel. Specifically, the fact that you were once his student."

Rio didn't flinch. She just nodded, calmly.

"I figured as much."

She looked down for a moment, fingers lightly tracing the edge of her cup. Then, slowly, she spoke.

"I was sixteen when we met. I was already performing, already juggling music and school, but I'd never had anyone tell me to own my voice before. He didn't care about my fame. He cared about my words. I fell for him. Quietly. Painfully. But he never crossed a line."

I didn't interrupt. Just listened.

"After the festival, when everything collapsed, I left it all behind. I walked away from tours, from money, from my future. I spent a year searching for him. I was legal, yes. But he still kept his distance. Months passed before he even admitted how he felt. And only after I chose him."

As if on cue, the door swung open again. Emiko.

She spotted us and strode over, sliding into the seat beside Rio without hesitation.

"Hi. I'm Emiko," she said, sticking out a hand. "Best friend. Occasional co-conspirator. Backup singer when I've had wine."

I shook her hand, a smile tugging at my lips despite myself.

"Everything she just told you," Emiko said, looking me square in the eye, "it's all true. I was there. He didn't even hug her until she practically short-circuited from waiting. He was so careful it was annoying. Months of letters. Long walks. Nothing physical. Just... heartbreakingly patient."

She paused, squinting.

"Hang on. I forgot something."

Emiko pulled out her phone, scrolled for a moment, and then tapped open an email.

"Here," she said, turning it toward me. "From Ms. Takahashi, well, Mrs. Naoko now. She was our teacher back then. She wrote a reference letter to the agency about Rio's decision to leave the industry and confirmed Daniel's behavior. Protective. Distant. Professional."

I read it. Every word lined up with what Rio and Emiko had just said.

When I finished, I looked up.

"Thank you," I said softly.

We stood a few minutes later, finishing our drinks and gathering bags. As we stepped toward the door, Emiko turned to me and said,

"You know... I can see why Daniel liked you. And why Rio was jealous."

I blinked. "Jealous?"

Emiko shrugged, grinning.

"You're smart. You're gorgeous. You've got the kind of intensity that makes people nervous. It's a vibe."

I laughed, shaking my head, but her words stayed with me. Rio Noda. Jealous of me.

I sat in my car afterward, staring at my reflection in the rearview mirror for a moment. Then I pulled out my notes. Everything I'd observed. Patterns of staffroom gossip. Jodie's behavior, escalating and targeted. My own conversations. The way the rumor started and where it kept getting fed.

And that afternoon, I walked into Principal Howard's office.

I placed the folder on his desk.

"This is what I've found," I said. "Daniel Poole is a good man. And it's time the school remembered that."

-------------

Chapter -- "The Call That Changed the Tempo"

(Principal Howard POV)

I closed the office door and locked it behind me, more out of habit than caution. The folder Claire had left sat open on my desk, organized, thorough, damning in its own quiet way. Testimonies. Email records. Gossip timelines. And the clincher: a signed letter from a former faculty member who had witnessed the entirety of Daniel Poole and Rio Noda's early interactions and confirmed exactly what Daniel had always claimed.

No impropriety. No inappropriate contact.

Just distance. Integrity. Restraint.

I exhaled slowly and picked up the phone.

The superintendent answered on the second ring. "Howard."

"Dr. Inoue," I said, my voice even, "we need to talk. About Daniel Poole."

A pause. "You calling to tell me he's resigning?"

"No," I said firmly. "I'm calling to tell you the allegations are unfounded. And I have proof."

Another pause. "Proof?"

"I've been handed documented confirmation from multiple sources. One includes a written statement from a former teacher in Tokyo. Another outlines clear evidence that the relationship between Mr. Poole and Ms. Noda didn't begin until long after she graduated. What's more, there are staff members here fueling these rumors with personal agendas. It's all in the report."

I could hear him shifting in his chair. "This better be solid, Howard."

"It is. And if we don't act fast, we're going to be the district that suspended a beloved teacher based on a whisper campaign, one that's already unraveling. The story's hit global outlets. The longer he stays suspended, the worse we look. You know how this plays in the press."

Dr. Inoue sighed, long and sharp. "Send it all to my office. Now. I'll expedite a review with the board and legal. If it holds up, we'll rescind the suspension and issue a correction by week's end."

"Understood," I said, already reaching for the scanner. "I'll have it in your inbox within the hour."

"Howard?" he added before hanging up.

"Yes?"

"If this is what you say it is, then Daniel Poole deserves more than just reinstatement."

"I know," I said quietly. "And I intend to make that right, too."

------

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

Bellingham School District Issues Statement Regarding Daniel Poole Investigation

April 2, 20XX

Bellingham, WA

The Bellingham School District is issuing the following statement in response to the recent investigation regarding Mr. Daniel Poole, a veteran English teacher at Bellingham High School and husband of international recording artist Rio Noda (Poole):

Following a formal review of the allegations concerning Mr. Poole's past teaching position at Shirogane High School in Tokyo, Japan, the District has determined that the claims in question are entirely without merit. Multiple corroborated statements, timeline documentation, and written testimony from former colleagues have confirmed that Mr. Poole conducted himself with the utmost professionalism and integrity during his tenure abroad.

The relationship between Mr. Poole and Ms. Noda began well after her leaving school and was rooted in a deep mutual respect formed over time and distance. The investigation found no evidence of misconduct, nor any violation of policy or professional boundaries at any point in Mr. Poole's career.

The Bellingham School District deeply regrets the distress this process has caused Mr. Poole, his family, and our school community. The decision to place him on administrative leave was made out of an abundance of caution, in accordance with standard procedure, and not as a presumption of guilt.

We recognize the profound impact that public speculation can have on educators, and we remain committed to protecting both student well-being and staff integrity. Mr. Poole has been reinstated to his full teaching duties effective immediately, and we look forward to his continued contributions to our students and our academic community.

We thank the individuals who came forward to ensure the truth was heard and reaffirm our belief that transparency, fairness, and trust remain the pillars of public education.

For media inquiries, please contact:

Office of Communications

Bellingham School District

(555) 555-5555

-------------

Chapter -- "The Applause I Didn't Ask For"

(DANIEL POV)

When Principal Howard said he wanted to "welcome me back properly," I assumed that meant a nod in the hallway or maybe a group email. Not this. Not balloons taped to the walls of the staff lounge, not a table with cupcakes and Costco fruit platters, not the entire English department clapping when I walked through the door like I'd just returned from battle.

It was awkward. Kind. But awkward.

I managed a small smile and a half-wave, the kind you give when you're not sure if you're grateful or just stunned. Someone, Ms. Summers I think, handed me a paper plate and murmured, "I'm really sorry, Daniel. I should've known better." Others followed, a chorus of quiet apologies, shoulder squeezes, and regretful glances. None of it performative, not exactly, just people trying to make up for the space they gave to doubt.

The only person not there was Jodie.

I thanked myself for small miracles.

I worked my way through the crowd, fielding offers for coffee and lunch and classroom supplies like I was a first-year teacher again. And just as I finally found a moment to breathe, she appeared.

Claire.

She stood a little apart from the others, arms folded loosely, expression unreadable. When I walked over, she didn't move at first. She just let me come to her.

"Hey," I said.

"Hey," she replied. Then, after a beat, "You look... tired."

I chuckled. "I feel like someone ironed me flat."

She gave a soft smile, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "I'm glad you're back."

"Claire," I said, tone softening, "I heard what you did. What you found. What you gave Howard. Thank you. You didn't have to get involved, and--"

"I did," she said, cutting me off gently. "Because it was the right thing to do. But Daniel... can I be honest with you?"

I nodded.

She looked me in the eyes, calm but serious. "I believe you. I always did. I know you're a good man. And I know your relationship with Rio didn't break any rules. But that doesn't mean it didn't bend something. You were her teacher. That power dynamic, even if it wasn't intentional, it existed. And maybe you didn't cross a line, but you were standing close enough that someone else could trip over it later."

Her words weren't cruel. They weren't angry. They were just honest.

And they landed.

I looked down at my coffee, suddenly unsure what to say.

Claire reached out and touched my arm, briefly, gently. "You're allowed to be happy, Daniel. Truly. I just hope you never stop thinking about the weight that kind of influence carries. Because not everyone who looks up to you is Rio."

She turned and walked away before I could reply.

For the rest of the afternoon, her words echoed louder than any of the applause.

Claire's words clung to me like fog in my lungs.

All through seventh period. All the way home. All through dinner, while Hana chattered about airplanes and sticker books and something she called "ramen science." Even while Rio smiled and nodded, doing her best to be present despite the exhaustion in her shoulders, I was somewhere else, back in Room 212, watching the way the girls in my senior English class smiled a second too long when I passed their desks. The subtle tilt of their questions. The way compliments were always couched in comparisons.

Claire was right.

I hadn't crossed a line. But that didn't mean the line hadn't been there, etched quietly in the carpet between desk and lectern, thin as a verse you don't see coming.

And Rio... Rio had walked into my classroom all those years ago and carried with her the gravity of someone I'd already loved and lost.

That night, after Hana was asleep and Emiko was deep in a documentary about Pacific Northwest birds (she swore she was taking notes), Rio and I curled up on the couch, her head tucked against my chest, my arm wrapped loosely around her. The world was quiet again. Safe.

So I said it.

"Rio... when you walked into my classroom all those years ago," I began, my voice lower than I meant it to be, "I saw someone else."

She didn't move, but I felt her breath hitch just slightly. "Who?"

"Stacy."

The name dropped like a stone.

I swallowed. "You reminded me of what I lost... not in your voice, but in your light. You were bright in a way I hadn't let myself see in years. You laughed without apology. You felt everything. I didn't mean to use you as a stand-in. But I think part of me was still grieving, and you were... hope. And I clung to it."

Rio sat up slowly, just enough to meet my eyes. There was no accusation in hers. No anger. Just something softer. Something heavier.

"I wasn't whole either," she said. "I thought I was. I told myself I was. But I was looking for something too. We found each other in pieces." Her hand moved to rest over my heart. "But we built something real from them."

I reached up and cradled her face in my hands. "I love you," I said, the words clearer than any vow I'd ever made. "Not a memory. Not a ghost. Just you. Always you."

She leaned into the touch, her forehead pressing gently to mine.

And in the hush between heartbeats, the past finally loosened its grip.

We didn't speak again for a while.

We didn't need to.

-------------

Journal Entry -- April 3

(RIO POV)

"Some ghosts don't rattle chains or slam doors. Some just linger in the quiet, between breaths, between kisses, between the names we whisper in sleep."

-- R. N.

Daniel told me the truth last night.

Not a big, dramatic confession. Not the kind of thing that belongs in a breakup song or some tragic bridge in a ballad. But something softer. Harder, somehow. He said when he first saw me, back then when I was just a transfer student with too many lyrics in the margins of her homework, he saw Stacy. His first wife. His heartbreak. His silence.

He said I reminded him of what he'd lost.

Not in my voice, but in my light.

And it cut deeper than I thought it would.

I don't blame him. I really don't. That grief was part of who he was, who he is. And I'm the one who chased him across oceans, remember? The girl who left a tour behind because she couldn't bear to sing to anyone but him. I knew his story. I chose it. I married the man who had already lost once, knowing I could never erase that chapter.

But... it still hurts.

And I hate that it does.

I feel childish, jealous of a ghost. Of a woman who died too young, who never got to grow old with him, who deserved every ounce of his mourning. She was good. She was kind. He told me that once, she taught love like it was her native language. How can I ever be angry at someone who gave him the capacity to love me the way he does?

Still, there's a quiet ache in knowing there's a part of his heart that will never be mine.

And maybe that's okay.

Because I know, I know, that Daniel loves me for me. For Rio. For the girl who sings too loud in the kitchen and cries during ramen commercials. He doesn't look at me and see her anymore. He looks at me and sees home.

But that doesn't mean I don't still feel the shadow sometimes.

It just means I've decided to let it walk beside me, instead of trying to outrun it.

Because even if I'll never be the first woman he loved...

I get to be the last.

And that, I think, is enough.

-------------

Chapter - "The Other Women"

(RIO POV)

I arrived at the school just before lunch, slipping through the side entrance with a visitor badge clipped to my hoodie and a tote bag full of poetry entries tucked under my arm. I was here to announce the winner of Daniel's writing contest, his idea of course. "If they know you're reading, they'll write like it matters," he had said with that small, conspiratorial smile of his. But before heading to his classroom, I spotted someone through the glass of the adjacent room.

Claire.

She was at her desk, flipping through papers with a red pen in hand and that focused furrow between her brows. I only had a few minutes, but something pulled at me, an unfinished line, a note left hanging. So I knocked once and slipped inside.

She looked up, startled. "Rio?"

I smiled. "Hi. I just... wanted to say thank you."

Claire blinked, setting her pen down. "For what?"

"For being honest," I said. "For standing up for Daniel. For telling the truth when it would've been easier to just stay quiet." I hesitated, then added, "And I wanted to tell you something else. About Stacy."

Claire tilted her head slightly, curious but cautious. I sat down on the edge of the empty desk across from her and exhaled.

"I'm jealous of her," I said. "I know that's ridiculous. She's gone. And she's... part of him. But when Daniel told me that I reminded him of her, it cut deeper than I expected. Not because I was angry. But because... she got to be first. And a part of him will always belong to her."

Claire's eyes widened, and then she laughed softly, almost sadly. "I was jealous of you," she said. "Isn't that ridiculous? I used to think if I'd just met him sooner, maybe I would've had a chance."

I smiled, surprised by the warmth that bloomed in my chest. "Maybe we're both just terrible at being the other woman."

We laughed, and it felt like something light cracked open between us. Claire leaned forward slightly. "Would you... want to get coffee sometime? I mean, without any ghosts between us?"

I grinned. "I'd love that."

The bell rang in the distance, and I glanced at the clock. "I should go find Daniel. Poetry waits for no girl." I stood and slung the tote bag over my shoulder.

Claire stood too, smiling. "If you're still around after school, swing by. I owe you a coffee and a story."

I nodded, walking toward the door with something I didn't expect to leave this school with--a new friend.

-------------

Chapter -- "Applause and Chaos"

(DANIEL POV)

"Alright," I said, standing at the front of the room as my students squirmed in their seats, their eyes flicking between me and the door like a surprise might burst through it any second. "I know what you're all waiting for."

They perked up, some tried to act cool about it, others outright grinned.

"I've read every submission. They were raw, honest, and powerful. Choosing a winner wasn't easy, so I didn't."

That's when the door opened.

Right on cue, Rio stepped in like she owned the moment. She wore jeans, a faded sweatshirt, her hair in a ponytail and sunglasses perched on top of her head like some undercover celebrity version of herself. She gave a quick, warm wave. The room erupted.

"Alright!" I clapped my hands. "Settle down!"

They barely listened.

Rio just smiled, slid the tote bag off her shoulder, and walked to the front of the room beside me like we had rehearsed it. She leaned in, kissed me on the cheek, and that got a chorus of oooohs, then turned to the class.

"Okay," she said, her voice calm but commanding. "Let's get to it."

She read through the runners-up first, complimenting their lines, their imagery, their courage. Then she pulled a small envelope from her back pocket and tapped it once against the desk.

"But the piece that stayed with me, the one that haunted me in the best way, came from someone who barely spoke but wrote like a thunderstorm."

I knew who it was before she said it. So did the girl sitting third row, second from the left. The one who kept her sleeves too long and her voice too soft.

Rio looked right at her.

"The winner," she said, "is Mia Jansen."

Mia blinked like she hadn't heard her name before. The class let out a collective what?! Rio nodded, grinning.

"Her words reminded me of what it felt like to try and find my voice in a world that told me I was too quiet, too young, too much or not enough. So... I wrote a song based on her paper. And I'll be singing it at my next concert."

The room went dead quiet. For half a second.

Then,

"WHAT?!"

"NO WAY."

"YOU'RE JOKING."

"DID SHE JUST SAY--"

Rio held up a hand, laughing. "And yes, I'm planning a performance here. At your school. This class? You'll have front row seats."

They exploded again. Desks shook. Phones were already halfway out of pockets.

"Settle down!" I called, barely containing a laugh. "Seriously!"

Rio leaned in, eyes twinkling. "You were right. They're louder than stadium crowds."

I smiled. "Takes one to know one."

Then, without warning, she kissed me. Really kissed me. Right in front of twenty-five hormonal teenagers and a cracked whiteboard with a Neruda quote still half-erased.

The classroom lost it.

Rio just winked, grabbed her bag, and strolled out like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And for once, I didn't mind the chaos.

I kind of loved it.

-------------

Chapter - "What About Jodie"

(RIO POV)

I didn't expect to like Claire this much. Sitting across from her at a small café just a few blocks from the school, sipping iced coffee and watching the late afternoon light slip through the window, it felt... easy. Calmer than I thought it would. The way she listened, really listened, reminded me of Daniel. That same stillness. That same thoughtful weight behind her words. I understood now why he once let her close. She had a warmth to her that didn't come with an agenda.

"I'm glad you reached out," Claire said, stirring her drink absently. "I wasn't sure how this would go."

"Honestly? I thought we'd either sit in silence or accidentally start a public shouting match," I admitted with a grin.

She laughed, then sobered slightly. "But here we are. Civility and caffeine."

The silence that followed wasn't awkward. It was thoughtful. Until Claire leaned in slightly and said, "Can I ask you something? About the rumor. The one about Daniel."

I nodded. "Go ahead."

Claire lowered her voice, even though the café was mostly empty. "It came from someone inside the school. A teacher. Her name's Jodie Rees."

I blinked. "Who?"

"She teaches psychology. Pretty new. Smart. Polished. But... not subtle. She's been circling Daniel since the day she got hired. It was flirty at first, then persistent. He's always kind about it, too kind if you ask me, but he's never engaged. Not once."

My chest tightened. "And she's the one who spread this?"

Claire nodded. "Started planting seeds in the staff lounge. Took the truth and twisted it just enough to make it sound ugly. She used your relationship like a weapon." She hesitated. "I think she thought if she made you look like a scandal, she could step in as the solution."

I sat back in my chair, heart pounding. My hands curled slightly around the paper cup. "So she tried to destroy his reputation to win his affection?" I laughed, but there was no humor in it. "That's not a crush. That's sabotage."

Claire's lips tightened. "I know. And I hate that it got traction. But now that we know, we can do something."

I looked out the window, then back at her. "Then let's. Because if she wants to play games with my husband's life, she's about to learn what happens when I stop being nice."

-------------

Chapter -- "Unlikely Alliances"

(CLAIRE POV)

I never expected to be sitting in a coffee shop scheming with Rio Noda. But here we were, two women linked by the same man, bonded now by something more complicated than jealousy or timing: justice.

Rio had fire behind her eyes, even when she smiled. Not the kind that burned out of control. No, hers was focused. Controlled. Sharp. It reminded me of why she had once captured an entire nation's attention. But right now, she wasn't a pop idol. She was a woman in love, furious that someone had tried to poison that love from the inside.

"She used me," I said, stirring what was left of my lukewarm chai. "Played off my history with Daniel. Waited until the hallway was just quiet enough to plant the doubt."

Rio nodded slowly. "She's not the first to manipulate a narrative to feel powerful. But she's not going to be the last either, unless we put a stop to it."

We tossed out a few ideas at first, half-jokes meant to bleed off the steam. An anonymous letter slipped into the staff lounge, dramatic hallway confrontations, a full-blown diss track Rio could probably write before the espresso finished pulling. But then the conversation got more focused. Smarter. Strategic.

"She wants attention," Rio said. "So we don't give it to her directly. We reroute it. Elevate truth louder than her whispers."

"And highlight her behavior without ever saying her name," I added, the old academic in me already composing lesson-plan metaphors. "Call attention to the pattern. Let the faculty connect the dots."

"She doesn't get a spotlight," Rio said. "Just a mirror."

We smiled at the same time. It was eerie. And kind of perfect.

I looked at her over the rim of my mug, finally asking what I hadn't been brave enough to until now. "You're not afraid of her?"

Rio tilted her head, that soft ponytail swinging slightly. "I sang for ten thousand people before I was old enough to vote. I survived press scandals, burnout, and a record label that tried to erase my name from my own songs. Jodie Rees doesn't scare me."

She grinned, then added, "But she's sure as hell going to regret coming after someone I love."

And I believed her.

For the first time since this started, I actually believed everything might turn out okay.

-------------

Chapter - "Revenge of Rio"

(JODIE POV)

At first, I thought I was imagining it. The way the conversations in the staff lounge would dip in volume the moment I walked in. How the smiles faded just a half-second too soon. It wasn't overt. No one said anything. But silence can be deafening. And after a week of this strange, quiet shift in the air, I couldn't ignore it anymore. The side glances. The forced politeness. The distance. I used to be the one people came to for advice, for a laugh, for the truth they weren't brave enough to say out loud.

Now, they looked at me like I was contagious.

On Thursday, it finally cracked. I walked into the lounge and found three teachers clustered by the coffee machine. They stopped talking as I approached. I stared at them, heart pounding, until I couldn't take it anymore.

"What's going on?" I demanded. "Why is everyone treating me like I started a fire?"

No one answered. Until Ms. Summers set her mug down a little harder than necessary and said, "Because you did, Jodie. You lit the match and threw it at someone who didn't deserve it. All because a married man didn't want you."

The air drained out of the room.

I laughed, sharp, hollow, defensive. "Oh, come on. So now I'm the villain? He led me on! He flirted. He never said no. He just... he strung me along and then picked her. Like I was some kind of consolation prize." I could feel the venom in my voice now, raw and rising. "Why does he get to walk back into applause? Why does she get the fairytale ending?"

I didn't realize I was crying until I wiped furiously at my cheek.

That's when Principal Howard walked in. He didn't raise his voice, didn't even frown. He just said, "Ms. Rees. My office. Now."

I sat in his office for what felt like an hour. Just breathing. Trying to collect myself. He said nothing until I did. Then he folded his hands and said calmly, "It would be best if you took a few days off."

I opened my mouth. "But--"

He raised one hand. "Don't say something you'll regret."

So I left, still burning, still shaking. And that's when I saw them.

Claire and Rio, standing by my car.

Claire had her arms folded, calm but firm. Rio looked like fury dressed in denim and designer boots. Her eyes met mine and she took two steps forward, fire practically rolling off her.

"You had no right," she said. Her voice wasn't raised, but it hit like thunder. "To take your rejection and turn it into a witch hunt. Daniel is a good man. He gave you nothing but distance, and you turned it into something vile. You tried to ruin his life."

I tried to talk. "You don't understand, I--"

"No," she cut me off. "You don't. He loved me even when I didn't know how to love myself. He waited for me for months when he could have walked away. He earned every bit of his life, and you tried to poison it."

She stopped, breath shaking, and looked to Claire like she might say more. Instead, she stepped back, controlled again.

That's when I turned to Claire, eyes stinging. "How can you take her side? You love him. I know you do. Don't you want her out of the way?"

Claire met my gaze without flinching. "I loved him," she said softly. "But if it was meant to be, it would have been. It wasn't. He chose Rio. And he was right to."

I choked on a response, but nothing came.

Claire's voice didn't soften. "Let it go, Jodie. Whatever you thought was going to happen, isn't. Leave him alone."

Rio stepped forward one last time, her voice low. "If you ever bother Daniel again, I won't be this polite."

And then they walked away.

Leaving me frozen, alone, and surrounded by the shattered pieces of a story I never got to be part of.

-------------

Chapter - "Her Voice Again"

(RIO POV)

I waited until Hana was asleep, curled between us with one leg draped across Daniel like a claim of ownership. The night was quiet, wrapped in soft lamplight and the scent of lemon tea. I turned to him, heart hammering the way it used to before I stepped on stage. Not fear exactly, just the knowledge that what I was about to say might shift the ground beneath us.

"I want to go back," I said softly.

Daniel's brow lifted, eyes searching mine. "Back?"

"To the stage," I clarified. "To Japan. Not for the spotlight. Not for the charts. But for me. For my voice." I took a deep breath, letting it settle between us. "Kaori reached out. She wants me to return, to perform again. And after everything that's happened here, the story's already made its way to Japan. The rumors. The truth. Our names."

He stayed quiet, the weight of his silence pressing gently against my chest.

"I owe them something," I continued. "The fans who waited, who believed in me even after I left. I want to tell them the truth. About you. About us. Not through a PR statement, but in my own voice. I want to do an interview. A concert. One night. One story. Our story."

Daniel leaned back, rubbing his jaw, always thoughtful when I needed him to be. I could see the worry behind his eyes, not for himself, but for me. He had always carried his fear like a secret, only letting it show in the pauses between reassurances.

"You know I want to say no," he said finally, voice low. "Because the world hasn't always been kind to you. And part of me wants to keep you safe here, with quiet mornings, bedtime songs, and family dinners. But..." He smiled, small and full of pride. "I know what this means to you. I'd never try to take that away."

I reached for his hand, relief washing over me. "You'll be okay with Hana?"

"Of course," he said. "We'll build more sticker castles and draw new kingdoms. And since I can't be there, I know Emiko will watch over you like a hawk in designer boots."

I laughed, leaning in to kiss him, lingering just long enough to feel the peace behind his support.

Daniel squeezed my hand. "Go," he whispered. "Shine." Then, after a beat, he added, "I'll be here when the curtain falls."

And I knew he would. Always.

Still, love didn't cancel responsibilities. I waited until Hana was tucked into bed before pulling out my laptop. A few quick messages to Kaori, a call to my agent to smooth over the headlines, and a late-night flight booked before I could talk myself out of it. Japan wasn't finished with me yet, and if I was going back, I was going back on my terms. One more trip, one more fight to settle.

Daniel pulled the car to the curb with that familiar ease, his hand lingering on the gear shift like he didn't want to let go. I looked at him, memorizing the lines around his eyes, the gentle crease of worry he always tried to hide when I left. Hana had drawn a sticker-covered picture for me that morning, our family in front of a giant microphone, and it was folded neatly in my bag. I was taking a piece of them with me. But God, it still felt like I was leaving something behind.

Daniel turned to Emiko, who was uncharacteristically quiet in the back seat. "Come back soon," he said, offering her a rare, genuine smile.

She beamed. "Thank you, Sensei," she replied carefully in English, still a little stiff but clear. "I would love to come back someday."

We stepped out into the hum of the departures terminal, and I could feel it almost immediately, the shift in the air. The subtle, electric crackle of recognition. Cameras not raised yet, but ready. Eyes darting. Phones coming out of pockets. Emiko slipped on her sunglasses like a seasoned bodyguard and gave me a subtle nod.

"Showtime," she murmured.

We made our way to the international gate, a dance I remembered too well. I smiled politely at a few fans who approached, posed for one quick picture with a teen who was nearly shaking, and kept moving. I wasn't ungrateful. But I wasn't ready for the weight yet, either.

First class was calm, tucked away from the noise, and Kim, one of the flight attendants I'd met on a previous trip, greeted me at the cabin entrance with a bright grin.

"Rio! It's so good to see you again. No Hana this time?"

I smiled, settling into my seat. "She's staying home with Daddy. This trip's just me and my best girl."

Kim winked. "He's a brave man. We'll take good care of you."

The rest of the flight passed in a blur of clouds and soft conversation. Emiko dozed after the meal, a blanket pulled up to her chin and earbuds in. I watched a movie I barely followed, my thoughts drifting toward Tokyo, the stage waiting, the truth I was ready to sing, and the man I'd be flying home to.

Every mile felt lighter than the last. Because this time, I wasn't flying to escape.

I was flying to reclaim.

-------------

Chapter - "The Fan Song"

(EMIKO POV)

It was well past midnight when the melody finally settled.

Rio sat cross-legged on my floor, hoodie sleeves rolled up, her guitar resting on her knee like it was part of her ribcage. My keyboard was balanced on a crate beside a pile of lyric drafts, sticky notes, and two empty cartons of convenience store yakisoba. The Tokyo skyline blinked faintly behind the windows, but neither of us looked out. We were looking in.

We weren't writing a hit tonight. No label demands. No commercial hooks. Just a song. For them. For the R-Notes, the fans who'd stayed through the silence, who lit up message boards and sent postcards and wore Rio's old tour shirts to karaoke bars just hoping someone else would recognize the print. The girls who kept listening even when Rio wasn't singing.

And somewhere in the middle of the bridge, just after Rio hummed a variation that felt like a heartbeat, I realized we weren't just writing for them.

We were writing for us, too.

I tapped out a progression, quiet and gentle, and Rio leaned in to meet it with a line that sounded like breath. Her voice cracked halfway through the chorus, not from strain, but something deeper. Something raw. I didn't say anything. I just added the next line, like patching a wound with harmony.

By the time we reached the final chorus, I couldn't sing. I just sat there, clutching the lyric sheet, tears streaming down my cheeks like some rookie fan at her first Rio Dome concert. Rio looked over, eyes wide with concern.

"This feels like us," I whispered. "The girls behind the glass. Watching the stage. Waiting for someone to sing the words we didn't know we needed."

Rio reached across the blanket nest and took my hand. "Then we sing it for them now," she said. "And for the versions of us that needed it back then."

We didn't finish the demo that night. We didn't need to. We had the heart of it.

The rest would come in the morning. But the healing?

That started now.

-------------

Chapter - "The Meeting"

(MAKO POV)

I walked into Kaori's office like it was a battlefield. My heels were sharp, sunglasses darker than necessary, smile just fake enough to keep the world guessing. The room was all glass and power, but I'd been here before. I knew how to play this game. I crossed my arms and leaned against the chair without sitting.

"So now you want to save me?" I said, my voice cold, cutting.

Rio was sitting across from me, calm as ever. Emiko stood nearby with her usual messy bun and that quietly annoying warmth that made you feel like she saw through your walls before you even knew you had them. Kaori just gestured toward the chair like this was all routine.

"Just hear them out," she said.

I didn't move. "I don't need a redemption arc. I need people to listen to me and not treat me like some broken side plot in Rio's comeback special."

Emiko stepped forward, not fast, not loud, just... sure.

"I used to feel like that too," she said, voice low but steady. "I spent years standing next to Rio, wondering if I was anything without her glow. Not because she made me feel small, but because I didn't believe I could be anything more."

That stopped me. My mouth opened, closed. I didn't know what I expected, maybe a lecture, maybe pity, but not that.

Rio looked at me then, softer than I wanted her to.

"Mako... I'm not here to reclaim the spotlight. I'm here because I want to share it. Your voice matters. Your story matters. This next song," she glanced at Emiko, then back at me, "it's a duet. Me and you. Onstage. Together."

I felt the words settle somewhere deep in my chest, right between the fear and the hunger. Part of me wanted to reject it out of spite. But a quieter part, the part that still remembered watching her on TV when I was a kid, that part wanted to believe her.

I sat down.

"Okay," I said, my voice quieter now. "But if we do this, it's our story. Not just yours."

Rio smiled, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I let myself smile back.

Maybe I wasn't a ghost in her shadow.

Maybe I was finally stepping into my own light.

-------------

Chapter - "The Dome"

(RIO POV)

The lights dimmed, and for a moment, there was only breath. Forty thousand people holding it, waiting. Not screaming, not chanting, just waiting. The kind of silence that only the Tokyo Dome could hold. I stepped into the spotlight with my heart in my throat and my past stitched into every lyric I was about to sing.

The first note rang out like a promise.

I opened with the song Emiko and I had written for the R-Notes, the fan song. It wasn't about flash or choreography or polished perfection. It was about home. My voice shook on the second verse, not from nerves but from the weight of being back, fully and completely. When the chorus came, the crowd sang it with me like they had always known the words, like they had been waiting for me to come home and bring it with me.

And then, just before the final chorus, I turned toward the wings and extended my hand.

Mako stepped out onto the stage like she belonged there. Because she did.

The crowd erupted. A different kind of roar, one of surprise and recognition. She didn't play it coy. She didn't posture. She just walked toward me, took my hand, and we sang. The song we had written, the one that told our story. Every note was raw. Every harmony imperfect and real. I watched her as we sang, her voice steady, her expression open. The bitterness she once wore like armor had cracked wide open.

And she shone. God, she shone.

By the end, when the last note faded and the crowd surged with applause that shook the floor beneath us, Mako turned to me. And for the first time, not just tonight but maybe ever, she smiled. No smirk. No shield. Just a girl who had finally stopped running from her reflection.

Backstage, the cameras waited. So did Kaori. The team. The noise. But before we reached them, Mako stopped me in the hall. Wordless, she pulled me into a hug--tight, grounding, real.

No press.

No ego.

Just truth.

And in that quiet moment, I realized the stage hadn't just brought me back to myself.

It had brought her to herself too.

-------------

Chapter - "A Chorus of Two"

(MAKO POV)

Two weeks after the Dome, my single climbed back into the charts.

Not to the top, but it didn't need to. It was steady, and more importantly, it was mine. The streams rose, the comments changed. Less about Rio, more about me. You sound different here. This feels like the real you. It was the first time I'd heard those words without a layer of criticism wrapped around them.

But I knew the truth now: I'm good.

Rio is great.

That truth used to sting. It used to make me want to claw my way into her spotlight and twist it until it shone on me. But after the duet, after feeling what it was like to stand beside her and not behind her, I realized I didn't need her shadow.

I had my own voice. Different. Honest. A little rough around the edges.

But real.

So when Kaori floated the idea of a tour, I didn't hesitate. I walked straight into her office, slid the press sheet across her desk, and said, "I want to open for Rio." Kaori's brow arched, probably expecting something more dramatic from me. I didn't give it to her. Just the truth. "Let me grow into the artist I'm becoming."

And then, this part surprised even me, I texted Emiko.

Hey. Want to write my next single?

She responded three minutes later: Only if you let me make it weird.

I grinned. "Deal."

We had all changed. Not overnight. Not cleanly. But slowly, like melody layered over rhythm until it becomes something new. Something whole.

A chorus of two.

And maybe, one day, three.

-------------

Chapter - "The World Asks for More"

(EMIKO POV)

By the time we pulled out of Osaka, the hashtags had already exploded. #RNOTES and #ComebackRio were trending in twenty-six countries. Fancams from the Dome were being edited into fan art, lyric overlays, and emotional mash-ups set to her old songs. One girl on TikTok cried while watching the duet. Another posted a clip with the caption, "She found her voice and gave us ours back too."

I watched the madness from the back of the tour bus, legs curled beneath me and a mug of overpriced highway rest stop coffee in hand. The kind of moment I used to dream about from the second row of Rio's old concerts. Except this time, I wasn't watching through a screen.

I was in it.

Rio sat across from me, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands, no makeup, her face turned toward the passing blur of countryside outside the window. She looked peaceful. That rare kind of peace that comes after a storm you weren't sure you'd survive.

"You ready for the world again?" I asked, voice soft, like I didn't want to disturb the quiet.

She turned to me and smiled. It wasn't bright or rehearsed. It was warm. Sure. "This time," she said, "they'll hear all of me."

I nodded, sipping my coffee. "Good. Because I've seen the setlist, and if you don't hit that high note in 'Gravity's Quiet,' the internet might revolt."

She laughed. "Remind me to practice. Or just have you sing it from the wings."

"Oh, no," I said, raising my hands. "I write the drama. I don't live it."

But deep down, I knew we both were living it now.

All of it.

Together.

The world was asking for more.

And finally, Rio was ready to give it.

-------------

Chapter - "A New Stage"

(DANIEL POV)

The stage lights flickered across the empty seats of the arena, soft golden halos sweeping over rows of quiet anticipation. Rio stood center stage, mic in hand, rehearsing the final chorus with Mako, both of them glowing and laughing between takes, their harmonies tighter than ever. I watched from the wings, arms crossed, heart full.

Hana sat on my shoulders, waving furiously at Emiko, who stood behind the soundboard pretending to conduct with an empty water bottle.

"Auntie Emi is being silly!" Hana shouted in my ear.

I grinned. "She usually is."

Emiko spotted us and waved back dramatically, sticking out her tongue for good measure. Hana squealed, practically bouncing, her little hands gripping my head for balance. I glanced back toward the stage. Rio caught my eye and smiled, soft and full of something I couldn't name. Something that felt like forever.

I turned to Emiko, who had come to stand beside me with a clipboard. "I think I'm done grading papers," I said.

She blinked. "Wait, what?"

I chuckled. "I'm resigning. No more lesson plans. No more endless staff meetings. I want to be part of this, really part of it. Her music. Our life. The story we're writing, onstage and off."

Later that night, after rehearsal, I told Rio in the quiet of the dressing room. She didn't cry. She didn't argue. She just pulled me into a kiss that stole the air from my lungs.

"You're my favorite encore," she whispered against my lips.

And right then, I knew this was the only stage I ever needed.

-------------

Chapter - "The Final Message"

(CLAIRE POV)

The classroom was quieter than I remembered. Dust danced in the sunlight slipping through the blinds, and the faint scent of whiteboard cleaner still lingered from last week's custodial sweep. I stood in the doorway for a moment, letting it wash over me--the hush, the familiarity, the absence. Daniel's classroom had always carried a certain gravity. Now it was just still.

It had been a week since his resignation took effect. The whispers had mostly died down. The staff had moved on. Students still asked about him, where he went, why he left, but I had learned how to answer without showing the pinch in my chest.

Then I looked up.

On the board, in his unmistakable handwriting and blue ink, was a single message:

"Thank you for always believing in voices--mine, theirs, and your own. Keep telling stories, Ms. Taylor. The quiet ones matter most."

--D. P.

It hit me harder than I expected.

I smiled, pressing my hand gently to the message, fingers ghosting over the familiar loops and lines. There was no need for grand farewells. Daniel had never been a man of spectacle. He left meaning behind like breadcrumbs, just enough to remind you he had been there. Just enough to remind you to keep going.

I stepped behind my desk, opened my lesson planner, and picked up my red pen.

There were stories left to teach. Voices still waiting to be found.

And I would be damned if I didn't help someone find theirs.

-------------

Epilogue -- A Quiet Life, Loud Love

(RIO POV)

It's funny how the noise settles.

For two years after everything, after the scandal, after the redemption, after the chaos, I gave the world the closure it asked for. Sold-out venues, late-night interviews, stadiums echoing with songs I once tucked away in notebooks too scared to finish. I sang every note, every chorus, with my whole heart, not because I had to but because I wanted to leave it all on my terms.

And I did.

Now, standing barefoot on the back deck of our house, I listen to a very different kind of music: the soft rustle of the tall pines, Hana's laughter drifting in from the garden, and Daniel's low hum as he flips burgers on the grill. Our home smells like cedarwood and fresh bread. The loudest thing around here is the wind chimes Claire gifted us last Christmas, purple glass and silver threads that catch the late summer light.

Daniel calls from the yard, "Little star, no more cartwheels near the tomatoes!"

Hana's giggles turn into full-blown belly laughs. She's nine now, all knees and sun-streaked hair, clever as Daniel and stubborn as me. She still sings sometimes, soft and to herself, but we never push. She's got time to figure out who she wants to be.

Me? I'm right where I want to be.

After two years on the road, I came home for good. I've traded arenas for living room singalongs, headlines for community music workshops. I play the occasional charity gig, sometimes drop in at the bookstore downtown, but most days, I'm just Rio. Daniel's wife, Hana's mom, an average woman with dirt under her nails and a houseplant problem.

Daniel didn't leave teaching. He cut back instead, turning his full-time job into a mentorship role. Now he teaches advanced writing classes and helps new teachers survive their first chaotic year. He's happier, less frayed at the edges, and watching him now, arguing with Hana about whether s'mores count as a food group, I realize how much more alive he looks away from the noise.

Claire's married now, five years strong. Rick is perfect for her. Steady, kind, a touch sarcastic in all the right ways. We grab lunch once a month, trade books, compare terrible bike injuries, and sometimes I tease her about how she got the last laugh after all. She calls me her "sanity buddy," and I call her the best non-sister I never knew I needed.

I hear the patio door slide open behind me. Daniel steps out, a spatula in one hand, his hair messier than it was ten minutes ago.

"Food's ready," he says, leaning in to kiss my cheek.

"Did you burn the corn?" I ask, smiling.

"Maybe," he says, grinning. "But I also didn't set the deck on fire, so... win."

We sit at the old picnic table with chipped paint, plates piled high, and Hana telling dramatic stories about her latest library adventure. Everything smells like summer, everything sounds like home.

There's no screaming crowd, no spotlights, just us.

And after everything I've sung, everything I've survived, I realize this is my favorite song.

Quiet.

Uncomplicated.

And full of love.

END

_______________

Notes from the Wyld:

Before I start rambling like a caffeinated raccoon with a keyboard, I want to give credit where credit is due. First and foremost, to Erica, my co-worker with a dangerous imagination. She said Rio and Daniel had more story to tell and came up with The Last Note. Second goes to Billy, who wrote all of Daniel's POV. The gravesite chapter was brutal in the best way. I choke up every time I read it, and I didn't even write it. Powerful stuff. Third, and definitely not least, to my one and only, my wife. She is my very own Furiosa. I don't know how I got this lucky, but I am not asking questions.

Originally, Erica wanted to self-publish her story, but there was one little problem. The Last Note is a sequel. People who haven't read When the Music Fades would probably be squinting at the page wondering who these emotionally damaged people are. So we made a trade. She gave me this story, and I agreed to help her with her love story. A deal is a deal, and now I'm contractually obligated to make her characters swoon.

Meanwhile, I decided Claire deserves some love, so I'm giving her a happy ending in a new story. On top of that, I've got a couple of other projects cooking. Just This Once is almost finished, and I really like where I took Rick. He actually gets a happy ending this time instead of nonstop emotional carnage.

Then there's the wild project based on how my son met his fiancée. It's one of the strangest real-life romances I've ever heard, complete with police body cam footage. My son asked me to write it as a gift, and my wife immediately said we're co-writing it because apparently, I need supervision when writing romance.

After that, I'm heading back to finish the sequel to Unwritten Orders. Basically, I've got more unfinished stories than Netflix has cancellations, but I'm getting through them one by one.

Buckle up, this writing train is moving, and I'm not hitting the brakes anytime soon.