The question came dressed as concern.
It always did.
Aria sat across from a host with perfect posture and empathetic eyes, studio lights softened just enough to suggest intimacy. The show was marketed as gentle. Safe. A place where difficult conversations were handled with care.
The audience clapped on cue.
The host smiled. "First of all, Aria, welcome back. Everyone's been talking about it."
"Everyone talks," Aria said pleasantly.
A ripple of laughter. The host nodded, encouraged.
"But some fans are wondering," she continued, voice warm, "isn't this all… a little soon?"
There it was.
Too soon to return.
Too soon to ask.
Too soon to remember.
Aria didn't answer immediately.
She looked at the camera instead. Not challenging. Not defensive. Present.
"Soon compared to what?" she asked.
The host blinked. "Well—your absence. The suddenness of it."
"Absence implies waiting," Aria replied. "I wasn't waiting."
A murmur moved through the studio.
The host recovered smoothly. "Of course. But people worry about pressure. About you being pushed before you're ready."
Aria tilted her head slightly. "Pushed by whom?"
Another pause.
"That's not what I meant," the host said quickly. "Just… the pace of things."
Aria smiled, kind but unyielding. "The pace isn't new. Only the direction is."
Applause followed—half genuine, half confused.
---
Backstage, a producer whispered to another, "She's not giving us anything."
"That is something," the other replied.
Noah waited near the exit, hands in pockets. "They tried to slow you."
"They tried to time me," Aria said. "There's a difference."
Her phone buzzed as they stepped outside.
A message from an unknown contact:
If you'd waited, this would've been easier.
She showed it to Noah.
He frowned. "That sounds like a warning."
"It's a complaint," she said. "Warnings come with consequences."
They walked past the press line without stopping. Cameras flashed anyway, desperate for reactions that didn't exist.
---
Later that night, clips from the interview circulated.
She's Rushing It.
She Seems Unprepared.
Or Maybe She's Finally Ready.
The debate split cleanly down expectation lines.
In a secure channel far from studios, a note was added beneath her profile.
Subject resists pacing protocols.
Adjustment required.
Aria sat on the balcony, city air cool against her skin, phone dark in her hand.
"Too soon," she repeated softly.
She smiled to herself.
The only people who complained about timing—
Were the ones who didn't control it anymore.