It's been months since Jeanna faded from his messages — months since he last saw her name glow on his screen. Yet somehow, her words lingered in his mind longer than the fame, the noise, or even the music he poured himself into.
Zane had grown used to hiding behind work. Every hour was filled — recording sessions, interviews, rehearsals. The stage lights were bright, but his heart felt dim.
One evening, as the team prepared for a shoot, the studio door opened quietly. A soft voice called out, "Zane, the director said they'll start in ten."
He turned.
There she was — Lyra, one of the company's new artists. She wasn't new to the scene, though. He'd seen her before, years ago — at an audition where she didn't make it. Back then, she had been just another dreamer with a notebook full of lyrics.
Now she stood there, script in hand, hair tied loosely, eyes focused but gentle.
"Oh, thanks," Zane said, grabbing a towel and sitting down. "You're… Lyra, right?"
She smiled faintly. "I was wondering how long it would take you to remember."
He chuckled. "Sorry. A lot of faces lately."
"No worries. You're Zane — everyone remembers you first," she teased lightly, then turned to leave.
Something about her tone made him pause. It wasn't fangirl admiration. It was… normal. Grounded. Like she wasn't talking to "Zane the celebrity," but to "Zane the man who looked a little too tired."
Over the next few weeks, they crossed paths often. Lyra had just been signed under his label — finally, after years of rejection. She was an actress-singer, the kind who didn't chase the spotlight but somehow shined anyway.
During one late-night practice, Zane found her alone in the recording booth, humming softly to a ballad.
"You're still here?" he asked, leaning on the doorway.
She jumped slightly. "Oh— I didn't see you. Yeah, I was just… fixing this part."
He listened for a moment. "That melody's beautiful. Did you write it?"
Lyra nodded, shyly brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "It's something I wrote for my dad, actually. I never got to sing it for him before he passed."
Zane's chest tightened. He hadn't expected that answer.
"I'm sorry," he murmured. "I… lost mine too, recently."
Silence lingered. A quiet understanding settled between them.
"I know," she said softly. "I saw the news. You were brave to still perform that night."
He looked down. "Brave or stupid, I'm not sure which."
Lyra smiled faintly. "Sometimes both mean the same thing."
That night, Zane didn't leave immediately. They talked — not as idol and trainee, but as two people who knew how loss felt. Lyra listened without judgment, without trying to cheer him up with shallow comfort. She just listened.
"You don't always have to look fine, you know," she said. "People expect you to be unshakable, but it's okay to fall apart sometimes."
Her words hit deeper than she probably realized.
Days turned into weeks. Whenever Zane arrived at the studio, he'd find her there — quietly practicing, laughing with the staff, occasionally leaving him small things like coffee or throat candy on his table. No fan letters, no dramatic gestures — just quiet presence.
He didn't say it aloud, but it mattered.
One afternoon, during a rehearsal break, his manager Kevin nudged him. "You've been smiling more lately. Something good happen?"
Zane smirked. "Maybe I just found a good song."
Kevin raised an eyebrow. "A song with a name, perhaps?"
Zane laughed it off, but deep inside, he knew. The melody that had been stuck in his head for days wasn't one of his own. It was the soft hum of Lyra's voice from that night.
And for the first time in a long while, he didn't feel alone when he wrote.
— The Hidden Melody
Months passed, and the bond between Zane and Lyra quietly grew — not in public, not under the flashing lights, but in the quiet corners of the studio.
They didn't need words most of the time. A shared look, a late-night chat, a coffee left beside the piano — that was enough.
"Hey," Lyra called out one evening, leaning against the doorframe. "You've been working since noon. Take a break."
Zane looked up from the piano, smirking. "You sound like my manager."
"Maybe because your manager is too scared to tell you off," she teased. "So, I'm filling in."
He laughed, rubbing his temples. "I swear, you've become bolder lately."
"I've always been this way," she said simply. "You just never noticed."
He glanced up at her, and something about her smile made his heartbeat stutter — familiar, comforting, but dangerous in its warmth.
That night, after everyone left, they stayed behind. She sat beside him as he played softly on the piano.
"This one's new?" she asked.
"Yeah," he said, voice low. "Still untitled."
"It sounds sad."
"It was supposed to be," he replied, "until you walked in."
Lyra froze. Her heart skipped, and for a moment, she didn't know how to respond. "You always know how to say things that make people flustered."
He chuckled. "Only when it's true."
The song continued, but neither of them was focused on the melody anymore. The silence that followed was full of things unspoken.
That night, when Zane walked her out, he stopped at the entrance. "Lyra."
She turned, eyes soft under the dim hallway light.
"Thank you," he said quietly. "For being here. You didn't have to, but you stayed."
Lyra smiled faintly. "I told you, you don't always have to look fine, Zane. I'll remind you again if I have to."
It started with small things — gentle texts, shared meals after schedules, the kind of care that slipped past professional boundaries. Neither of them labeled it, but they both knew.
When he lost his father, Lyra was there — not with grand gestures, but simple ones. She sat beside him after the wake, no cameras, no fans, no lights. Just silence and presence.
"Everyone keeps saying time heals," Zane muttered bitterly, "but it just feels empty."
Lyra looked at him, her voice soft but firm. "Time doesn't heal. People do. And maybe it's okay to not be okay for a while."
He looked at her then — really looked — and something inside him finally began to breathe again.
Weeks later, their relationship quietly blossomed. It wasn't defined by words but by how they reached for each other when no one else was watching. He would sneak glances at her during rehearsals. She would scold him for skipping meals.
Until one night, after an award show, he finally confessed.
"I'm tired of pretending," he whispered, holding her hand in the backseat of the van. "I know it's complicated, but I don't want to keep us hidden anymore."
Lyra hesitated. "Zane… you know how this industry works. I just debuted under your company. If people find out, they'll say I used you. They'll say I'm—"
"A gold digger," he finished, jaw tight.
She nodded slowly. "Exactly."
He squeezed her hand. "You really think I care about what they'll say?"
"I do," she said softly. "Because your words won't protect me when headlines start to twist the story. You're Zane — everyone listens to you, but me? I'm just starting. One rumor can end everything I worked for."
Zane stared at her for a long moment before sighing. "Then we'll wait."
"Wait?"
He nodded. "We don't have to deny what we feel. We'll just… protect it for now."
Lyra smiled faintly. "Protect it, huh? That sounds like something out of a movie."
He grinned. "Then let's make it our story."
And so they did. They learned to live between glances and quiet messages, pretending nothing was happening in front of cameras. During interviews, when asked about his "ideal type," Zane would laugh and say, "Someone honest and a little stubborn."
Lyra would glance away, smiling just slightly.
Their secret lasted months — until a photo leaked of them leaving a restaurant together. The internet went wild. Rumors flew fast, painting Lyra as a fame-chaser, a gold digger, a nobody who used Zane's pity to rise.
The company panicked. Managers called emergency meetings. PR drafts flew around.
Lyra sat in the waiting room, hands trembling. Zane walked in and saw her pale face.
"Hey," he whispered, sitting beside her. "Don't believe anything they say. You hear me?"
Her voice cracked. "Zane, they're calling me names I never even imagined. They're saying I used you, that I planned all this…"
He clenched his jaw. "Then let them talk. We'll face this together."
But when the company's higher-ups entered the room, their tone was final. "Zane, Lyra — for now, you need to deny everything. If we don't, it'll ruin her debut. Both your careers will take a hit."
Zane's hands balled into fists. "You want me to lie?"
"Just for now," the manager said firmly. "It's the only way to protect her."
Zane looked at Lyra — her eyes red, her lips trembling — and his heart ached.
That night, when the statement went public — "Zane and Lyra deny dating rumors" — fans cheered, critics moved on, and the world calmed.
But behind the silence of that denial were two hearts breaking quietly — choosing to hide love to protect each other's dreams.