Joachim squinted into his camera. What was there to see? By now my foundation must have cracked, and sweat clung to my shirt.

He adjusted the lens. "Act natural. Your smile's a bit forced..."

The piano music drifting from the other side of the music room paused for a moment, then resumed. Gülay shared my gripes about smiling.

I straightened my dress shirt and looked outside the window. Filtered sunlight refracted through my skin and hair, making me glow, and I could almost believe the person staring back at me in the glass' reflection was content.

Some shuffling. Joachim was adjusting the giant white cardboard we were using as a bounce board.

"Joachim," I said through the corner of my mouth, "if I need to be a statue for one more minute, I'm going to lose it."

"Almost done. Think of how professional your profile will look," he said. "No more awkward selfies, dealing with grainy phone resolutions or agonizing how terrible you look while editing!"

A smirk escaped me, and the shutter went off. Finally, I could wipe my face! Makeup had its uses in covering imperfections, but even the most expensive brands would start to crack.

"Come on! That's what it took for you to laugh?" Joachim complained later while we were lounging around the banquet tables, taking up the entire room that we had no business hogging. In fact, the whole music room of Hart House looked too grand for three young adults trying to take professional pictures while adopting personas we didn't own. Joachim had recommended this room since it had a lot of uncluttered white walls, wooden framings, and tall windows for natural lighting. Apparently the medium and rich dark browns went together with my skin tone. Orange was the colour that called to me the most, but right now the collection of songs I'd been writing didn't match the happy shade.

I shrugged. "You're unnecessarily optimistic sometimes."

"You don't like how you look?"

I paused while stuffing the casual dress shirt and pants into my backpack. "I just hate taking pictures. Besides, who thought of the phrase 'act natural?' It's an artificial thing to ask when I'm literally trying to sell myself as part of my music. As a product. It's so...weird."

Gülay finished playing on the grand piano and theatrically swept over to where we were sitting. She wore a white dress with gold embroidery that she said she did herself. Someone clearly enjoyed her photoshoot more than I did. "What are we talking about?"

After Joachim caught her up, she said, "Posing, pretending something you're not, can be art. Not every song I write is from my own personal experiences. I exaggerate elements to make certain lines rhyme, to make the story dramatic. That does not mean I'm being ingenuine."

"There's ways to look around it..." Joachim said, examining the photos. Gülay looked over his shoulder. "Like the way you'd change your arguments to convince the audience. They might not be the strongest ones or the most important...but charging headfirst using the way you think is best...sometimes won't work. Being yourself won't work so--Oh, this one's nice. Tai, I'll send you the pictures by the weekend, should give me enough time to edit."

He started talking about filters and composition, all while making notes on details he would photoshop or edit out later: flyaway hair, wrinkles in clothing, the red reflected light that sometimes appeared in your eyes and made you look like a demon. Credit where it was due; he thought of everything down to the last detail so I could reuse the photos for years to come.

The future had been on my mind. I turned on my Wi-Fi (I usually turned it off to keep myself undistracted) and scrolled through missed calls from my dad. Every swipe to voicemail put a little dagger of guilt in me, but I needed to sort out an acceptable narrative for my parents before talking with them. Pulling up my most recent Instagram post, the number of likes jumped out at me. So many views? And followers, too?

@sodaandomeda: OMG I live like ten minutes down the street! I'm so excited!

@xxdrxgon: So cool! My Viet parents love music - I'm gonna drag them out so they see not all of us need to be doctors to be successful

@hassan_hustles: Whoa I remember when the restaurant opened the first time. Now I get to visit it with my favourite artist there too?!

@rubin.p: Which songs are you going to sing? Any new ones?

"Tai...You might want to see this."

This wasn't a giant music venue. This was the re-opening of a Vietnamese restaurant and bar. For a family friend. The crowd there would be smaller than the annual venues I'd been lucky enough to perform at. The number of followers, a sign of my success, stared back.

"Er...Tai?"

Phiona would be proud of me. I wished she wasn't so busy though, so I could ask her what this unfamiliar feeling was--

Gülay snapped her fingers in front of my face. "This is important!"

"Gülay, there's no need for that," Joachim said, and for the first time he sounded irritated.

Only then did I remember how bad it looked from the outside--my distractible self, finding something more interesting to do on my phone than talk with the person helping me.

I wiped my sweaty palms on the fancy tablecloth. Why did every apology feel like humiliation? Like an encyclopedia's worth of self-justification. Immediately my voice defaulted to the dead, I-don't-care-sounding tone that masked how scared I was to mess up. "I'm sorry for--"

"Silly. My cousin should be the one apologizing. Joachim, how could you miss putting his entire body in the shot?" she chided.

He ran a hand through his hair. Really, he looked like he was on the verge of tears.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

He silently handed me his camera.

Click, click, click. Photo after photo after photo, all at timestamps where I remembered posing at that window, that tree, that building.

"I'm not there." I stood up. "I'm not--The heck?"

Gülay peered over my shoulder. "Joachim, you know how much Tai hates photos. How could you botch it up?"

"It's not a complete wash," I said, scanning the photos more thoroughly. I was in some of the photos, and there were at least three for every important location. We didn't have as much of a selection for the perfect shot, but it'd have to do.

"Go ahead and tell me I'm crazy," Joachim groaned. "I'm really sorry, Tai. I was testing your patience--"

"It's okay," I said quickly. "We--We have enough. I trust your photography skills!"

"Are all of my pictures there?"

"Yeah."

They both looked at me incredulously. It took all the willpower in me not to vanish right then and there. I wouldn't blame them for what they must be thinking. After all, my parents made sure to pass on all the Vietnamese folklore they grew up with, and I didn't have enough certainty about the universe to disprove supernatural beliefs.

"I swear I'm not a ghost" was all I could say.

I just felt like one.

--

Joachim wanted to get the editing done and over with, so we dropped him off at Emmanuel Library before it started to rain. Gülay declared she wanted to stroll around campus with me for fresh air and gave me her cousin's umbrella to borrow.

Like a couple of lost lambs, we walked around in the rain, letting the gurgling of water runoff fill the space. We passed by the medieval, Gothic and Romanesque buildings with arched windows accented by filigree, giant trees that softened the rain underneath, uneven brickwork that looked like it'd been set on fire ten times, and branches with budding white cherry blossoms.

I could tell you the dates and names of the architects who designed each structure, the ghost stories, and the concrete monstrosity that looked like a turkey--my classmates' favourite victim to critique. I could tell you how I was biased towards my former faculty building, where it was spacious and quiet and how the eaves tapered with steel were bright and sharp like the students tinkering with robots inside. How when I first toured the campus, the interior of the Bahen building captured my fascination, looked like a 20th century square merged with modernity, turned outside in.

I could also tell you the particular rocks, benches, and secluded places where I had sat, wondering why I felt so miserable in a beautiful architectural landscape.

"I didn't like school either," Gülay said, typing with one hand.

"Then why did you want to walk around?"

"To see if I'd been wrong. But I don't see much except wasted time and energy."

We were temporarily separated by a group of young university students. Heavy backpacks, project posters in hand, and their biggest concerns were upcoming finals, bad professors, and who was dating who. It felt like walking through a high school movie.

Once the mob cleared, I caught up with Gülay and said, "You ever feel like you're an alien from another planet?"

A smile bloomed on her face. "Yes. Would you like to talk with other aliens?"

"Uh--"

"Radio For Equality invited me to an interview. I want you to be in it too."

I dodged a few puddles. "That's--that's great. But why?"

She gestured for me to follow. We climbed up the stairs of Victoria College to take refuge under the grand arched portico. Propping her umbrella on the ground, she gave me a more detailed explanation. I twirled my own umbrella, watching the droplets fly and splatter around us as her phone's electronic voice repeated her thoughts.

"Firstly, interviews are great for promotion. You give them some interesting stories and answers, and now more people know about you and your music. A win-win exchange. Secondly, there will be a live audience. I hate attention and I want you there to deflect some of the attention. Most importantly, I'm sure they are doing this interview to ask me about Hidden Stars. You can bring a fresher perspective."

"You performed at one of their shows?"

"I was in their roster two years ago."

"No way! How was it?"

She batted her hand. "Good. Bad. I'm not sure."

"But what did you do? How did it work? An indie label is one thing, but Hidden Stars is famous for its--"

"Infamous." Her real voice burned with quiet anger. Continuing to type, she said, "It's infamous by word of mouth, but fabulous on paper. Who wouldn't want to join the company that champions people of colour and empowers them through fame and capital?"

"Not everyone has access to money," I stammered.

Gülay tilted her head, and she took time to really consider that. "You're not wrong. With my extended family's help, I can afford to have a job that doesn't pay much while going about my life. Not everyone is as privileged, and I'd hate to be in a position where I only have two bad options."

We watched a couple of parents run after their toddler who splashed in as many puddles as he could. Seeing us, he pointed at Gülay's dress and declared he wanted one too.

Gülay turned back to me. "I don't know what your relationship with your parents are like. I'm lucky to have supportive ones. But that's why I can't stand Hidden Stars. They paint this black-and-white image of immigrant parents out to make their creative kids' lives as miserable as possible. Anything else we reflect in our music had to be changed. Now that was like acting. It was being cast for a role I never agreed to play, so I left."

"And your parents? What did they say?"

"What do you mean?" she snorted. "What kind of parents would want their kid to literally shame them through the voicebox of a powerful company?" She leaned forwards, and the rhinestones on her hijab glinted. "Tell me you don't actually plan to join Hidden Stars."

Eventually the toddler lost interest in his quest for aquatic chaos. After much protesting and bargaining, his parents guided him towards shelter through the unrelenting rain.

Of course my parents would abhor Hidden Stars once they realized what it really stood for. Some delusional part of me thought I could fool myself into thinking I'd actually have a happy ending, and achieve something--nevermind the trade-offs.

With a sigh of defeat, I pulled out my phone and stared at my drafted email. I was cornered by the nature of my own career--the very situation my mom wanted to spare me.

"If you're not convinced, join me on Radio for Equality, and you will hear all the tea."

"You're planning to expose them?"

Gülay smiled."You value your self worth. After all, you dropped university. You need to hear my full story to believe me when I say, you and I both don't belong there. They're paying us for our time and insight. Now, are you in?"

I hadn't had many interviews on wide-reaching platforms. I was too embarrassed to admit I'd flopped those interviews, too. Functionally it was easier than real conversations; I'd mainly slacked off of practising my answers and thoughtfully scripting them. This time, if I roped Kimmy into helping me, I'd stand a chance. Plus, Radio For Equality might involve people who belonged in my music's target audience, or came from similar experiences. And Phiona said as a creative soul I should diversify my income streams, so why not branch out away from performance gigs?

But the cameras. The cameras would be there, with a live audience.

Those vanishing photos of me must be a glitch. Had to be, if Joachim didn't notice me disappearing while snapping pictures through the camera.

I forced my mouth to form words. "I'll think about it. I can't say for certain, but I'll think about it."

"Thank you. The door is op--"

An avalanche of notifications cut her off. I was prepared to ask her if it wasn't possible to bury said notifications during text-to-speech, but her face darkened the longer she scrolled through her phone.

"Did you know?" she said finally.

"Huh?"

I turned on my Wi-Fi and read through the flood of recent comments and posts tagging me.

@doubl3trebl3: Who will you work with now? Or are you going solo?

@wrenmakesmusic: Don't let this get you down! We keep forgetting that everyone has their own lives.

@suong_t: Have you seen the interview?

A familiar voice floated from Gülay's phone speakers. She pumped up the volume. Both of us crowded in on the video as the skies started to clear with the chirping of birds.

"...need to take charge of my own story. Some day, if it's the will of God, I'll come back on stage as DeFye. Until then, I'm stepping down from my music career to focus on myself and the things more precious to me than singing my heart out."