New Song

"Ladies and gentlemen, let's give a warm welcome to the rising DJ who just delivered a stunning performance at Florida's famous Ultra Music Festival—Dr. Ray's latest live set!" The host, dressed in a sharp tuxedo, announced in a clear voice.

Sparse applause rippled through the crowd. Following the spotlight, Ryan and Joel could be seen walking slowly to the center of the nightclub stage, both clad in white suits. Their outfits looked like something from a 1930s band—vintage and elegant, but utterly mismatched with the DJ setup and electronic music style.

Ryan's gait was stiff, like a marionette.

"That suit is too small for him," Abigail remarked from a nearby sofa, sinking deep into its plush cushions.

Beside her, Taylor held a stemmed glass. The conical glass held a cocktail, with a cherry perched on its rim.

"They came to the wrong place," Taylor said, taking a sip.

The atmosphere here was far better than the previous nightclub—indoor fountains, art appreciation, live instrumental performances, and a massive terrace overlooking the entire Nashville nightscape. This was one of Nashville's top-tier private clubs.

As Ryan's debut after switching jobs, Abigail naturally chose to show her support, and she'd predictably dragged Taylor along.

As for Ryan's performance, it was predictably ignored. The crowd here preferred violins, waltzes, and jazz—not two head-bobbing youngsters.

"Maybe we could try a kind of electronic music that blends classical and modern, giving the audience a time-travel experience!" Ryan said after finishing his set, drinking canned cola as he spoke to Joel.

"As far as I know, only one electronic group could possibly make that kind of music—Daft Punk. They're not DJs; they're true artists. As for us, I think we should focus on keeping this job." Joel shook his head, snapping Ryan out of his daydream.

Through a colleague's referral, the two had landed a gig at this nightclub. The pay was several times higher, and they only had to perform for thirty minutes.

It seemed like a much better deal than their last place—until after the show, when Ryan realized that wasn't the case at all.

Besides the style mismatch, their "setlist" was strictly limited. The nightclub only allowed them to play electronic music that fit the venue's vibe. Unable to play his signature tracks, Ryan tried mixing classical music like Tiesto, but the result was awkward and disjointed. Forget the audience—he couldn't even stand listening to it himself.

In that moment, he understood: the only reason he was here was because he'd performed at Ultra Music Festival. Who he actually was didn't matter.

"Why have you been thinking about these weird ideas lately? You should keep digging into the Big Room style. The fans on Myspace are still waiting for your new stuff," Joel reminded him.

Ryan had been troubled by this problem. Ever since he'd gotten an electronic track a month ago, the déjà vu had never returned.

They walked through a corridor and looped around to the nightclub entrance. From a distance, Ryan spotted Abigail waving at him. Their work was done for the night; the rest of the evening was theirs to spend however they liked—go home, or entertain friends.

"Hey, Joel." Taylor greeted Joel but only glanced at Ryan.

On the other side, Ryan and Abigail were much more affectionate.

"Heh heh." Taylor forced a smile.

To lighten the mood, Abigail started gossiping about some cheerleader at school.

"She wears sexy short skirts every day. In class, you know, the desks don't block much. Someone's always dropping a pencil or eraser during the whole lesson..."

"Let me guess what she looks like," Joel said, intrigued.

"Black hair, always surrounded by perfume, reapplies makeup between classes, and puts on a fake California accent even though she's never been to the West Coast."

Abigail and Joel burst out laughing.

Ryan and Taylor just chimed in with a couple of forced laughs, completely uninterested in the topic.

"Abigail, what did you think of the music just now? I used a brand-new kick drum," Ryan tried to steer the conversation toward his music.

"You brought a drum on stage?" Abigail looked confused.

"Uh... no." Ryan's expression turned awkward.

Oh, this is probably what it'd be like if aliens landed on Earth, Taylor thought to herself, amused. Ryan and Abigail were clearly on completely different wavelengths.

Right as that thought crossed her mind, Taylor's head suddenly buzzed.

"Hold on, hold on..." Taylor fumbled to open her handbag. In her haste, she broke the zipper, then started rummaging frantically inside.

Her strange reaction drew the attention of the other three. Joel and Ryan had no idea what was going on, but Abigail wasn't surprised: "It's that time!"

That time?

Taylor pulled a small notebook out of her handbag, then fished out a ballpoint pen. Under the dim nightclub lights, she scribbled a series of notes on the messy paper.

Her grip on the pen was unusual—she held it between her index and middle fingers, a clear sign of a bad habit from childhood.

She wrote a few lines, scratched them out in dissatisfaction, wrote a few more, then flipped to the next page.

Occasionally she'd look up, hum a little, and tap the glass tabletop with the pen to keep rhythm.

"Cool!" Joel got excited too, swaying to the live beat.

"Taylor's that time has come," he said to Ryan.

What are you guys even talking about? Ryan was still completely lost.

A few minutes passed, and Taylor finally set the pen down.

"It's just a rough draft, but the outline is there," she said, reading from the paper.

"You're on the phone with your girlfriend, and she doesn't sound happy Probably because of some joke you made at the wrong time But she doesn't get your humor the way I do."

"She likes wearing sexy short skirts While I'm just in a plain T-shirt She's the dazzling cheerleading captain."

And I was just an unremarkable face in the audience.

Dreaming my own dream, imagining that one day, you'd wake up and realize—

Realize that the person you've been searching for was never far away, but right here beside you..."

Taylor sang the chorus directly to the three of them, her gaze drifting meaningfully toward one among them.

"If only you'd open your eyes, you'd see—I'm the one who truly understands you.

I've been silently by your side all along, so why won't you turn and look?

You belong to me.

You belong with me..."