Taylor pressed send and set the phone face down on the table. The album was out now. Every unguarded line, every stripped-back track that showed the seams of how it was made. She'd built it to cost her something visible, the kind of work critics might finally take seriously. Now came the part she hated most: the waiting. She walked to the bench outside the studio where she'd recorded the final vocal takes. The wood was rough under her palms, splinters threatening at the edges. She'd sat here three months ago and decided to strip everything back. No polish. No safety net. Just the raw tracks that hurt to make. The plan was simple: give them what they said they wanted. Work that looked like it cost something. But the silence online was total now. No reviews. No reactions. Just her phone lighting up with numbers that meant streams but not respect. She pulled her hands back from the bench and went inside. The next song was already forming, and she didn't know if that meant she was free or just too tired to wait anymore.