A week after his hilariously surreal cameo on Olivia's show—where he'd somehow become a fan-favorite meme overnight as "Mr. Vance, the savage judge"—Alex was back in familiar territory. His studio was dimly lit, the air dense with soundwaves and concentration, as he reviewed the preliminary masters for Alec Benjamin's debut mixtape. He was deep in a delicate vocal mix when his phone buzzed.
It was his Hollywood agent.
Her voice crackled with urgency and barely contained excitement. "Alex. Clear your schedule. Bradley Cooper wants to meet. Tomorrow."
That snapped him to attention. "Bradley Cooper as in…"
"Yes. He's directing his first feature. A Star Is Born. He's also starring. Opposite Lady Gaga."
That name—the film title—sent a strange jolt through him. Even in this altered timeline, something about it felt… heavy. He didn't need to be told how important this was. He already knew. Shallow. The word practically rang in his head like a bell.
The next afternoon, he walked into Cooper's production office in Santa Monica. The place felt like the eye of a creative storm. Walls were covered with scribbled notes, photos of concert stages, character sketches, vintage instruments leaned against the corners like afterthoughts.
Bradley Cooper greeted him not with a handshake but with an intense monologue, eyes bright with director's fever.
"I want authenticity," Cooper said. "Jackson Maine is a rockstar at the end of his rope. Ally—Gaga's character—is pure talent, but invisible. There's a scene… he pulls her on stage for the first time, in front of thousands. She's terrified. But then she sings. And the world sees her. It's not just a duet—it's her birth as an artist. I need a song that becomes her origin story. Can you write that?"
Alex sat silently for a moment, his fingers unconsciously tapping a rhythm on his leg. "It starts as a conversation," he said slowly. "Almost whispered. Intimate. And then she takes over. It erupts. It's a scream from the soul."
Cooper's eyes locked on his. "Exactly."
Back in his studio, Alex didn't hesitate. He wasn't trying to write "Shallow." He was remembering it. Channeling it from the deep well of the alternate future he never talked about. But he didn't just want to copy the version the world never heard in this universe—he wanted to rebuild it from scratch, emotionally and sonically.
He began with the guitar. A delicate, fingerpicked riff—fragile but certain. Then his own vocal, roughened and pitched down. He wasn't singing as himself. He was Jackson Maine: weary, scarred, but with embers still burning under the surface.
For Ally, he needed someone unpolished. Raw. Real. He called Chloe—a session vocalist he'd met years ago, criminally underrated. She had the kind of voice that carried both hope and hurt.
She arrived with little makeup, her hair tied back, nerves visible in her shoulders. Exactly right.
"In the beginning," Alex told her as they stood in the recording booth's soft red glow, "you're scared. You don't even want to be seen. He's pulling you out from behind the curtain. You barely sing above a breath."
She nodded.
They recorded the opening verses with trembling intimacy.
Then came the transition.
"Now," Alex said softly, stepping closer to the glass, his hands clenched in focus. "He's given you the floor. You realize you can do this. Your voice starts to rise. But you're still holding back—just a little."
Chloe leaned into it, her voice blossoming, layers of confidence blooming through.
And finally, the moment.
Alex dimmed the lights almost completely. The guitar riff looped again, and he stepped into the control room.
"You're not Ally anymore," he said into the intercom, voice low. "You're you, breaking free. You're tired of hiding. I don't care if it's pitch-perfect. I want the scream."
She looked down, took a deep breath… and let go.
"I'm off the deep end, watch as I dive in—"
Her voice cracked with power, not weakness. It was not the polished wail of a pop star—it was something deeper. Wounded. Defiant. Alive.
"We're far from the shallow now…"
The studio went still after the last note.
Alex sat back, eyes closed, letting the silence settle. He didn't touch a thing. The performance was sacred. The mix would be minimal—just enough to hold the song together.
He exported the track. One MP3 file. Titled simply: Shallow (Demo).
Then, with a short note—"This is the scene."—he sent it to Cooper and Gaga.
A week later, somewhere in a vast, dim rehearsal space in Los Angeles, Lady Gaga sat cross-legged on the wooden floor beside a small speaker. Bradley Cooper stood nearby, hands on hips, silent.
The guitar began. Alex's voice, low and husky, filled the room.
Then Chloe's.
Gaga looked up, eyes narrowing with interest. Her hands stilled. As the song unfolded, she leaned forward, her entire body slowly pulled toward the sound like it was gravity.
And when Chloe's voice exploded into the chorus, Gaga's reaction was pure instinct.
Her eyes welled.
She didn't blink. Didn't speak. A single tear slid down her cheek and stayed there, catching the light.
When the demo ended, silence returned.
She turned to Cooper and nodded once—nothing theatrical, just deep, certain acknowledgment.
"This is it," she whispered. "This is the song."
Alex didn't need the validation. But somewhere in that moment, in that quiet nod from an artist who'd seen everything, he crossed another invisible threshold. He was no longer just shaping pop culture—he was writing its myths.
In a town built on illusion, he was becoming something real.
A force.
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Guys, should i restart the story.
I'm seriously considering rebooting the story. I feel like starting fresh would give me the chance to plan everything out properly this time—from character arcs to the plot structure and pacing.
Right now, things feel a bit scattered, and a clean slate might help bring better clarity and cohesion to the entire narrative.
If no one objects or responds soon, I'll go ahead with the reboot. Just wanted to let you all know before making that decision.
Your thoughts are welcome!