Don't Meet Your Heroes
Don’t meet your heroes, they say. But I met mine — and he was perfect.
It was a random Tuesday morning when I sat at the long, glossy meeting table that dominated the entire conference room. Well, random for everyone else, maybe, but not for me. For me, this was it— the most important day of my life.
The room smelled faintly of polished wood and burnt coffee. The Los Angeles sun bled in through the half-closed blinds, striping the floor in golden light. Every so often, I’d catch my reflection in the glass wall — the same girl who wrote songs in her tiny bedroom in Kuala Lumpur, now signing papers that would tie her to a Hollywood management company for the next five years.
Rob, my attorney, sat beside me, calm and professional, while I tried to stop my leg from bouncing under the table. He’d just gone through the revised version of every clause, every condition, on every page of my future.
A contract that said Elara Castell belongs to Local Records for the next five years. A contract that solidified my place — not just as an artist from Asia — but as one recognized here, in the country where I’d dreamed of making it.
I will no longer be the French Indian Malaysian singer-songwriter from KL who supposedly got her start because her dad was a French diplomat who “gave her a foot in the door.” This was America. Nobody cared where I was from, or who I knew. Here, the only currency that mattered was talent and tenacity.
And I had both — honed over seven years of being dismissed, doubted, and quietly grinding when no one believed I’d ever get here.
If it hadn’t been for that one single — the song that somehow caught fire online, that somehow reached the U.S. charts — I wouldn’t be sitting in this glass room right now. Local Records wouldn’t even know my name.
Two weeks ago, I was performing in tiny clubs between Singapore and Malaysia, still half-convinced I’d plateaued. Now I was nominated for the MTV Music Awards’ “Song of the Summer.” I was performing on the same stage as artists I used to study on YouTube.
My whole life had changed in fourteen days. And the surreal part was — it didn’t even feel real yet.
“I think that’s it, Elara. Welcome to Local Records,” Paul, my new manager, said as he stood and extended his hand.
“Thank you,” I replied, trying to sound professional when all I wanted to do was scream. Inside, I was doing a ridiculous little happy dance. I’d be turning twenty-eight next month, and this—this right here—felt like the best birthday present imaginable.
“Come on, let me introduce you to your team,” Paul said, guiding Rob and me out of the meeting room.
We hadn’t gone far when he called out, “Paulo! Can I have a second?”
A man turned toward us—a vision in designer clothes, moving like the hallway was his personal runway.
“Meet Elara,” Paul said proudly. “I told you about her.”
Paulo's eyes lit up as he took me in. “You have one of the most exotic looks I’ve ever seen. You’re gorgeous, El.” He grinned, already brimming with enthusiasm. “You’ll capture this country, alright. Americans love these things. Look at what happened to Tyla.”
I laughed softly, nerves fluttering in my chest. “Well, I really hope so.”
“So, Paulo here is your publicist,” Paul explained. “He heads your publicity and marketing team. You’ll be working closely with him. I think you’ll get along well—he loves your eclectic—”
“It’s aesthetic, Paul,” Paulo corrected dramatically, tossing an imaginary lock of hair. “And yes, I love everything you represent—classy popstar, a little bit Whitney, a little bit Madonna. I’m so here for it.”
I smiled, feeling my cheeks warm. Everything felt too surreal—like I was watching my life happen from outside my body.
And then it happened.
“Julian! Over here!” Paul called out across the hall.
My heart stopped.
That couldn’t be who I thought it was.
I turned slowly toward the voice, pulse hammering, palms damp. And then I saw him—walking through the hallway like time had slowed down just for him.
Julian Rhoades.
He looked impossibly casual in a washed-out ACDC T-shirt, black jeans, and boots. His dark hair was tousled, his jaw dusted with stubble. When he pulled off his sunglasses, I thought my knees might actually give out.
He was taller than I expected. Magnetic in that effortless, commanding way that drew eyes whether he wanted it or not. Conversations seemed to pause as he passed. Even people pretending not to look couldn’t help themselves.
“I’d like you to meet our new artist,” Paul said, gesturing toward me.
My mouth opened, but no sound came out. My brain had completely short-circuited. For years, I imagined this exact moment — meeting him, being seen by him — and now that it’s here, I can’t even remember how to breathe.
“This is Elara Castell,” Paul continued.
Julian’s smile was easy, warm. “Elara Castell? Wow, that’s a beautiful name. It’s nice to meet you, I’m—”
“Julian Rhoades,” I blurted, shaking his hand before he could finish.
His hand was big, calloused—the kind of hand that had written songs that changed lives. My hand looked small inside his. I couldn’t believe I was touching the same hand that wrote Love You As You Are.
“I’m a huge fan of your music,” I said quickly, nerves spilling out of me in a rush. “I actually went to your show in Singapore. You were amazing.”
God, I must sound like an idiot.
“Singapore, huh? Is that the accent I’m hearing?” he asked, his grin deepening dimples prominent.
“Heh, well, I’m actually Malaysian, but Singapore is our neighbor. We have the same accent,” I explained, forcing a smile and silently begging myself to relax. I hoped I didn’t sound as flustered as I felt. Every second of this moment felt dreamlike—too fragile to be real.
“Oh, I’ve been to Malaysia,” Julian said, tilting his head slightly. “It’s a beautiful country. So... will I be seeing you at the party tomorrow night?”
“Party? What party?” I turned to Paul, confused.
“Oh, that’s right—I forgot to tell you,” Paul said. “We’re having a party tomorrow night. You should definitely come. It’s a great chance to meet other artists. We’re throwing it before the MTV Awards—mostly for our artists, but others will be there too. Let Paulo know if you’re bringing a plus one.”
Julian flashed another grin. “Yes, please be there. It’d be nice to see a new face at one of these parties.”
“Okay,” I said, trying not to sound too eager. “Definitely. I’ll be there.”
“It was nice to meet you, Elara Castell,” he said, slipping his shades back on. “I’ll see you around.”
And just like that, he was gone—walking away like the world belonged to him.
I realized then that I’d been holding my breath. I let it out slowly. “That was Julian Rhoades,” I said aloud, just to hear it.
“Yes, it was,” Paulo teased, his grin sharp and knowing.
“So, shall we?” Rob said, ever composed, gesturing toward the exit.
I said my goodbyes to Paul and Paulo and followed Rob out into the bright California air.
It was warm, golden, and filled with the scent of citrus and exhaust and something electric.
I had just signed a five-year deal with one of the biggest management companies in America. And I had just met Julian Rhoades.
Somehow, I knew my life would never be the same again.
