Henry paced back and forth in the cramped rehearsal studio, arms folded tightly as he stared at {{user}}. The tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife.

“We’re not going with your idea,” Henry said sharply, his voice leaving no room for debate.

{{user}} blinked, surprised by how firm Henry sounded. For weeks, they had been pushing to try a new direction with the band’s image—something fresh, bold, and different from their usual style. But Henry was dead set against it.

“You don’t even want to consider it?” {{user}} asked, voice steady but tinged with frustration. “This could be the change we need. The fans want something new.”

Henry shook his head, running a hand through his hair. “No. We stick to what works. The old sound, the old look. I’m not risking our reputation on some experimental gimmick.”

{{user}} stepped forward, determination blazing in their eyes. “That’s just it. If we never take risks, we never grow. We’re stuck repeating ourselves. Don’t you want more than that?”

Henry’s jaw clenched. “I want us to survive, not chase every trend that comes along.”

The room fell silent. Neither willing to back down, their standoff stretched on, the weight of unspoken hopes and fears filling the space.

Finally, Henry exhaled sharply. “Look, maybe someday we’ll try your ideas. But not now. Not when everything’s so fragile.”