My childhood bedroom looked the same as it did all those years ago when I was living in it as a kid.

Our parents had kept both Aria and my old rooms that way we'd left them. Given how closely we lived nearby, we sometimes stayed the night at our parents' house and it made sense to maintain a bedroom for said purposes.

I'd moved out of my parents' house when I was nineteen. My job had been fortunate enough to allow me to move out earlier than most people would but I knew that was just luck and luck finds a way to run out.

As a teenager I'd always dreamed of having a small, cute place with someone I loved. For a long time, I believed that would be my ex-boyfriend Cameron, but when he died all those dreams flew out the window and I thought I would never see them again.

Lucky for me, though I didn't know it at the time, I had someone to help me work through that pain and a few years later I found myself living in a shared apartment.

But this luck was no different to the one I'd experienced as a teenager. It ran out long ago and I had moved to London as a result. Now I was back home and for the first time in my life and living at a different place than I was used to.

The walls of my old bedroom were still the same light shade of grey they had been for the last ten years. I'd painted them when I was younger and my parents finally let me begin to design my own bedroom the way I'd wanted it.

It may have seemed plain at first glance but the photographs and picture frames that adorned the walls begged to differ. Numerous items decorated the space; photos of friends, family, work by famous artists, maps, constellation charts. Anything that I found beautiful was arranged in a way that displayed every bit of artistic license I'd had in my small bedroom as a kid.

The furniture was plain but I'd never cared about such things. To me, a space was what you made of it, and I'd chosen to line the walls of my room with the thing I'd fallen in love with the most. Photography.

Cam had been the one to push me for a modelling job but I had loved photography long before that. I'd owned my first camera by the age of ten until I realised I loved being photographed more than doing it myself. My family differed in that respect.

The rest of my family were musicians, and Aria had followed in our parent's footsteps and now dominated the charts as one of the world's best-selling artists. Our father owned the record label that signed our mother when she was younger and I knew that music would always be something that bonded the three together.

That life had never been for me. Due to our parents' status and fame, Aria and I had both grown up in the spotlight since we were born. Mom and Dad did their best to shield us from it but the entire world knew the Evans by name. It was just that mine was stamped as a model rather than a musician.

There were days when I felt the repercussions of choosing a different path to the rest of my family. The nights when they would all sing and dance in the kitchen together, all the times we'd gone to see Aria perform on tour, the moments when we'd been stopped on the street because people wanted autographs from Mom, the way my father was known as an esteemed producer in the music industry.

I would never give up my modelling job for anything. I was completely and wholeheartedly in love with it, but it didn't change the fact that sometimes it isolated me from my own family.

Mom and Aria were gifted with angelic voices. Dad was a talented music producer and businessman. All I did was wear other people's clothes and strike poses for the camera. I'd be lying if I said it didn't feel a little lonely sometimes.

I'd never said anything about it but I had the feeling Mom and Dad had caught on from time to time. Whenever Aria struck gold in her music career, our parents would ensure that they extended their praise to both of their children. They wanted Aria and I to know how proud of us they were, even if one of us was shining brighter than the other at the time.

I'd once asked my father if he was disappointed I didn't follow on the musician path like Aria had. His response had been initial shock before he looked at me seriously.

"Listen to me," he'd said, leaning forward across the dinner table one night when it was only the two of us leftover. "You went out there and you made something of yourself. I see the look on your face whenever you do a shoot or walk in another show. You love it, just the same as Aria loves her music, and if modelling is the thing that makes my son happy, that's all that will ever matter to me."

Sometimes I had the feeling they'd left my bedroom the same way as a show of silent acceptance. It was the same way they'd left all of Aria's music posters up in her room and regularly cleaned the collection of guitars that remained there. It was a small but significant reminder that we never needed to prove ourselves to them. I wasn't sure I'd ever loved my parents more that day.

The next morning, I was startled awake by the sunshine filtering through the window and blinding me in a golden haze. In my hysteric state last night I had forgotten to close the curtains and rolled over with a groan as the day dawned on me unpleasantly.

Heading to the bathroom, I washed the sleep out of my eyes and took a quick shower. Most of the clothes in my suitcase were left over from old shoots where the designers had insisted I keep the clothes. Finally, I managed to find a blue pair of jeans and slipped a white hoodie on in the effort to look casual.

By the time I'd finished getting ready and packing up the room, an hour had passed and I realised I had been stalling. Part of me was tempted to just crawl back in bed and sleep the day away but I knew I'd only be delaying the inevitable.

The top floor was quiet but as I headed downstairs I could hear voices coming from the kitchen. Creeping around the corner quietly, I lingered in the doorway until the bile had stopped rising in my throat.

My parents and Aria were chatting in the kitchen. Mom and Aria were seated at the table with a hearty-looking breakfast and Dad was cleaning dishes in the sink. They were all laughing together until Aria looked up and saw me.

"Troye," she said, somewhat surprised around a mouthful of yoghurt.

Mom turned in her chair and her face softened. "Troye honey, come sit down."

"Nadia," Dad spoke gently from the kitchen.

Mom looked towards her husband and back at me. Reading an unspoken language between the two of them, she stood. She gestured to Aria, who reluctantly put her spoon down and followed Mom towards the doorway where I stood.

On the way past, Dad kissed Mom's cheek and she smiled sweetly at him before coming over to me. She squeezed my shoulder and gave me a warm smile before leaving the room. Aria sent me a soft look and followed in pursuit.

My face must've read confusion because after they were gone, Dad said, "I wanted to talk to you first."

I was still leaning against the doorway but at his words I pushed off and walked further into the room with a tentative step. My eyes were trained on the floor, avoiding my father's gaze.

The kitchen was quiet now. With Mom and Aria gone, the happy chatter had left with them and Dad was no longer washing dishes in the sink. I stood on the other side of the counter, waiting.