The Viral Edit
Chapter 4 – The Viral Edit
The thing about Singapore was that it could drown you quietly.
Not with waves.
With notifications.
Suyin learned this on a Thursday night, when she was lying in bed with her hair still damp from a shower and the rain still tapping lightly against her window.
Her room was dim. The only light came from her phone.
She had told herself she wouldn’t check.
She had told herself she was stronger than curiosity.
But curiosity didn’t feel like weakness.
It felt like self-defense.
If the world was going to talk about you, you wanted to at least know what it was saying.
Her thumb hovered over the app.
Then tapped.
And the screen exploded.
#ShelteredWalkways
#AdamSuyin
#IdealTypeCouple
There were edits already–of course there were.
People had taken the footage of them at Chinatown Complex and stitched it into romance like it was fabric.
The spoon of chendol slowing down.
Their fingers brushing on the tissue packet.
The way Adam looked at her for half a second too long.
The way she laughed when he called them siblings.
Some editor had added soft piano music.
Another had added dramatic K-drama strings.
Someone had zoomed in on her eyes and wrote:
SHE’S REALLY FALLING.
Suyin’s throat tightened.
The comments were a flood.
Wah this one real leh.
He so gentle?? Since when Adam like that.
She’s pretty sia, okay match.
Please don’t be staged.
I want them to get married already.
And then, like a dark undertow under the foam, the other comments.
Confirm for clout one.
She using him to boost popularity lah.
He too old for her.
She’s a snake. Watch and see.
Suyin stared until the words blurred.
She clicked out.
Clicked into another platform.
Same edits.
Different captions.
Some video was titled:
PROOF THEY’RE DATING (SHELTERED WALKWAYS EP 12)
And beneath it, someone had written:
If you think this is acting then you’ve never been in love.
Suyin’s chest tightened.
Love.
People said the word so easily.
As if it was a filter you could add.
As if it was a conclusion you could reach in ten seconds.
She tossed her phone onto the bed and rolled onto her back.
Her ceiling stared back at her.
Quiet.
Blank.
As if it didn’t know she was trending.
She closed her eyes.
In the dark behind her eyelids, she saw the hawker centre again.
The steam.
The sound of trays.
Adam’s hand pushing an egg toward her.
Eat first.
Warm.
Simple.
And somehow, that small memory hurt more than the comments.
Because it was real.
And the internet was chewing it up like it was entertainment.
Her phone buzzed.
She didn’t move.
It buzzed again.
This time, her manager’s name appeared on the screen.
Mei.
Suyin answered.
“Hello?”
Mei’s voice came through, sharp and controlled.
“Don’t scroll,” Mei said.
Suyin stared at the ceiling.
“Too late,” she admitted.
Mei sighed.
“Okay. Then listen to me.”
Suyin sat up.
Her sheets slid down her shoulders.
Outside, the rain was steady, like someone breathing.
“They are posting the teaser tomorrow morning,” Mei said. “Official page. Sponsor tags. Full episode this weekend.”
Suyin swallowed.
“So fast?”
“They want to ride the wave.”
Suyin’s stomach sank.
“The wave,” Mei repeated, as if naming it made it controllable. “Which means you need to be careful.”
Suyin’s fingers tightened around her phone.
“Careful how?”
Mei hesitated.
Then she said the part that mattered.
“Careful about him,” Mei said quietly.
Suyin’s heart stuttered.
“What do you mean?”
Mei exhaled.
“I mean,” she said, “don’t let yourself believe that what you saw on that shoot is something you can keep.”
Suyin went still.
Mei’s voice softened.
“Adam’s been in this longer than you. He’s a public person. Everyone projects onto him. And now they’re projecting onto you too. You must protect yourself.”
Suyin stared at her own reflection in the dark screen.
Protect yourself.
It sounded like survival.
Not romance.
She swallowed.
“What if I don’t want to protect myself?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper.
The line went quiet.
Mei didn’t answer immediately.
When she finally spoke, her voice was gentler.
“Then protect your heart,” she said. “Same thing.”
Suyin’s eyes stung.
She forced a laugh.
“Mei jie, you always dramatic.”
Mei snorted.
“This one is Singapore. Not drama. It’s just reality.”
They hung up.
Suyin held her phone in her lap.
The rain outside thickened.
She wondered, suddenly, what Adam was seeing.
What he was reading.
What jokes people were making about him.
About her.
She wondered if he had scrolled too.
Or if he was stronger.
Or more tired.
Her thumb hovered over his number.
They had exchanged contacts after the shoot, quickly, quietly, under the shelter while the crew packed up.
Not flirtatiously.
More like a practical agreement.
In case production needs anything.
In case schedule changes.
In case of trouble.
Trouble.
Now she understood what that word really meant.
She stared at his name.
Adam.
Then she locked her phone.
She didn’t text.
Not yet.
Because if she texted now, it would feel like stepping out into rain on purpose.
Adam found out the teaser was dropping because his manager called him at 6:43am.
He was standing in his kitchen, half-awake, pouring cereal into a bowl.
The milk was too cold.
His hair was still wrong.
His phone rang, and he knew–before he even looked–that it would be Lydia.
He answered.
“Morning,” he said.
Lydia’s voice was already in battle mode.
“They’re posting in fifteen minutes,” she said.
Adam paused.
“Posting what?”
“The teaser,” Lydia snapped. “For the episode. Sponsor integration. They’ve cut it into a romantic edit.”
Adam closed his eyes.
“Of course they have.”
Lydia exhaled, sharp.
“Don’t be sarcastic, Adam. This is not funny.”
Adam stared at his cereal.
“I’m literally a comedian,” he muttered.
Lydia ignored him.
“You are not to comment. You are not to share. You are not to like. You are not to post stories with vague captions.”
“I wasn’t going to,” Adam said.
Lydia went silent.
Then, softer:
“And if anyone asks, you say she’s a professional, you enjoyed working with her, and that’s it. Do you hear me?”
Adam swallowed.
He thought of Suyin’s face in the hawker centre.
Her quiet steadiness.
Her eyes when she admitted she was scared.
He thought of the way she had said, I meant it.
Warm.
He rubbed his chest absent-mindedly.
“I hear you,” he said.
Lydia’s voice tightened.
“Good,” she said. “Because the moment this goes live, the questions will start. Brands will call. Producers will call. People will speculate about your love life like it belongs to them.”
Adam’s jaw clenched.
“It doesn’t,” he said.
Lydia sighed.
“It never did,” she replied. “But they’ll take it anyway.”
They hung up.
Adam ate his cereal without tasting it.
At 6:58am, the teaser went live.
He didn’t need to open the app.
His phone started vibrating like a trapped insect.
Messages.
Mentions.
Group chats.
One friend sent:
BRO YOU LOOK LIKE YOU IN LOVE SIA.
Another sent:
Eh serious question: you dating her or not?
Adam stared at the screen.
He didn’t answer.
He opened the teaser anyway.
The production house logo.
A dramatic swell of music.
Then–
Chinatown Complex.
Rain.
Warm lights.
And him, walking beside Suyin under the shelter.
The editor had cut it like a confession.
They used the moment he pushed the egg toward her.
They used the tissue slide.
They used the chendol spoon.
They used the ah ma’s words.
They even used the look he gave her when she said she was scared.
In the teaser, his expression looked like love.
In reality, it had been concern.
But concern was easy to romanticize.
At the end, the teaser froze on their faces close together, both laughing.
Text flashed across the screen:
WILL THIS TEAMWORK TURN INTO SOMETHING MORE?
Adam’s stomach sank.
He stared at his own face in the freeze-frame.
He looked… softer.
He looked like the version of himself he didn’t show often.
He looked like he was giving someone access.
And suddenly, he was angry.
Not at Suyin.
Not even at the public.
At the edit.
At the way the industry could steal a quiet moment and sell it like it was a product.
His phone buzzed again.
This time it was not a friend.
It was an unknown number.
He answered.
“Hello?”
A cheerful voice flooded his ear.
“Hi Adam! This is Rachel from–” a brand name he recognized immediately. “We loved the teaser! So cute, so organic! We were thinking, if you and Suyin are open to it–maybe a couple campaign? Umbrella brand, rain season, super on theme! We can do TikTok, IG reels, maybe some print ads–”
Adam’s jaw tightened.
“Rachel,” he interrupted, “we’re not a couple.”
There was a brief silence.
Then Rachel laughed lightly, like she hadn’t heard him.
“Of course, of course! But you know, the public loves the dynamic. We can keep it ‘friends’ also. Just chemistry. People will buy.”
People will buy.
Adam’s stomach turned.
“I’ll have my manager contact you,” he said flatly.
He hung up.
His hands were shaking.
He didn’t know why.
Anger, maybe.
Or fear.
Or the sensation of losing control.
He stared at his phone.
His finger hovered over Suyin’s contact.
He didn’t want to drag her into his panic.
But he also didn’t want her to be alone in hers.
He swallowed.
Then he typed.
Saw the teaser. You okay?
He stared at the message.
His thumb hovered over send.
And then–
He sent it.
Suyin received Adam’s text while she was sitting at her dining table pretending to eat breakfast.
Her mother was watching the morning news on the TV.
Not political news.
Lifestyle news.
Which, lately, felt more dangerous.
The presenter smiled brightly.
“And now,” the presenter chirped, “some fun entertainment updates! Actress Lin Suyin recently revealed her ideal type is… Adam Lim! And guess what? They’re filming together for a variety episode–”
Suyin’s throat tightened.
Her mother turned.
“What?” her mother asked, eyes wide. “You really say that ah?”
Suyin forced a smile.
“It was just interview,” she said.
Her mother stared at the TV, where the teaser was playing.
Suyin heard her own laugh from the clip.
Saw herself looking at Adam like she belonged there.
Her mother’s eyes softened.
“Eh,” her mother said slowly, “he looks… good with you.”
Suyin nearly choked.
“Mama,” she protested.
Her mother waved her off.
“I’m your mother,” she said. “I can see.”
Suyin’s phone buzzed on the table.
A message.
Adam.
Saw the teaser. You okay?
For a second, the room went quiet.
Not because the TV stopped.
Because Suyin’s chest stopped moving properly.
Her mother’s gaze slid to the phone.
“Who?” her mother asked.
Suyin stared at the message.
She could feel her pulse in her fingertips.
She typed quickly, under the table like a teenager.
I’m okay. You?
She hit send.
Then she looked up.
Her mother was watching her with a smile that was both teasing and tender.
“Aiyo,” her mother said. “He text you already.”
Suyin’s face burned.
“Mama!”
Her mother laughed.
“Okay okay,” she said, retreating. “I don’t disturb. But ah,” she added, voice turning serious, “be careful. People talk.”
Suyin’s smile faded.
“I know,” she whispered.
Her mother nodded.
“Your father also watch,” she warned.
Suyin groaned.
“That one… worse.”
Her mother chuckled.
Suyin looked back down at her phone.
Another message from Adam appeared.
Not great. Brands calling. Production turning everything into romance.
Suyin swallowed.
She could imagine it.
The calls.
The pressure.
The sensation of being reduced into a storyline.
She typed.
Same here. Even my mum shipping.
A pause.
Then his reply came.
Singapore is small. Your mum probably knows my mum.
Suyin laughed despite herself.
For the first time that morning, the tension loosened.
She typed.
Let’s survive this week.
Adam replied almost immediately.
Deal. But also… don’t read comments.
Suyin stared at the words.
Her chest tightened.
He wasn’t joking.
He was protecting.
She typed.
Too late. But I’ll stop.
Adam’s reply came.
Good. People will talk. But not all talk is truth.
Suyin’s throat tightened.
It was the same line he had told her under the walkway.
Seeing it on her screen made it feel like a promise.
Her phone buzzed again.
This time, it was not Adam.
It was Mei.
Suyin answered.
Mei didn’t waste time.
“We have a meeting in one hour,” Mei said. “Your agency. Their agency. Production. Sponsors. Everyone.”
Suyin’s stomach sank.
“About what?”
Mei’s voice sharpened.
“About controlling the narrative,” she said. “Because right now, the narrative is controlling you.”
Suyin closed her eyes.
The narrative.
The story strangers had decided.
She hung up.
She looked at Adam’s last message.
People will talk.
Not all talk is truth.
She stared at it until her eyes blurred.
Then she saved the message.
Not for evidence.
Not for drama.
For herself.
A small anchor.
A quiet thing under shelter.
The meeting room at the agency looked too clean for the mess that had followed them in.
A long table.
Water bottles lined up like soldiers.
A bowl of mints no one touched.
On one side sat Suyin and Mei, both dressed in calm colours, both carrying the stiffness of people trying not to look affected.
On the other side sat Adam and Lydia.
Adam wore a plain black shirt.
He looked tired.
Not sleepy tired.
Familiar tired.
The tired of someone who had learned to carry public expectation like a backpack he couldn’t take off.
Across from them sat the production team.
The producer smiled too brightly.
“Okay,” he began. “First of all, thank you both. The teaser performance is amazing. Engagement through the roof. People love you two–”
Lydia cut in.
“People love the edit,” she corrected.
The producer blinked.
Then laughed.
“Same thing lah,” he said.
Adam’s jaw tightened.
Suyin felt her own chest tighten.
Same thing.
They didn’t understand.
Or they didn’t care.
A sponsor representative chimed in.
“Our brand is very excited,” she said. “We think this is a beautiful opportunity to show authentic connection–”
“Authentic,” Adam repeated softly.
The sponsor rep smiled.
“Yes,” she said. “You two have such genuine chemistry.”
Chemistry.
Again.
Like it was a product.
Suyin glanced at Adam.
His fingers were curled under the table, knuckles pale.
He looked like he was restraining himself.
Lydia spoke.
“We are open to promoting the episode,” she said. “But we are not open to confirming any romantic relationship, because there isn’t one.”
The producer waved a hand.
“Of course, of course,” he said. “We never said you two are dating. We just… tease a bit. That’s showbiz.”
Mei leaned forward.
“Teasing creates rumours,” she said.
The producer shrugged.
“Rumours already there,” he replied. “We just… ride.”
Ride.
The wave.
Suyin’s stomach turned.
Adam finally spoke.
His voice was calm.
Too calm.
“Can I ask something?” he said.
The room paused.
The producer nodded.
“Sure.”
Adam’s gaze was steady.
“Did you cut the teaser like that,” Adam asked, “because you thought it was funny? Or because you thought it would sell?”
The producer laughed lightly.
“Both lah.”
Adam’s expression didn’t change.
“But what if,” Adam continued, “it affects her?”
The room went quiet.
Suyin’s chest tightened.
The sponsor rep blinked.
Mei’s eyes flicked to Adam, surprised.
The producer cleared his throat.
“We are careful,” he said. “We don’t want to harm anyone. We just… entertain.”
Adam leaned back.
Entertainment.
Suyin swallowed.
In that moment, something shifted.
Not the narrative.
Not the internet.
But the fact that Adam had spoken up.
Not as a host.
Not as a comedic shield.
As a person.
The meeting continued.
Rules were set.
Captions were approved.
Statements were drafted.
Everyone pretended they could control the flood with paperwork.
When it finally ended, they stood up.
The producer clapped Adam’s shoulder.
“Don’t worry lah,” he said. “People forget fast.”
Adam didn’t reply.
Suyin gathered her bag.
Mei leaned toward her, whispering.
“You see? He’s smart. He knows how to manage.”
Suyin glanced at Adam.
He was walking toward the door with Lydia, shoulders tight.
Manage.
Yes.
But as Suyin watched him, she realized something else too.
Managing looked a lot like loneliness.
When they reached the corridor outside, the air was cooler.
The office carpet muted footsteps.
For a brief moment, there were no cameras.
No producers.
No sponsor reps.
Just fluorescent light and the sound of air-conditioning.
Adam slowed.
Suyin slowed too.
Their managers walked ahead, discussing logistics.
For a few seconds, Adam and Suyin were alone.
Not physically–people were around.
But alone in the way two people can be alone together, when the world is loud and you find a pocket of quiet.
Adam looked at her.
“You okay?” he asked.
Suyin swallowed.
“I’m okay,” she said.
Then she added, quietly,
“Thank you. For what you said.”
Adam’s gaze flicked away.
He shrugged.
“It’s nothing,” he murmured.
“It’s not nothing,” Suyin insisted.
Adam looked back at her.
His expression was tired.
But there was something else.
A softness he couldn’t hide anymore.
“I just…” he began.
He stopped.
Suyin waited.
Adam exhaled.
“I just don’t want you to get hurt because of… my world,” he said.
Suyin’s throat tightened.
“My world too,” she whispered.
Adam held her gaze.
For a moment, the fluorescent hallway felt like shelter.
A space between storms.
Then Lydia’s voice called from ahead.
“Adam!”
Adam blinked.
The moment broke.
He stepped forward.
Then paused.
He turned back to Suyin.
His voice dropped.
“Don’t let them write you into something you didn’t choose,” he said.
Suyin’s chest tightened.
She nodded.
“I won’t,” she whispered.
Adam hesitated.
Then he did something small.
Something that wasn’t romance.
Something that was gentler than that.
He reached out and adjusted the strap of her tote bag where it had slipped off her shoulder.
A quick touch.
Barely a second.
But Suyin felt it like rain on skin.
Then Adam walked away.
And Suyin stood there for a moment longer, watching his back.
Her phone buzzed in her bag.
A new notification.
Another edit.
Another caption.
Another stranger declaring certainty about her feelings.
Suyin didn’t check.
She simply breathed.
Because under all the noise, one truth remained–quiet and stubborn, like the rain outside:
What mattered was not what the internet believed.
What mattered was what she felt when he looked at her without the cameras.
And that was the dangerous part.
Because she was starting to want more than survival.
She was starting to want something that could not be edited.
Something that could not be sold.
Something that, if it broke, would break her properly.