BENEATH THE CITY LIGHTS

EPISODE 1: A WRONG TURNThe city didn’t sleep. It whispered. It screamed. And sometimes—it sang. Amara Cole pulled her scarf tighter around her neck as she rushed down the cracked sidewalk. The cold wind pierced through her oversized blazer, her arms aching from the garment bag slung across her shoulder. Traffic roared around her, headlights cutting through the dusk like restless eyes. She glanced at the time on her cracked phone screen—7:41 PM. She was late. Again. She darted into the underground station, heels clacking against the concrete, breath fogging in the air. The next train was just pulling in. Without thinking, she bolted through the closing doors and leaned against the metal pole, chest heaving. Only then did she notice—this wasn't the right line. “Great,” she muttered under her breath. She groaned, reaching for her phone to check alternate routes. Dead. Of course. The day had already been a mess. A model canceled last minute. The designer she assisted yelled at her in front of a full crew. And now she was stuck on a train heading... God knows where. Across from her sat a man in a hoodie and cap, hunched over a tablet, headphones in. His fingers tapped quickly, rhythmically. He looked like one of those people who felt music in his bones. The train jolted suddenly, and her bag slipped. Fabric spilled out. “Seriously?” she sighed, kneeling to gather the clothing. The man looked up, removing one side of his headphones. “Need a hand?” “I’ve got it,” she said quickly, brushing her curls from her face. But her frustration got the better of her. “Why do trains never go the way you need them to?” He smirked. “You jumped on without checking, didn’t you?” “Didn’t ask for commentary, thanks.” He chuckled and returned to his screen. “Alright, city girl. Do your thing.” Amara stuffed the last blouse back into the bag and stood, glancing at him sideways. “You always this smug to strangers?” He shrugged, not looking up. “Only the ones who talk to themselves.” She bit her lip, debating whether to snap back or stay quiet. Instead, she shifted to the far end of the car, seething silently. But out of the corner of her eye, she noticed something. He was building a beat—layering sounds like a puzzle. Bass. Snare. Snippets of humming. It was mesmerizing, the way he moved, so fluid yet focused. She hated how impressed she felt. The train pulled into a station—definitely not hers. “Where are we?” she asked aloud, mostly to herself. He looked up again. “Central District. You need Uptown, don’t you?” She blinked. “How’d you—?” “You’ve got Uptown energy. Fast, tired, and probably skipping dinner.” Before she could answer, he stood, slinging his backpack over one shoulder. “You can cross to the other platform here,” he said, pointing down the tunnel. “Next train's in five. You’re lucky.” “Wait, you’re getting off too?” “Yeah.” He smirked, stepping off. “Wrong train.” She followed him silently onto the platform, the chilly underground air wrapping around them. They stood in awkward silence until she finally asked, “You make music?” “Something like that.” “That’s not an answer.” He looked at her then, properly, like someone peeling back a curtain. “You always ask strangers questions when your phone dies?” She smiled despite herself. “Only the ones with mysterious tablets.” “Fair.” He hesitated, then extended a hand. “Kian.” “Amara.” Their hands touched—just briefly—but something passed between them. A flicker. Like the city lights flickering to life above them. A moment. “Where do you work, Amara?” She exhaled. “Nowhere... officially. I assist a designer. Mostly unpaid. Hoping it leads somewhere.” Kian nodded. “The city doesn’t hand out dreams. You’ve got to steal them.” Before she could reply, the train screeched in. They both boarded—this time, the right one. They stood side by side as it rumbled back toward Uptown. Kian returned to his tablet. This time, he let her peek. “You sample real sounds?” she asked, watching the audio wave rise and fall. “Only when they have soul.” She looked up at him. “And how do you know when something has soul?” He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he turned slightly toward her, his eyes thoughtful. “When it lingers,” he said, voice low. “When it stays with you long after the noise fades.” They rode in silence the rest of the way. When the train pulled into her stop, Amara turned. “Thanks… for the directions. And the train wisdom.” Kian gave a half-smile. “Try not to jump on random trains next time.” “No promises.” She stepped off, turning briefly as the doors closed. He was still watching her—headphones back on, but gaze fixed. And as the train pulled away, Amara felt something stir deep in her chest. A note, a hum, a spark. Something that might just… linger. --- End of Episode 1

Other insights from Mimi ✨