BENEATH THE CITY LIGHTS

EPISODE 2: GLIMPSES IN THE DARK  The scent of hairspray, body mist, and anticipation hung thick in the air. Amara wove through racks of dresses and clouds of chaos at the small studio downtown. She’d been here since sunrise, taping heels, steaming gowns, and prepping models for a fast-paced editorial shoot. It wasn’t her shoot, of course—it belonged to Cynthia Reyne, a popular stylist known for taking all the credit and giving none of the credit back. Still, it was a foot in the door. Amara adjusted the hem of a velvet dress on a model, nodding in satisfaction. “Perfect. You’re next up.” The model barely nodded, scrolling on her phone. Amara stepped back, wiping her hands on her thrifted blazer, her mind spinning with mental checklists. It wasn’t until a low, rich beat drifted through the speakers that she finally looked up. The music playing over the speakers wasn’t the usual playlist of hyper pop or Afrobeat remixes. It was layered. Subtle. Smooth. A pulse beneath the surface, like the rhythm of city streets late at night. It swirled around the room—steady, haunting, and familiar. Too familiar. She looked toward the sound booth where the track was being managed, expecting to see a tech assistant or an intern. Instead, standing behind the glass wall was him. Kian. He wore a plain black hoodie, cap low over his eyes, headphones slung around his neck. His fingers moved with slow confidence across the mixing board. He looked different here—focused, in his element. Less guarded. Her breath caught. She wasn’t sure why. They hadn’t exchanged numbers. She didn’t even expect to see him again. Yet here he was, like a beat you couldn’t get out of your head. As if feeling her stare, Kian glanced up. Their eyes met. There was a flicker of something—surprise, recognition, and something softer—before he turned back to his controls. Amara quickly busied herself with a clipboard, pretending she hadn’t just been staring. Cynthia stormed past her, waving a coffee cup. “Who brought in Kay for sound?” Cynthia hissed, clearly annoyed. “We agreed on a DJ.” Kay?Wait—Kay? Her brows furrowed. Kay was the name whispered in creative circles. A mysterious, reclusive music producer who had disappeared from the public eye years ago. People said he used to work with the biggest names until he went dark. Nobody knew why. Kian is Kay? Her heart thudded a little harder. Cynthia rolled her eyes. “The editor booked him last minute. Whatever. As long as the shoot gets done.” The day rolled on. Between changes and lighting issues, Amara found herself catching glimpses of Kian—er, Kay—throughout the shoot. He never approached her, never made a move. But the tension simmered. By the time lunch rolled around, Amara stepped out onto the small rooftop balcony to catch her breath. She leaned against the rail, pulling her scarf tighter against the breeze. “You work everywhere, don’t you?” She turned. Kian stood behind her, hands in his pockets, a smirk tugging at his lips. “I could say the same,” she said. “Except now I know your secret identity.” He shrugged. “It’s not really a secret. I just... avoid the spotlight.” “So you're Kay. The Kay.” He leaned against the rail beside her. “Guilty.” She studied him. “Why all the mystery?” A pause. “People stopped listening when they thought they knew who I was. So I stopped showing them.” She tilted her head. “That sounds lonely.” Kian looked out at the city skyline. “It is. But it’s quieter than being misunderstood.” Amara understood that more than she wanted to admit. “Your track... the one you played earlier. It felt like something’s chasing something.” He turned to her, eyebrows raised. “You hear that?” She nodded. “It’s layered. Like... longing wrapped in silence.” A slow smile formed on his lips. “Most people just say ‘vibe.’” Amara laughed, shaking her head. “Well, I’m not most people.” They stood in silence for a moment, the wind tousling her curls. She didn’t mean to say the next part—it just slipped. “I didn’t think I’d see you again.” “Me neither.” Another pause. A current passed between them—unspoken, but undeniable. Kian pulled a card from his hoodie and held it out. “In case you ever need a beat for a show or something.” She took it. His name was printed in bold against matte black. Kian Adewale. Audio Alchemy. She traced the edge of the card. “You offering this as a professional courtesy?” “Half of it.” “And the other half?” He smirked. “Maybe I just wanted to make sure you never jumped on the wrong train again.” She laughed—full and genuine. The kind that lingered. Just like his music. Before she could reply, a voice from inside called her name. “Amara! Cynthia’s looking for you!” She turned toward the door. “Duty calls.” As she walked away, she glanced back. Kian was still standing there, watching the city. Watching her. --- End of Episode 2

Other insights from Mimi ✨