BENEATH THE CITY LIGHTS

Episode 3: Shared Nights, Silent Hearts The city was drenched in midnight mist. Amara tucked her chin into her scarf, tugging her garment bag tighter against her side as she approached the tall studio building. The lights were still on—an unexpected after-hours request had pulled her back to help Cynthia prep for a morning shoot. She hated how easily Cynthia barked orders and how quickly she obeyed them. Still… she needed the opportunity. The security guard nodded as she walked in. “They said the studio’s already open,” he called. “Some music guy’s still inside.” Amara blinked. “Music guy?” She rode the creaky elevator to the fourth floor, the dim light flickering above her. As she stepped into the main studio, she was met with silence—except for a low, steady beat playing faintly from the speakers. She froze. Kian. He sat in the far corner near the soundboard, laptop open, headphones around his neck, hoodie sleeves rolled up to his forearms. A soft instrumental loop played—moody, tender, like rainfall under moonlight. He looked up. “Amara?” “I could say the same,” she replied, stepping in. “You live here or something?” “Only when the city won’t let me sleep.” She gave a tired laugh, walking over to the rack of clothes Cynthia had dumped on the floor. “Cynthia called me in to prep for tomorrow. I’m guessing she didn’t bother telling anyone else.” “Sounds like her,” he said. A short silence passed. “You can work,” Kian said. “I’ll stay out of the way.” Amara hesitated. “Or… we both work. If that’s okay.” He gestured to the chair beside him. “You really want to hear the mess I’m making?” She grinned. “I’m already here.” They worked in parallel for a while—Amara sorting outfits, Kian layering sounds. The studio was quiet except for the occasional zip of a garment bag and the clicking of Kian’s keys. Eventually, she wandered closer to his setup. “Can I hear it?” He passed her a spare set of headphones. “Be gentle.” She slipped them on, eyes widening as the track began. It was raw and hypnotic. There was a slow piano base—delicate but weighted—and distant echoes, like memories calling from a tunnel. Then came a soft hum, almost like someone breathing through pain. Amara didn’t move for nearly a minute. Then she took the headphones off, slowly. “It’s beautiful.” Kian leaned back. “You think so?” “I felt... something. Like missing someone you never even met.” He blinked. “That’s exactly what it’s about.” She looked at him. “Who?” “My brother.” The room shifted. She stayed still. Let him speak. “He was my partner. We made music together. He pushed me to be better, louder, realer. But he pushed himself too hard. When he crashed... I blamed myself.” Amara sat beside him, hands folded. “I know that feeling,” she whispered. “When someone you love breaks, and you wonder if it’s because you weren’t enough to hold them.” He turned to her. “My mom got sick when I was seventeen,” Amara continued, her voice barely above a whisper. “I had to take care of my siblings. I never got to grieve. I just... survived.” Kian didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. They sat together—two strangers who weren’t strangers anymore. The silence between them felt soft, full. Then the lights flickered—and died. Total blackout. Amara gasped. “Okay. That’s creepy.” “Relax,” Kian said calmly. “Probably just a breaker issue. The city’s been doing rolling outages.” She fumbled for her phone. “No signal. And no light.” Kian pulled out a small flashlight from his bag and clicked it on, bathing the room in a gentle beam. “Always prepared?” she asked. “I work late a lot,” he said, aiming the light toward the far wall. “Let’s check the fuse box.” They navigated the darkened studio, shadows dancing around them. Every step felt heavier, more intimate. When they found the panel, Kian frowned. “Breaker’s tripped. Might take a while to reset everything.” “Well,” Amara sighed, “looks like we’re stuck here.” He turned to her. “You scared of the dark?” “No,” she said. “Just... not used to slowing down long enough to sit in it.” They returned to the soundboard, the flashlight perched between them. Kian pulled out a beat pad. “Wanna make something?” “Me?” “You’ve got good ears. Try.” She hesitated, then reached out, pressing a few keys. The sound was clumsy at first, but then her fingers found a rhythm. Kian added a layer, then another. Soon, they were creating something raw and oddly soothing. Their laughter filled the space—unfiltered and light. Amara leaned back. “This is the most I’ve laughed in weeks.” Kian looked at her. “Same.” She met his gaze—and didn’t look away. “I’m glad I got on the wrong train that night,” she said softly. He smiled. “Me too.” The track continued playing, slow and mellow. He reached over, brushing a strand of hair from her face. His fingers paused there—for a moment too long. Her breath hitched. But just before anything more could happen, the lights flickered back on. Harsh and bright. Reality. They blinked at the sudden change. Amara stood quickly. “I should finish prepping.” Kian nodded. “Yeah. I’ll... get going soon too.” She grabbed her bag, avoiding his eyes. “Thanks for the beat lesson.” “Anytime.” She turned back at the door. “Kian?” “Yeah?” “I hope your music finds its way back out there.” His smile was quiet, grateful. “Me too.” She left, heart racing, pulse unsteady—not from fear or panic, but from something far more dangerous. Hope. --- End of Episode 3

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