<p><br></p><p>Episode 4: The Beat Beneath</p><p><br></p><p><br></p><p><br></p><p>The city breathed in color that morning—warm apricot skies breaking into bright gold as the sun rose over silver buildings.</p><p><br></p><p>But Amara wasn’t looking at the sky.</p><p><br></p><p>She was watching the video on her phone again and again.</p><p><br></p><p>It was a fifteen-second clip from the behind-the-scenes shoot. Cynthia had posted it without crediting her team, as usual. But the music layered under the visual caught her ear.</p><p><br></p><p>Kian’s beat.</p><p><br></p><p>She recognized it instantly: the track they’d built together in the blackout. But it had changed—it was cleaner now, polished, richer. He’d added her rhythm. Her contribution.</p><p><br></p><p>He kept it.</p><p><br></p><p>He used it.</p><p><br></p><p>She didn’t know whether to feel honored or exposed.</p><p><br></p><p>“Hey, Earth to Amara,” a voice called.</p><p><br></p><p>She blinked and looked up. Her roommate, Nia, stood in the kitchen, sipping coffee and wearing an amused expression.</p><p><br></p><p>“You’re spacing out again. Is this about the mystery musician you won’t shut up about?”</p><p><br></p><p>Amara grinned. “I do not talk about him that much.”</p><p><br></p><p>Nia raised a brow. “Girl, you said ‘his voice is like a song and his eyes are like secrets.’ I counted.”</p><p><br></p><p>“Okay, maybe once.”</p><p><br></p><p>“Four times. In two days.”</p><p><br></p><p>Amara rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the smile curling on her lips. “He used our beat. I heard it on Cynthia’s post this morning.”</p><p><br></p><p>Nia leaned in. “Did he credit you?”</p><p><br></p><p>“No. But… I don’t care. Not really. I just…” She hesitated. “I think I want to see him again.”</p><p><br></p><p>Nia smirked. “Then don’t wait for fate. Text him.”</p><p><br></p><p>“I don’t have his number.”</p><p><br></p><p>Nia paused. “Seriously?”</p><p><br></p><p>“I wasn’t thinking about numbers that night,” she muttered, cheeks flushing.</p><p><br></p><p>Nia laughed. “You were too busy making music in the dark.”</p><p><br></p><p>Amara threw a pillow at her.</p><p><br></p><p><br></p><p>---</p><p><br></p><p>Later that afternoon, Amara’s thoughts kept drifting back to the studio. Her body was at the fabric market, but her heart was somewhere else—floating between piano notes and flashlight shadows.</p><p><br></p><p>Just as she reached for a roll of tulle, her phone buzzed.</p><p><br></p><p>Unknown number:</p><p>“You ever think about finishing that track?”</p><p>—Kian</p><p><br></p><p>Her heart thudded.</p><p><br></p><p>Amara:</p><p>“Every day since.”</p><p><br></p><p>A moment later:</p><p><br></p><p>Kian:</p><p>Studio tonight. 8. I’ll bring the city. You bring the soul.</p><p><br></p><p>She bit her lip, trying to play it cool, but inside, she was melting.</p><p><br></p><p><br></p><p>---</p><p><br></p><p>8:06 PM</p><p>The studio was quiet when she arrived—just dim light, soft echoes of sound.</p><p><br></p><p>Kian stood at the mixer, hoodie sleeves rolled up, his expression unreadable.</p><p><br></p><p>He looked up when she entered.</p><p><br></p><p>“You came.”</p><p><br></p><p>“You called.”</p><p><br></p><p>They both smiled.</p><p><br></p><p>He reached out, offering her headphones. “Let’s build something real.”</p><p><br></p><p>For the next hour, they layered melodies and shadows, laughter and longing. Amara sang a soft hum into the mic—just a whisper—and Kian wove it into the beat like thread into silk.</p><p><br></p><p>Time blurred.</p><p><br></p><p>At one point, they were sitting shoulder-to-shoulder on the floor, backs against the wall, listening to the track on loop.</p><p><br></p><p>“It sounds like... us,” she whispered.</p><p><br></p><p>Kian nodded. “City and soul.”</p><p><br></p><p>Amara turned to him. “Why did you disappear from the industry?”</p><p><br></p><p>He hesitated.</p><p><br></p><p>“My brother… he took his life after we dropped our first project. The pressure, the rumors. It got heavy. And I couldn’t save him.” His voice broke slightly. “So I stopped. I thought silence would hurt less than failure.”</p><p><br></p><p>Amara’s hand found his, gently.</p><p><br></p><p>“I lost my mom in silence,” she said. “We hide in the quiet because we think it protects us. But sometimes, it just buries the song.”</p><p><br></p><p>Kian looked at her—really looked. “You always talk like that?”</p><p><br></p><p>“Like what?”</p><p><br></p><p>“Like the truth has a melody.”</p><p><br></p><p>She smiled. “Only with you.”</p><p><br></p><p>Their faces were close now.</p><p><br></p><p>Too close.</p><p><br></p><p>And then—his hand brushed her cheek. Slow. Reverent. His lips hovered near hers, a question, not a promise.</p><p><br></p><p>Amara leaned in, heart pounding.</p><p><br></p><p>Their kiss was soft—like dusk meeting night. A slow-burning fire that made the world around them vanish.</p><p><br></p><p>When they parted, the silence wasn’t awkward. It was full. Deep. Safe.</p><p><br></p><p>Kian pressed his forehead to hers.</p><p><br></p><p>“Stay,” he whispered.</p><p><br></p><p>And so she did.</p><p><br></p><p><br></p><p>Not because she had nowhere else to go.</p><p><br></p><p>But because for the first time in a long time, it felt like she’d arrived.</p><p><br></p><p><br></p><p>---</p><p><br></p><p>End of Episode 4</p>
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