"Amias? What are you doing here?"
Temi's voice pulled him from his thoughts, her light brown eyes studying him with curious intensity. That same faint smirk played on her lips, lighting up her features in a way that made his chest tighten.
"I could ask you the same thing," he managed, his voice still raspy. He cleared his throat, wincing at the pain. Seeing her here, of all places, felt surreal—like his worlds were colliding in ways he hadn't prepared for.
She gestured vaguely behind her. "My homegirls invited me up to the studio. Said they knew someone recording today." Her gaze sharpened. "What about you? Don't tell me you're just wandering random buildings on a Saturday."
Amias scratched the back of his neck, suddenly aware of how he must look—tired, voice wrecked, clothes thrown on in haste. "Nah, I'm here with my cousin. He, uh, rents the studio."
Something flickered across Temi's face—surprise, then calculation. "Wait." She lowered her voice, stepping closer. "Isn't this Central Cee's studio?"
The question caught him off guard. How did she even know that? Oakley was careful about who knew about this place. The only females who dated or messed with guys who regularly came here were allowed to know about it, and Oakley made sure they could be trusted.
"Yeah," he admitted slowly, studying her reaction. "Oakley's my cousin."
Her eyes widened, genuine shock replacing her usual composed expression. "What the hell? You're Central Cee's cousin? How come no one at school talks about that?"
"Because I don't tell people at school," Amias said, shifting his weight. "Only teachers or people from Shepherd's Bush really know."
The revelation hung between them. Temi stared at him like she was seeing him for the first time, reevaluating everything she thought she knew about the boy who'd been staring at her in Leatherback's class.
"Well," she said finally, a new light dancing in her eyes, "I'm kind of starved right now. Why don't we go down and get something to eat together?"
Amias blinked, momentarily stunned. Was Temi—the Temi who'd been living rent-free in his head since September—actually asking to grab food with him?
"Yeah, cool," he said, trying to sound casual despite the storm brewing in his chest. "There's a food court downstairs."
The building housed offices, studios, and a bustling food court on the ground floor—a major reason why Oakley had chosen this place. It provided anonymity. Just another commercial building in London.
They took the elevator down in weighted silence. Amias sneaked glances at her from the corner of his eye, still not quite believing she was standing beside him. The subtle scent of her perfume filled the small space—something floral but not too sweet.
The doors opened to reveal the food court, packed with the Saturday lunch crowd. Workers from the offices above, shoppers taking a break, families with children darting between tables. The noise washed over them—conversations, laughter, the clatter of trays and silverware.
"What do you fancy?" Amias asked, surveying the options.
Temi scanned the various food stalls, her eyes settling on a small Indian place in the corner. "That looks good. I'm craving something spicy."
They weaved through the crowd, joining the queue at Bombay Express. Amias studied the menu, hyperaware of Temi beside him, the occasional brush of her arm against his sending jolts through his system.
When they reached the counter, Temi ordered chicken tikka masala with garlic naan. She reached for her wallet, but Amias instinctively stepped forward.
"I've got it," he said. The words came out before he could think twice.
She raised an eyebrow, that smirk returning. "You sure?"
"Yeah," he nodded, pulling out cash. "It's calm."
He ordered the same, and they found a small table tucked away in the corner. The plastic chairs weren't comfortable, but Amias barely noticed. His mind was racing, trying to come up with something clever to say.
Temi beat him to it. "So, what was happening with you in Leatherback's class yesterday? You looked like you'd seen a ghost when you walked in."
The direct question caught him off guard. Did she know why he'd been staring? The thought made his palms sweat.
"Just tired," he muttered, taking a sip of water. "Late night."
"Mmm," she hummed, clearly unconvinced. "And it had nothing to do with staring at my left ear?"
He nearly choked on his water. "What?"
"That's what Leatherback said, remember?" Amusement danced in her eyes. "You were staring at my left ear. Apparently, it's fascinating."
The memory of the classroom's laughter flooded back. "Yeah, well, Leatherback's always on my case."
"I've noticed," she said, leaning forward slightly. "He's hard on you."
"It's whatever," Amias shrugged. "He thinks I'm wasting potential or something."
Their food arrived, steaming and fragrant. Temi took a bite of her chicken, closing her eyes briefly in appreciation. The simple gesture sent another wave of warmth through Amias' chest.
"So," she said, between bites, "tell me about being related to Central Cee. That must be mad."
Amias picked at his food, considering how much to share. "It's not that deep. He's just my cousin. We grew up together on the estate after I moved here."
"But he's huge now," Temi pressed. "Everyone knows him."
"Yeah, it's been crazy watching him blow up," Amias admitted. "But at the end of the day, he's still just Oakley to me. Still the same guy who used to steal my PlayStation controller a year ago."
Temi laughed, a genuine sound that made her face light up. "That's hard to imagine. Central Cee playing PlayStation in someone's living room."
"Everyone starts somewhere," Amias said, relaxing slightly. It felt good, talking to her like this. Natural, almost.
She studied him for a moment, her head tilted slightly. "You know everyone at school's going to lose their minds if they find out, right?"
"Which is exactly why you can't tell anyone," Amias said quickly, his voice dropping. "Seriously, Temi."
She held his gaze, then extended her pinky finger across the table. "Pinky promise I won't tell a soul."
The childish gesture made him smile despite himself. He linked his pinky with hers, trying to ignore the electric feeling of her skin against his. "Thanks."
"So do you make music too?" she asked, withdrawing her hand. "It would make sense, family talent and all that."
"I'm..." Amias hesitated, uncertain how to explain. "I'm starting to. Just got some equipment, actually."
"That's sick," she said, genuine interest in her voice. "What kind of sound are you going for?"
Before he could answer, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, grimacing when he saw his mother's name on the screen.
"Be home by 9," the text read. "No excuses. We need to talk about your attendance record."
He glanced at the time—7:00 PM. Two hours left.
"Everything okay?" Temi asked, noticing his expression change.
"Yeah, just my mum." He pocketed the phone, pushing down the familiar irritation. "Always on my case about everything."
"Parents," Temi nodded sympathetically. "My dad's the same. Thinks I should be studying every waking hour."
As they finished their food, a group of girls approached their table. Three of them, dressed in trendy outfits, their makeup flawless even under the harsh food court lighting.
"Temi!" one called out, her gaze flicking curiously between Temi and Amias. "We've been looking everywhere for you. We're heading up to play some tracks. You coming?"
Temi glanced at Amias, something unreadable flickering across her face. "Yeah, in a bit. I'll meet you up there."
The girl raised an eyebrow, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "Alright, don't be too long." She shot Amias another curious look before the group headed toward the elevators.
"Your friends?" Amias asked, watching them go.
"Sort of," Temi said, waving dismissively. "Friends of friends. They know someone at the studio."
A comfortable silence settled between them as they finished their food. Amias found himself studying her when she wasn't looking—the careful way she ate, the slight crease between her eyebrows when she was thinking.
"I should probably head up," she said finally, gathering her trash. "They'll be wondering where I am."
"Yeah," Amias nodded, watching Temi gather her things.
For a moment, neither moved. Something unspoken hung in the air between them.
"It was nice running into you," she said finally, offering him a small smile. "See you upstairs?"
"Yeah."
As she walked away, Amias remained seated, staring at the empty space she'd occupied. The food court buzzed around him, oblivious to the storm of thoughts whirling in his head. Had that really happened? Had he really just shared a meal with Temi.
He pulled out his phone, checking the time. Nearly 7:30. He should head back upstairs before Oakley wondered where he'd disappeared to. But something kept him rooted to the spot, replaying every word of their conversation, analyzing every gesture.
She asked to eat with me. She laughed at what I said. She made a pinky promise.
Simple things that somehow felt monumental.
Twenty minutes passed before his phone buzzed with a text from Wyge: Oi where you at?
Amias: Downstairs in the food court.
Wyge: Come up. Cench back. You're missing it.
With a sigh, Amias gathered his trash and headed for the elevators. The metal doors slid open with a soft chime, and he stepped inside, catching his reflection in the mirrored walls. His eyes looked brighter somehow, more alive, despite the fatigue pulling at his features.
When he reached the studio floor, the energy hit him before he even opened the door—bass thumping through the walls, voices rising and falling in animated conversation.
The studio was more crowded now. Oakley had returned with his entourage, and several others had arrived in Amias' absence. The central space thrummed with activity—people lounging on couches, passing drinks, scrolling through phones. In the corner, Oakley's younger brother and his own cousin—Juke, was engaged in an intense conversation with two guys Amias vaguely recognized from around the estate.
And there was Temi, perched on the arm of a couch, surrounded by her friends. She caught his eye briefly, offering a barely perceptible nod before turning back to her conversation.
Amias slipped toward the back of the room, finding an empty spot against the wall. He pulled out his phone, trying to look busy, but his attention kept drifting to Temi. Surrounded by her friends, she seemed different—more animated, louder, her gestures broader. This was her element, clearly.
"Oi, Ami!" Oakley's voice cut through the noise. "Stop hiding in the back!"
All eyes turned to him. Amias pocketed his phone, making his way toward the center of the room where Oakley lounged on his makeshift throne, beckoning him over.
"Come sit, cuz," Oakley said, gesturing to the space near the production equipment. "Taz is showing us something mad."
Taz, Central Cee's engineer and primary producer, was hunched over the mixing desk, headphones half-on as he made minute adjustments to the track playing through the monitors. The instrumental was familiar—a drill beat with an eerie piano sample looping over skittering hi-hats.
Amias settled into a chair near the equipment rack, trying not to look in Temi's direction. From here, he could see the studio proper through the glass—microphone stand in the center, headphones hanging ready, the space where magic happened.
"This is that new one, innit?" Zain asked, leaning forward. "The one you were talking about?"
Oakley nodded, eyes fixed on the waveforms dancing across the monitor. "Yeah, '6 Figures.' Still needs work though."
Taz played the track from the beginning, and Oakley began to rap along with his own recorded vocals. The lyrics weren't fully formed yet—placeholders in some places, awkward phrasing in others. The basic structure was there, but it lacked the polish of a finished track.
"Take that risk and go solo, independent," Oakley rapped, shaking his head slightly. "Just turned down money on the table, the contract's different."
The chorus continued, stumbling in places, too wordy in others. Amias listened intently, eager to see what he could learn from his cousin.
"It's not hitting right," Oakley muttered, gesturing for Taz to stop the playback. "The flow's off on the hook."
"Maybe drop a few words," Taz suggested. "It's crowded."
"Nah, the message needs to be there," Oakley insisted.
As they continued discussing, Amias' mind raced. His Lyrical Composition stat at 81/100, which would mean… it was likely he was better than his cousin at making lyrics—not even, he was definitely better. Without thinking, he pulled out his phone and opened his notes app, starting to type.
The conversation around him faded as he focused, reworking lines he heard during the song, tightening phrases, preserving the message while enhancing the flow. He worked quickly, drawing on the knowledge of rhythm and cadence, his understanding of what made words flow over a beat. All of which came from his high lyricism.
Thirty minutes passed this way, the studio session continuing around him. Different versions of the track played, discussions flared and died, but Amias remained absorbed in his task. When he finally looked up, satisfied with what he'd created, he found Oakley watching him with curiosity.
"What you got there, Ami?" he asked, nodding toward the phone. "You been typing like a madman."
Amias hesitated. "Just some ideas."
"For what?"
"For the track."
Oakley's eyebrows rose. "Let me see."
Heart pounding, Amias passed over his phone. Oakley scanned the notes, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, a grin spread across his face.
"Ami," he said, his voice quiet. "You holding out on me?"
Confusion rippled through the group. Wyge leaned over, trying to see the screen. "What's going on?"
Without answering, Oakley stood, phone still in hand, and approached Taz. They conferred briefly, heads bent together over the screen. Taz nodded, made a few adjustments to the track.
"Load me in," Oakley said suddenly, pointing to the booth.
Taz hit a few buttons, and the red light above the studio door illuminated. Oakley slipped inside, headphones on, Amias' phone in hand. The backing track started again, and Oakley began to rap, but this time with different lyrics:
"Take that risk and go independent, I just turned down six figures (it's different),
On the phone you was loud, Now we're in real life and you're soundin' timid (vio)..."
For fifteen minutes, Oakley worked through the track, reading from Amias' notes, occasionally stopping to adjust his delivery or emphasis. The room had fallen silent, all eyes on the booth as Cench brought Amias' words to life.
When he finally emerged, the energy in the room had shifted. People were nodding, exchanging impressed glances.
"Yo, Ami," Wyge said, breaking the silence. "You can write, bruv?"
Amias shrugged, uncomfortable with the attention. "Kinda."
"Kinda?" Oakley laughed, tossing the phone back to him. "Man rewrote the whole thing in a second bro."
"I didn't rewrite it," Amias clarified hastily. "The bones were already there. Just tweaked it a bit."
"Well, your 'tweaks' fixed what was wrong with the lyrics," Taz said, playing back a section. "Flow's better now. Message hits harder."
Pride bloomed in Amias' chest, warm and unfamiliar. If his lyricism made him produce something good, that people listened to and they liked it. More than liked it. Then maybe he should try his hand at writing while he was getting all of his stats up to 50?
As the conversation continued, Amias' gaze drifted across the room, inevitably finding Temi. What he saw made his stomach drop.
She was sitting on the lap of a guy in a black Nike Tech tracksuit, her arm draped casually around his shoulders. The guy—older, with a sharp jawline and designer fade—had one hand resting on her waist, his expression smug as he chatted with her friends.
The sight hit Amias like a physical blow. His previous source of pride forgotten.
Stupid, he thought. So stupid to think their lunch meant anything.
He forced himself to look away, focusing instead on Taz, who was explaining something about the mixing process. But the image had burned itself into his mind, making it hard to concentrate.
It wasn't 9 pm as of yet, but his phone buzzed with a text from his mother: Landlord is here and giving problems. Come home now.
Amias stared at the message, emotions warring within him.
And now, home problems. Always something.
"I've got to go," he said, standing abruptly. "Mum's texting. Some issue with the landlord."
Oakley, still riding the high of the improved track, barely looked up from in the booth. "We'll chat more about this later, yeah?"
"For sure," Amias agreed, already heading for the door.
"Oi, Ami," Wyge called after him. "You coming back tomorrow?"
"Maybe," Amias replied, though he wasn't sure if he could.
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