The bitter January wind cut through Amias' jacket as he walked alongside Jordan and Tyler, their breath forming clouds in the cold afternoon air. Wednesday had arrived faster than he'd anticipated, bringing with it both excitement and apprehension.
"You feeling cold?" Jordan asked, catching the tension in Amias' shoulders.
"Nah," Amias lied, adjusting the burgundy beanie that completed his carefully assembled outfit—black cargo pants with subtle stitching, a cream-colored hoodie layered under a leather jacket. "Just thinking about the track."
Tyler grinned, nudging him. "The track that's about to blow you up? That one?"
Amias couldn't help but smile. The events of Monday evening still felt surreal, like something that had happened to someone else.
Two Days Earlier
"Yo, this is actually happening," Jordan said, sprawled across Amias' bed Monday evening, staring at the ceiling in disbelief.
The three of them—Jordan, Tyler, and Amias—were crammed into Amias' small bedroom, the space that had witnessed countless gaming sessions, hushed conversations about drop-offs, and shared dreams of making it out. But today was different. Today, they were listening to I'm Tryna for the fifth time, the professionally mixed track filling the room with Amias' voice.
Zain had joined them too, leaning against the door frame, a satisfied smile playing on his lips as he watched their reactions.
"Play it again," Tyler demanded, sitting cross-legged on the floor, head bobbing with the beat. "I still can't believe this is you, fam."
Amias obliged, clicking the replay button. The now-familiar intro filled the room, bass vibrating through the floorboards. He'd have to be careful—his mum was working night shift, but the neighbors might complain if they kept this up.
"That's Kevin's work," Zain interjected his thoughts. "Man knows his craft."
"Nah, it's more than that," Tyler argued, eyes fixed on Amias with newfound respect. "The engineering's clean, yeah, but the bars? The flow? That's all Ami."
A swell of pride rose in Amias' chest, warming him from the inside.
"This you, bro," Jordan said earnestly, echoing his thoughts. "You made this."
—
Now, days later, they approached the office building that housed the studio, its glass facade reflecting the gray London sky. Jordan and Tyler would be heading off soon—they had plans to link some girls at a community football match—but they'd insisted on walking with Amias to the studio first.
"Do you know how mad it is that your cousin's Central Cee," Tyler muttered, eyes scanning the impressive building. "And you don't use it to get gyal."
"I told you before," Amias said for what felt like the hundredth time. "It's not something I broadcast."
"Still mad," Jordan shook his head. "You're so private barely anyone been to your yard before."
It was true—besides Zain, Jordan and Tyler were the only friends Amias had ever allowed inside his home. Not because he was ashamed, but because privacy had always been precious.
But now boundaries were blurring, worlds colliding in ways he couldn't control.
As they reached the entrance, Tyler checked his watch. "We should head out if we're gonna make it to Harlesden in time."
Jordan nodded, then turned to Amias, expression serious. "You got this, fam. Just do your thing like yesterday."
"Show them what you showed us," Tyler added, offering a fist bump.
Amias returned the gesture, gratitude washing over him. "Safe, man. Link later?"
"For sure," Jordan confirmed. "We'll let you know how it goes with the girls."
With final daps exchanged, they parted ways—Jordan and Tyler heading toward the bus stop while Amias pushed through the revolving doors. Inside, the building's sleek lobby gave way to the now-familiar food court. He navigated through the lunchtime crowd, past the spot where he'd sat with Temi just days ago, and towards the elevators.
His mind drifted to her as the elevator hummed upward. The sight of her on that man's lap still stung, a small thorn lodged in his pride. But that was how it worked in their world—pretty girls gravitated toward status. And what status did he have? Beyond being Central Cee's cousin he was a quiet nobody at school, living in a flat with broken heating.
But maybe that was changing.
The elevator doors slid open on the studio floor. Amias stepped out, instantly engulfed in the familiar atmosphere—music thumping behind closed doors, voices carrying down the corridor, the unmistakable energy of creation in progress. He moved with more confidence now, nodding at familiar faces, exchanging daps with artists and producers he'd met during his last visit.
"Ayyy, look who it is!" called a voice, and Amias turned to see Wyge's younger brother, Marcus, emerging from one of the studio rooms. "Amias, my guy!"
"Wagwan," Amias greeted him, accepting the enthusiastic handshake. "Everyone inside?"
"Yeah, Oakley's waiting for you," Marcus confirmed, gesturing toward the main studio. "Been asking when you're coming."
Amias followed him down the corridor, past smaller recording rooms and lounges where people huddled over laptops or phones. The main studio door stood open, revealing a scene much like Friday's—crowded with bodies, voices overlapping as opinions flew back and forth about whatever track was being worked on.
He paused at the threshold, taking in the familiar faces. Taz at the mixing board, headphones around his neck. Various members of 12Anti scattered around sofas and chairs. And in the center of it all, Oakley, commanding the room with his presence.
Oakley spotted him immediately, breaking into a grin. "Ami! Bout time, fam."
The room's attention shifted momentarily to Amias as he entered, exchanging daps and greetings with those closest to the door. He made his way to Oakley, the cousins embracing briefly.
"You been moving mad quiet these days," Oakley said, studying him with curious eyes. "Everything good?"
"All good," Amias assured him. "Just been focused."
Oakley nodded, a knowing gleam in his eye. "I hear that. Zain tells me you've been busy. Making tunes and that?"
A ripple of interest moved through those close enough to hear, heads turning toward Amias with renewed curiosity.
"Something like that," Amias admitted, suddenly conscious of the eyes on him.
"Nah, don't play it down," Oakley insisted, turning to address the room. "My cousin's been cooking up heat in secret. Proper writer and artist."
More faces turned now, evaluation in their gazes. Amias felt a mixture of pride and discomfort under the scrutiny.
"We're working on a few things," Oakley continued, gesturing toward the computer where Taz sat, "but I want to hear what you've been making. Zain says it's cold."
Before Amias could respond, a familiar voice cut through the studio chatter.
"Amias?"
He turned, heart jumping stupidly in his chest. Temi stood just a few feet away, looking effortlessly beautiful in high-waisted jeans and a fitted top, her braids cascading over one shoulder. Their eyes locked for a moment before Amias deliberately shifted his gaze away, pretending to check something on his phone.
"You not saying hi?" Temi pressed, moving closer, her tone playful but with an edge of challenge.
Amias looked up, maintaining a carefully neutral expression. "Hey."
"That's it?" Her eyebrows rose slightly. "We haven't seen each other since Friday."
"Been busy," he replied, the coolness in his voice at odds with the warmth spreading through his chest at her proximity.
One of Temi's friends—a girl with short, dyed blonde hair who Amias didn't recognize—tugged at her arm. "Come on, Temi, he's boring."
Temi hesitated, her eyes still on Amias, an amused expression playing on her features. "Hmm," was all she said before allowing herself to be pulled away, throwing one last glance over her shoulder as she rejoined her friends across the room.
Oakley, who'd witnessed the exchange with interest, leaned in. "Who's that?"
"Doesn't matter," Amias muttered, though the heat in his cheeks suggested otherwise.
"Right," Oakley said skeptically. "Anyway, let's hear this track of yours. Got it on your phone?"
Grateful for the change of subject, Amias pulled out his phone, scrolling through his files until he found I'm Tryna. He passed it to Taz, who plugged it into the studio system.
"Everyone shut up for a sec," Oakley called out, silencing the room. "My cousin's got something."
Nervousness fluttered in Amias' stomach as Taz prepared to play the track. The studio had fallen unusually quiet, all eyes now fixed on either him or the speakers. He caught Temi looking his way again, curiosity evident in her expression.
The first notes hit, the distinctive drill beat filling the space. Amias watched reactions carefully—heads beginning to nod, eyebrows raising in appreciation of the production quality. And then his voice came through, confident and sharp:
"Trap phone's buzzing like a wasp nest, paranoia's my new perfume..."
The energy in the room shifted palpably. Expressions of surprise gave way to approval as the track progressed, voices joining in by the time the chorus hit:
"Tryna see how much bread I can bake,
Why'd you think I'm bruckin' this weight?"
Amias felt a strange detachment watching others react to his creation—like observing from outside himself. These people, many of whom had barely acknowledged his presence before, were now moving to his words, his flow.
When the track ended, there was a moment of silence before the room erupted with reactions.
"Yo, that's cold!"
"Since when you spitting like that?"
"Ami, you been holding out!"
Oakley was nodding approvingly, genuine pride in his expression. "My cousin, innit?" he said to no one in particular. "I told you man he had talent."
"That's getting released, yeah?" someone called out. "Needs to be out there!"
"That's the plan," Amias confirmed, the swell of validation making him bolder. "Should be ready soon."
More questions came his way—how long he'd been making music, what else he was working on, if he was looking to collaborate. The attention was intoxicating, a new kind of high.
After a few minutes, feeling overwhelmed and needing a moment, Amias excused himself. "Just gonna use the toilet," he muttered to Oakley, slipping out of the studio and into the relative quiet of the corridor.
In the bathroom, he splashed cold water on his face, staring at his reflection in the mirror.
"Things are changing for you, fam. I can see it," Zane had said. And he'd been right.
When Amias emerged, Temi was waiting in the hallway, leaning against the wall with practiced casualness. Her friends hovered nearby, glancing his way with new interest.
"So you rap," she said, not a question but a statement. "And you're good."
Amias shrugged, fighting to maintain his composure. "It's just something I'm trying."
"Well, I'm impressed," she said, her smile sending his pulse racing despite his best efforts to remain unmoved. "We all are." She gestured toward her friends, who nodded in agreement.
"Thanks," he said simply, unsure how to navigate this new dynamic between them—the sting of seeing her with another man still fresh, but her attention now so clearly focused on him.
One of her friends, a tall girl with box braids, stepped forward. "You should follow Temi on Insta. She's always supporting new artists."
"Yeah," Temi agreed, her smile widening. "And you don't even have my number yet."
Despite himself, Amias felt his resolve weakening. He pulled out his phone, opening his contacts. "Go on then."
Temi took the phone, her fingers brushing his deliberately as she entered her number. "There," she said, handing it back. "Now you have no excuse not to keep in touch."
Before he could respond, Oakley's voice called from the studio doorway. "Ami! Come check this out."
"Gotta go," Amias said, gesturing toward his cousin.
Temi nodded, that same amused expression playing on her features. "We'll talk when you're finished."
As he rejoined Oakley in the studio, Amias tried to focus on the beats his cousin wanted to show him, but his mind kept drifting to Temi.
"You rate this one?" Oakley was asking, playing a soulful sample that transformed into a hard-hitting beat.
"Yeah, it's cold," Amias nodded, forcing himself to concentrate. "I can hear the hook already."
Across the room, he was acutely aware of Temi watching him, her gaze a tangible weight. The girl who'd barely noticed him days ago was now making sure he noticed her.
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Top....10 for a chapter tmr