Landon leaned forward and took a bowl, the delicious aroma of the food a welcome change from the coffee. As they ate, a comfortable silence settled between them, a quiet intimacy that felt foreign to both of their lives. Amala finished a bite and looked over at him, her gaze thoughtful. "So," she began, "whose beat is it for?"
Landon looked at her, genuinely confused by the question. "What do you mean?" he asked. "It's for us. We're going to make a song after we're done eating."
Amala almost choked on her food. She coughed, her eyes wide with shock. "Are you serious?" she managed to say, her voice a mix of disbelief and awe. "You're going to... you're going to feature me?"
A playful grin spread across Landon's face. He shrugged, pretending to be nonchalant. "If you don't want to work with me, it's fine. I can always ask Selena or Ariana."
"No!" she said instantly, a fierce look of determination replacing her shock. "No, I would love to. It's just... it's not every day a world-class artist simply hands out a feature like this."
"It's nothing major," Landon said, taking another bite of his food. "On my upcoming album, I've already featured a few other new artists and signed them to Echo Waves. I believe in giving talent a platform."
Amala's eyes widened. "So, our song... will it be on your album, too?"
Landon shrugged, a playful look on his face. "If it passes the vibe test, it just might."
A few moments later, they had finished eating, and the remnants of their meal were pushed to the side. Landon and Amala plugged in the microphone and headphones, the small apartment transforming into a makeshift studio. Landon settled back down in front of the laptop. "Okay," he said, turning to Amala. "I need you to play the beat out loud for about twenty minutes while I write the lyrics. Just loop it."
Amala nodded, hitting play. The beat, a melodic, rhythmic sound that was both chill and vibrant filled the small room. What she didn't know, is was that Landon wasn't just writing lyrics he was taking a piece of the future and making it his own. The beat was "I Like You," a song he knew would one day become a massive hit for Post Malone and Doja Cat. He was taking advantage of the fact that the song didn't exist yet, transforming a future collaboration into a project that was all his. As the beat played, he scribbled furiously into a notebook, a wry smile on his face.
Twenty minutes passed, the beat looping over and over again. Amala watched Landon, his pen moving at a furious pace. He was completely in the zone, his brow furrowed in concentration. The silence in the room was only broken by the soft clicks of his pen and the rhythmic pulse of the music.
He finally stopped, pulled the paper from the notebook, and ripped it in half. Without a word, he handed her one of the halves.
"That's yours," he said, his eyes still fixed on the laptop.
Amala's brow furrowed in confusion. "My... my what?" she asked.
Before she could finish her sentence, he put on the headphones, adjusted the microphone, and hit record. A single, powerful melody came out of the speakers as he began to sing his verse. She looked down at the page in her hands. She was holding a perfectly written verse, ready to be sung. It was as if he had read her mind, a seamless transition from one artist's thoughts to another. He wasn't just a singer; he was a creator. After fifteen minutes of intense focus, Landon took off the headphones, his voice already hoarse. He had laid down his verse, the chorus, and even added some ad-libs, his precision a testament to his years of experience. He turned to Amala, a look of calm confidence on his face. "Alright, that's it for me," he said, gesturing to the microphone. "It's your turn. Don't worry about it, just try to have fun with it."
Amala's brow furrowed in confusion. She looked from Landon to the microphone, her nervousness clear. "Fun? How can I just... have fun? This is the first time I've ever recorded something professionally. I'm going to be terrible."
Landon shook his head and offered a calm, reassuring smile. "Trust me," he said. "Just trust me."
He spent the next few minutes directing her, his words a mix of technical advice and gentle encouragement. He coached her on how to breathe, how to let her voice soar on certain notes, and how to pour her emotion into the lyrics. He was a natural mentor, patiently guiding her until the fear in her eyes was replaced with a spark of confidence. After a while, she nodded, took a deep breath, and began to sing. When she finished, she immediately looked away, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. "It's so bad," she muttered, convinced she had ruined the track.
Landon didn't respond. He simply put on his headphones and dove into the track, his fingers flying across the laptop. He was a surgeon in the digital world, meticulously cleaning up her vocals, adding layers of his own, and mastering the beat to a perfect, radio-ready polish. An hour passed in complete silence. Finally, he took off the headphones. "Connect the monitors," he said, his voice flat with focus. Amala nervously plugged the speakers in. Landon hit play, and the small apartment was instantly filled with a sound that felt bigger than the room itself. A world-class pop song, with a beat he had only just created and a voice that was both uniquely hers and yet entirely new.
The speakers filled the small apartment with a sound so polished, so massive, that it felt like it belonged in a stadium. Amala stood frozen, her eyes wide, staring at the monitors as if they were a portal to another dimension. She could hear her voice, but it was richer, more confident, perfectly layered and intertwined with Landon's. The raw emotion she had poured into her performance was now a powerful, undeniable force. Landon watched her, a shy smile spreading across his face. He finally broke the silence. "What do you think?"
She turned to him, tears welling in her eyes, a look of pure, disbelieving awe on her face. "It's amazing," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Is... is that really me?"
"No," Landon said, his tone unexpectedly harsh. He saw the flicker of disappointment in her eyes before he laughed softly, the teasing note returning. "That's us. We're both on it." He cracked a shy smile as he watched her process his words, a new kind of partnership solidified in the shared magic of the music.
Amala felt her heart swell with a mix of awe and gratitude. It was more than a song; it was a testament to her worth, a promise of a future she had only dared to dream of. She saw the exhaustion in Landon's eyes.
"You want another coffee?" she asked, her voice gentle. "I can make another pot."
Landon's tired smile was his only reply as he nodded, leaning his head back against the sofa cushions. "Please."
A couple of minutes later, Amala returned from the kitchen with a fresh pot of coffee, but she found him just as she had left him. His breathing was deep and even, and his eyes were closed. He was completely passed out on the sofa. She stood over him for a moment, a fond smile on her face. "He really must've been tired," she whispered to herself. She looked back at the laptop, at the open session with the song that was about to change her life. "But still, to make a hit song out of nowhere like that... you really aren't normal, are you?" She chuckled softly before heading to her bedroom. She returned with a blanket and gently covered him up, leaving him to rest in the quiet comfort of her small, not-so-humble home.
A few hours later, a loud, insistent ringing shattered the peaceful silence of the apartment. Landon's phone, buried deep in his pocket, vibrated with a furious urgency. The calls were coming from Rachel and Emma, a clear sign that his sudden disappearance had caused a panic. Landon groaned, his eyes fluttering open. The world was blurry at first, and then, it came into focus. He was on a sofa, not his luxurious hotel bed. And he wasn't alone. Lying right next to him, curled up under the same blanket, was Amala. She was fast asleep, her breathing soft and rhythmic, a stray curl of hair falling across her face.
He must have been completely passed out when she got the blanket, because she had moved to the sofa to make sure he was comfortable. He felt a soft smile spread across his face, the sight a weird but undeniably cute one. The cold bitterness of his heartbreak from the night before was gone, replaced by a warm, unfamiliar feeling. He was no longer the lonely star seeking refuge in a club; he was here, in this small apartment, wrapped in a blanket with a new friend.