𝟐 𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐒. / mj

𝟐𝟏. 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐀𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬.

❛ Her sweet little ways, mean so much to me. ❜

____________

JANUARY 17th . LOS ANGELES . 1988

      𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐘 𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃𝐍'𝐓 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐎𝐅𝐅 𝐓𝐎 𝐀 𝐂𝐑𝐀𝐙𝐈𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓. It was kicked off by firecrackers popping against the concrete of Studio D's parking lot, where Khalil and Tyler had shown up impromptu during Imani's studio session with Michael, on the last evening of the year. In the most hectic way possible, it seemed that they all have been moving with the rhythm of Khalil's explosive firecrackers for the first two weeks of the month.

No one ever wondered where Imani was when they'd fail to reach her, not anymore—morning, evening and night, she was in the studio, as if her body was taped to its walls.

The girl's pumping out songs like a maniac, had joked her engineer, Bruce, during one of Michael's visits—which had become rare. The right hemisphere of her brain was constantly on go, and her fingers continuously occupied. Between guitars getting strummed, drums demolished, pages of lyrics filled up with rhymes or swooshed into a trash can and pens running out of ink—the race for excellence and a three hundred thousand copies sold first week knew no bounds.

The odd times she was sighted anywhere outside of the studio, were when she was home, catching up with her little brother, who himself had a whole lot of changes to adapt to.

Khalil was able to successfully transfer schools before the end of winter break, and going from being the popular, athletic and studious boy in Compton to the new kid in a fancy, Valley high school, was a bit more challenging that he'd anticipated it to be.

The demographic was poles apart, to say the least. People communicated differently, and definitely weren't in on most of the slang he'd casually use when trying to socialize. Their sense of humor often did not reach his—and on top of that, he had to wear a uniform now. But as his father always taught his three children; do not change who you are for anyone, especially when there's nothing wrong with you to begin with.

Khalil was too young to have heard him speak those words, since his father had passed when he was still a baby, but Imani always made sure to pass them on to him on his first days of school.

As for Michael? Well, Michael had a whole North American tour ahead of him, so he didn't have time to fool around either. The two scarcely ever saw each other, their schedules rarely ever harmonious. The best way they kept in touch was through very late night calls, ending with the both of them dozing off, phones sliding out of their grasp.

Now seven days away from his flight to Florida for rehearsals, Michael was immensely grateful to see his schedule finally free of duties. He'd tell a big lie if he claimed he didn't purposely overcharge his days, just so that he'd be able to spend his last week in California by his woman's side.

Everything was carefully planned out on his part, but the hardest would be to convince Imani to take a tiny break away from work.

"Nini? It's only four days. You'll be back in the booth before you even know it." Michael repeated himself for the millionth time, tiredly adjusting the throw pillow his back was resting against.

"Do you know how many hours four days are? That's ninety six, now convert those hours into studio time—that's massive!" Imani defended her case, closing Michael's apartment tall curtains, then turned to look at him. "What if I were to come up with four number one hits within those four days?"