IN WHICH, Samira Langston, a single
mother and rising R&B star, clashes
with superstar Chris Brown. Their
rocky start turns into a powerful
connection as they navigate fame,
love, and personal demons.
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THIRD PERSON. Gravity Records—Los Angeles, California.
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❤︎
A little over three weeks had passed since that short, but life changing zoom meeting took place. Samira was in the studio everyday, from eight in the morning until eight in the afternoon. She was working non-stop, and it was working because she would leave the studio today with the last three songs finished. She would be lying if she said it was easy; being away from her little boy for so long felt like a cruel punishment—the only thing getting her through it was knowing that, in the long run, these long studio sessions would benefit him greatly. Thankfully, during the breaks she got from recording, she chose to spend her time wandering around the record label.
The hallways were decked out in gold and platinum records from all the previously signed artists. She smiled to herself as she ran her fingers over the frames while she walked, imagining the day when her own achievements would line these walls. The vision of her future success drove her to push through the exhaustion and homesickness. She could almost see her own name up there, shining alongside the legends she admired. Samira and her new crew had been working double time to try and push this album out on time, and her hard work was already paying off. She blew her producers away each and every time, showcasing her talents more and more with each session.
As she rounded a corner, her Apple Watch began to buzz, indicating it was time for her to head back to the studio and wrap up for the day. Samira sighed, knowing that her break was over. She glanced around one last time, taking in the inspiring sight of the walls before heading back to her recording session.
The studio was a flurry of activity when she walked in. Paris, the producer, was adjusting the sound levels, while the backup musicians were tuning their instruments. Samira's eyes met Jasmine Thorne's, who gave her an encouraging nod. Something about this new crew made Samira feel so secure, made her feel like she was making history—all of them being black women. Paris had long, dyed, red locs, her arms covered in sentimental tattoos, and her teeth clad in gold grills. Her guitarist, Roni, wore her natural Afro with pride, her hands covered in silver rings. And her pianist, Bobbi, rocked a bleached fade, the shade of her hair perfectly contrasting with her dark skin.
