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. Grand Marquis Hotel—Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.
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✱ MATURE CONTENT WARNING!! ✱
❤︎
As the tour bus came to a smooth stop outside the hotel, the doors hissed open, and Samira, along with her fifteen dancers, began to spill out onto the pavement. The midday sun was bright but not overwhelming, casting a warm, golden hue over the scene. The air was thick with the scent of city life—concrete, a hint of exhaust, and the distant aroma of food from nearby vendors. It was a stark contrast to the cool, dim interior of the bus, and the dancers squinted as they adjusted to the change.
Samira was the first to step out, her son, Sadiah, resting peacefully in her arms. His small head was nestled against her shoulder, his soft curls brushing against the fabric of her sweatshirt. He was fast asleep, his breath warm and steady against her neck. Samira couldn't help but smile softly down at him, her heart swelling with love. Despite the exhaustion that clung to her, carrying him like this always made her feel a little lighter.
Behind her, the dancers emerged one by one, stretching and yawning after the long ride. They were a lively, eclectic mix—each one bringing their own energy to the group. Some were already chatting animatedly, their voices overlapping in a cheerful cacophony, while others were still half-asleep, trudging behind with duffel bags slung over their shoulders. The camaraderie between them was palpable, a result of weeks of rehearsals and sound checks, days together on the road, sharing stages, their life stories, and everything in between.
As the group moved toward the entrance of the hotel, Jasmine, Samira's manager, fell into step beside her. Jasmine was a no-nonsense woman with a sharp mind and an even sharper tongue when needed, but she had a soft spot for Samira and had been with her since the early days of her career. She was wearing the opposite of her usual attire, her short hair resting in a braid on her shoulder, face rid of makeup, and a black sweatsuit clung to her shirt frame—she even traded her trademark black stilettos for a pair of sneakers.
