Starstruck

1. Safiya

The beads warmed against Safiya's skin before her grandmother's call. She felt them heat in the pre-dawn quiet of her morning meditation, these same protection beads Gran had gifted her years ago. They hadn't warmed like this since the day she signed her first record deal.

When her phone lit up with Gran's face, Safiya already knew. Something was shifting in the spiritual realm.

     "I seen her," Gran said without greeting, her voice carrying across the ocean between Miami and Barbados. "De girl with de saxophone. She got old soul wounds like you, but together..."

Her grandmother's pause was heavy with meaning. "Together de music gonna heal t'ings neither of yuh knew was broken."

Safiya watched the waves through her balcony doors, Miami's sunrise painting the water gold.

"Gran, what are you talking about? What girl?"

     "Listen well, child. De ancestors don't send people by accident. Dey been preparin' dis path long time now. When Marcus show you de video today—"

"Marcus? What video?"

     "Don't interrupt your Gran when she prophesying." The familiar scolding made Safiya smile despite her confusion. "De protection beads. You wearin' dem?"

"Always."

     "Good. You gonna need dem. Some souls come into our life like waves, sweet girl. Gentle at first, den suddenly you underwater, wonderin' which way is up."

Hours later, in Rising Sun's main studio, Safiya had almost convinced herself Gran's call was just another of her grandmother's creative ways of showing love. Then Marcus Chen, their producer, burst into the room during their recording break.

     "Queen, you need to see this." He was already pulling up something on his phone. "Found her on YouTube last night. Some street performance. Watch."

The video opened on a beach at night. A guitarist played soft chords, but it was the saxophonist that made Safiya's breath catch. A young woman, eyes closed, swaying slightly as she played. The melody was raw, pure emotion given sound. Pain and healing and hope all at once.

The protection beads warmed against Safiya's skin.

     "Her name's Egypt Monroe," Marcus was saying. "The guitarist is her brother. Video's gone viral overnight. Comments are blowing up about—"

     "Send it to me." Safiya's voice was steadier than she felt. "The video. Send it now."

That had been fifteen hours ago.

Now, at 2 AM in her home studio, Queen Safi had watched the video exactly seventeen times. The first viewing was professional curiosity. The second was studying technique. By the third, she'd noticed the way Egypt held the saxophone like it was keeping her alive, the small smile near the end when she'd forgotten anyone was watching.

"Still watching that beach video?"

Safiya startled at Marcus's voice – her bassist, not the producer. She hadn't even heard him come up to the house. In fifteen years of friendship, he'd never managed to sneak up on her before.

     "Research," she said quickly, straightening in her chair. "She's auditioning tomorrow."

     "Mhm." Marcus's smile was too knowing as he settled into the leather armchair where he'd sat through countless late-night recording sessions. "That why you've had it on repeat since Chen showed us? Research?"

"Don't you have somewhere to be?"

     "Yeah, making sure my best friend gets some sleep before meeting her new..." He paused deliberately. "Saxophonist."

Safiya ignored the weight he put on the last word. "I'm just making sure she'll fit with Rising Sun's sound."

     "Right." Marcus leaned forward, his expression softening. "Because that's definitely why you've been watching her play until 2 AM. The sound." He glanced around the studio, taking in the untouched equipment, the closed journal. "When's the last time you went a whole night without working on your own music?"

She didn't answer. They both knew.

     "You know," Marcus said, heading for the door, "sometimes the universe puts people in our path for a reason."

"Now you sound like Gran."

His laugh echoed down the hallway. "Maybe your Gran's onto something." He reached the stairs, then called back, "Better get some rest, Queen. Tomorrow's gonna change everything."

The protection beads warmed again against her skin.

Safiya closed her laptop, but not before noting how the video count had reached eighteen. In the darkness of her studio, she could almost hear Gran's knowing laugh. The same laugh she'd ended their call with this morning, right after saying, "When you see her, you'll feel it. De ancestors sendin' you a healer disguised as a musician."

For the first time in her career, Queen Safi felt nervous about meeting a new artist.

She moved through her nighttime routine on autopilot, her mind still full of saxophone melodies and Gran's words. The ocean breeze carried salt through her open windows, mixing with the lingering scent of the protection herbs she'd burned earlier. Everything felt charged, expectant, like the air before a storm.

Standing on her balcony, Safiya looked out at the Miami skyline glittering against the night sky. Somewhere out there, Egypt Monroe was probably preparing for tomorrow too. Was she nervous? Excited? Did she feel this same inexplicable pull?

She blamed the beads. And Gran's dream. And those seventeen – eighteen – viewings that showed her something new each time. The way Egypt's fingers caressed each key. How her body swayed with the music. The moment near the end where she smiled, small and secret, like she'd forgotten anyone was watching.

Safiya had built her career on control. Every song crafted perfectly, every performance flawless, every business decision calculated. Queen Safi didn't get caught off guard. She didn't let people past her carefully constructed walls. She definitely didn't stay up until 2 AM watching videos of new band members.

But as she finally slipped into bed, she caught herself humming the melody from the video. And when sleep claimed her, she dreamed of saxophone notes turning to golden bridges over troubled waters, just like Gran had described.

Tomorrow was going to change everything.