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THE SOUND OF THE MUD
In the gritty heart of Cedar Street, Céyah and Zion forged a bond in the mud, promising to reach the big screens together. She was the fire—a vocal powerhouse; he was the frost—a genius producer. But when the ghetto’s gravity pulled Zion into a prison cell, their shared dream shattered. Years of silence and unread letters followed as they both climbed to global stardom alone. Now icons in a world of glass and neon, they remain haunted by the porch where it all began, proving that while you can leave the mud, the rhythm of home never fades
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"I'm doing it so you don't have to," he rasped. "Every dollar I get from the street goes into the gear. Into the 'buy-out' fund. I’m building a wall around you, Céyah."
"I never asked for a wall!" she cried, tears finally breaking. "I asked for you."
The silence that followed was heavy, charged with years of unspoken longing and the trauma of this place.
Zion reached out, his pale hand trembling as he cupped her face. His thumb brushed over her cheek, the contrast of his skin against hers as stark as ever.
He leaned down, slowly kissing both of her wet cheek's, her head, then the tip of her nose. He lightly tipped her head up with his finger. "tell me to stop Cé" he pleads. voice breaking slightly as he closes the distance between their faces.
The kiss was desperate, tasting of salt and cocoa butter and the fear that had defined their lives. It was an anchor in the middle of a storm, a beautiful moment where they were just two teenagers who loved each other more than they loved their own safety.
