Jidenna Okoro woke up the next morning with a feeling of euphoria still lingering from the night before. The performance had been one of his best yet, but it wasn't the applause or the praise that had left him in such high spirits—it was Amaka. Her presence, her elegance, the way her eyes had met his and lingered just long enough to make his pulse race—it was as if she had stepped out of one of his songs, the muse he had always dreamed of but never thought he'd meet.

He stretched out on the worn mattress in his modest apartment in Surulere, the sunlight streaming through the thin curtains. His room was small and sparsely furnished, with a second-hand couch, a coffee table he'd salvaged from the roadside, and a bookshelf crammed with sheet music and old records. His prized possession, however, was his guitar, propped up carefully in the corner. It was scratched and battered, but it had been with him through every song, every struggle, and every triumph.

As he reached for his phone, he hesitated. Should he call her? Would it be too soon? He had never been one to overthink things, but Amaka was different. She wasn't the kind of woman you approached casually. Everything about her demanded respect and intention.

"Focus," he muttered to himself, shaking off the thoughts. He had a busy day ahead—a meeting with his producer, a recording session, and a rehearsal for his next performance. But even as he busied himself with his morning routine, his mind kept drifting back to her.

Meanwhile, on the other side of Lagos, Amaka sat in the spacious living room of her apartment, sipping her morning coffee. The events of the previous night played on a loop in her mind, and she found herself smiling at the memory of Jidenna's voice, his easy charm, and the way he had looked at her as if she were the only person in the room.

"Amaka, you're smitten," Ngozi teased as she sauntered into the room, still in her pajamas.

Amaka shot her a glare but couldn't hide the blush creeping up her cheeks. "Don't be ridiculous. We just talked."

"Oh, please. I saw the way you were looking at him. You've never been this taken with anyone before," Ngozi said, plopping down on the couch beside her. "And honestly, I don't blame you. He's different. Real."

Amaka sighed, setting her mug down on the glass coffee table. "That's exactly what scares me. I don't know how to do 'real.'"

Ngozi's expression softened. "Amaka, you're one of the strongest women I know. But sometimes, you've got to let your guard down. Give him a chance."

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Amaka didn't respond. Instead, she picked up her phone and stared at the blank screen. A message from him would have made things easier, but there was nothing. She wasn't used to being the one waiting, and it unsettled her.

By midday, Jidenna was deep into his recording session. The studio was a small but cozy space, with egg-crate foam on the walls and cables snaking across the floor. His producer, Bayo, was a no-nonsense man with an ear for perfection and a knack for pushing Jidenna beyond his limits.

"That was good, but I know you can do better," Bayo said, leaning back in his chair as the last notes of Jidenna's song faded out.

Jidenna nodded, wiping the sweat from his brow. "Let's take it from the top."

As he positioned himself in front of the microphone, his phone buzzed on the nearby table. He glanced at the screen and felt his heart skip a beat. It was a message from Amaka.

"Good morning, Jidenna. Just wanted to say I enjoyed meeting you last night. Hope you're having a good day."

He couldn't help the grin that spread across his face as he quickly typed out a reply.

"Good morning, Amaka. The feeling is mutual. My day just got a whole lot better hearing from you."

The exchange was brief, but it was enough to keep him buoyed for the rest of the session. By the time they wrapped up, he was itching to see her again. But how soon was too soon?

That evening, Amaka found herself at a quiet café in Lekki, waiting for Jidenna. She had suggested the location, wanting a space that was intimate yet casual. She told herself she wasn't nervous, but the fluttering in her stomach betrayed her.

When Jidenna walked in, she felt her breath catch. He had traded his casual stage look for a crisp navy-blue shirt and tailored trousers, and the way he carried himself—confident but not cocky—only added to his charm.

"You're right on time," she said as he joined her at the table.

"I wouldn't dare keep you waiting," he replied with a smile.

The conversation flowed easily, their connection growing with each passing moment. They talked about their dreams, their struggles, and the twists and turns that had brought them to this point in their lives. Jidenna spoke of his love for music, the nights he had spent writing songs by candlelight, and the dream of one day playing on the world's biggest stages. Amaka shared glimpses of her life, carefully avoiding the more painful parts but hinting at the loneliness that came with being constantly admired but never truly known.

By the time they parted ways, both of them knew that this was just the beginning. For Jidenna, Amaka was more than just a muse; she was a reminder of why he pursued music in the first place. And for Amaka, Jidenna represented a kind of authenticity she hadn't realized she craved.

Back at her apartment, Amaka stared out at the city lights, her mind racing. She had spent her life building walls, but somehow, Jidenna had found a crack and slipped through. It terrified her, but it also exhilarated her.

In a small room in Surulere, Jidenna strummed his guitar, humming a melody inspired by the woman who had stolen his thoughts. The song was raw and unfinished, but it carried the promise of something beautiful.