Jidenna and Amaka's relationship had always been an unusual but beautiful story. It began like a faint note on a piano, gradually building into a symphony of companionship. Their paths crossed at a small art gallery opening in Lagos, where Jidenna had been invited to perform an acoustic set. Amaka had been there for the paintings, but it was his voice that stopped her in her tracks. When the performance ended, she approached him, her boldness tempered by a smile that seemed to light up the dimly lit gallery.

"You sing beautifully," she said, holding his gaze with her piercing eyes.

"Thank you," Jidenna replied, his voice carrying a mixture of shyness and gratitude.

They exchanged pleasantries, and before long, their conversation meandered into their shared love for art and music. Amaka spoke passionately about her dreams of starting a gallery that would showcase African talent, while Jidenna shared his hopes of creating music that would resonate far beyond Nigeria's borders.

What began as an exchange of ideas turned into hours of laughter, shared stories, and unspoken understanding. That night marked the beginning of a connection neither of them fully understood but both felt deeply.

Over the months that followed, Jidenna and Amaka became nearly inseparable. They spent lazy afternoons in parks, discussing everything from politics to their favorite childhood memories. Jidenna introduced Amaka to his music world—the tiny, smoky bars where he performed for handfuls of people who seemed more interested in their drinks than his melodies. Amaka, in turn, brought Jidenna into her world of vibrant art exhibits and intellectual gatherings. She often joked that he was her "human muse."

It was during those early days that they became each other's anchor. Amaka believed in Jidenna's talent even when he doubted himself. When a music producer laughed at his demo tape, calling it "too raw," Amaka was the one who reminded him of his purpose.

"You have something no one else does," she told him one night after his set. "Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

Jidenna cherished her belief in him, but more than that, he cherished the way she made him feel—seen, valued, and loved. For Amaka, Jidenna was more than a musician; he was a man of depth, one whose struggles and ambitions mirrored her own. They built dreams together, dreams that felt invincible in the warmth of their bond.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

But as Jidenna's music began to gain traction, cracks began to form in their idyllic world. A local radio station picked up one of his songs, and soon, he was getting calls for bigger gigs. The once modest venues turned into bustling concert halls, and the small circle of friends who attended his shows transformed into crowds of screaming fans.

Amaka was proud of him—at first. She celebrated his wins as if they were her own, standing by his side as the world began to notice what she had seen all along. But with fame came change, subtle at first but unmistakable. Jidenna's schedule grew tighter, and the hours they once spent dreaming together dwindled. Their quiet moments were replaced with hurried phone calls and fleeting visits.

Then came the women. At every event, there were admirers—women who gushed over Jidenna's voice, his smile, his rising star. Amaka's initial pride began to morph into a gnawing insecurity. She tried to dismiss it, telling herself that he was committed to her, but the doubts lingered like shadows in her mind.

One evening, after a particularly successful concert, Amaka watched from backstage as a group of women surrounded Jidenna, each vying for his attention. She tried to join him, but the sight of him laughing and leaning into their conversations stopped her in her tracks. For the first time, she felt like an outsider in his world.

"You're quiet tonight," Jidenna said later as they drove home.

"Am I?" she replied, her tone sharper than she intended.

He glanced at her but said nothing. The silence in the car was thick, filled with words unspoken.

Their once harmonious relationship began to shift. Amaka's supportive presence turned into something more vigilant. She started attending every rehearsal, not to cheer him on but to watch—watch for the smiles he exchanged, the lingering touches, the conversations that stretched too long. Jidenna noticed the change but didn't know how to address it.

One night, after returning from an event, Amaka finally confronted him.

"Do you even see me anymore?" she asked, her voice trembling.

"What are you talking about? Of course, I do," Jidenna replied, his confusion evident.

"No, you don't," she said, her eyes glistening with tears. "I'm just... here. A part of the background while you shine."

Jidenna reached for her hand, but she pulled away.

"Amaka, you're not just 'here.' You've been my everything," he said softly. "But things are changing. You know that."

"Yes, things are changing," she said bitterly. "And not for the better."

That conversation marked a turning point. Jidenna tried to mend the rift, but Amaka's fears had already taken root. She couldn't bear the thought of losing him, not after everything they had shared. The jealousy, the insecurity, the anger—they all began to consume her. And as Jidenna's star continued to rise, the love that had once been their foundation began to feel more like a battlefield.

Their story was no longer the symphony it had started as. It was becoming something darker, something neither of them could have foreseen.