Chapter 6: Cracks in the Sound
Kael's sneakers crunched against the gravel-strewn sidewalk, the city's evening pulse louder than his thoughts. Neon signs buzzed overhead, their light pooling in oily puddles left by the afternoon rain. The air carried the tang of fried dough from a nearby food cart, mingling with the faint reek of a dumpster. His bag, slung over one shoulder, felt heavier than usual, the notebook inside a quiet reminder of his meeting with LexRhythm yesterday. "You willing to work for it?" Lex's words echoed, both a promise and a gauntlet.
He hadn't slept much. After leaving the studio, he'd spent the night scribbling lyrics, strumming until his fingers bled, chasing the spark he'd felt when Lex nodded at his rough melody. But doubt had crept in by dawn, cold and familiar. What if he wasn't good enough? What if Lex was just being nice? Kael's chest tightened as he walked, the memory of his father's voice sharper now: "Dreams don't feed you, Kael."
His phone vibrated, pulling him back. A message from Mira: "So? Spill! How was Lex?" Kael smirked, typing a quick "Cool. Intense. Told me to keep working." Her reply was instant: "Duh, you're a vibe. Don't choke now." He shook his head, pocketing the phone. Mira's faith was unshakable, but it made him feel exposed, like he was carrying something he could drop.
The studio loomed ahead, its sign flickering in the dusk. Lex had invited him back tonight, not for a formal session but to "hang, maybe jam." Kael's stomach churned. He'd brought his guitar this time, its case strapped to his back, but the thought of playing live, with Lex watching, made his hands sweat. He paused outside the door, catching his reflection in the glass—hollow cheeks, eyes too wide. The busker from last night was gone, but a faint melody lingered in the air, some distant bar's open mic night spilling onto the street.
Inside, the studio was alive. The receptionist, still chewing gum, waved him through without a word. The hallway hummed with muffled bass from other rooms, and Kael's pulse synced with it. He knocked on Lex's door, his knuckles barely making a sound.
"Yo, Kael, get in here," Lex called, his voice warm but edged with focus.
Kael stepped in, the room messier than before—empty coffee cups, tangled cables, a synth keyboard propped against the wall. Lex sat at the mixing board, tweaking a track, its beat sharp and layered. Another guy, lanky with a beanie, lounged on the couch, scrolling on his phone. Lex glanced up, grinning. "Kael, this is Juno. Drummer, beatmaker, general chaos agent."
Juno nodded, barely looking up. "Heard your track. Not bad for a rookie."
Kael bristled, unsure if it was a compliment or a jab. He set his guitar case down, the thud louder than he meant. "Thanks," he muttered, sitting on the edge of the couch. His fingers itched to open the case, to prove himself, but he waited, watching Lex.
Lex leaned back, cracking his knuckles. "So, Kael, you got anything new? Or you just gonna stare at that guitar all night?"
Kael's throat tightened. He'd practiced a new piece—a slower, moodier riff with lyrics about breaking free—but it wasn't polished. Still, Lex's gaze was steady, expectant. Kael unzipped the case, the guitar's weight familiar in his hands. His fingers, scabbed from last night, stung as he tuned it. Juno looked up now, curious.
"Go for it," Lex said, leaning forward.
Kael took a breath, the room shrinking to the strings under his fingers. He started soft, the chords low and deliberate, building into a melody that felt like a confession. His voice, rough but steady, carried the lyrics he'd written at 3 a.m.:
"I'm tearing seams, I'm burning slow / Chasing light where shadows go…"
He faltered on the bridge, a chord slipping, his voice cracking. Heat flooded his face, but he pushed through, ending on a quiet note. The silence that followed was brutal. Kael stared at the floor, his heart hammering, waiting for the verdict.
Juno spoke first, his tone blunt. "Sloppy in the middle, but the bones are good. You got heart."
Lex nodded, his expression unreadable. "Juno's right. It's raw, but raw's not bad. You're holding back, though. Like you're scared to really let go." He tapped the mixing board. "You want this, you gotta bleed a little more."
Kael's chest burned, not with anger but with recognition. Lex saw through him—saw the fear he hadn't named. He nodded, gripping the guitar tighter. "I can do that."
"Good," Lex said, standing. "Let's try something. Juno, grab the drum pad. Kael, play that riff again, but looser. Feel it, don't think it."
Juno smirked, pulling out a small electronic drum pad. Kael hesitated, then nodded, his fingers finding the strings. Juno laid down a simple beat, crisp and driving, and Kael matched it, the chords flowing freer this time. Lex tweaked the synth, adding a low hum that wove into the sound. For a moment, Kael forgot the room, the fear, the weight of his own doubts. It was just music—alive, messy, real.
They jammed for an hour, the track evolving, Kael's voice finding new edges. When they stopped, sweat beaded on his forehead, his throat raw. Lex clapped him on the shoulder. "That's what I'm talking about. Keep that fire."
As Kael packed up, Juno tossed him a water bottle. "Not bad, rookie. Don't choke next time." It was half-teasing, half-respectful. Kael caught the bottle, a small grin breaking through.
Outside, the city felt different—brighter, louder, like it was singing back. Kael's phone buzzed: a new SoundSphere notification. Ghost Notes had a new comment: "This is haunting. You're gonna be big." He stopped, the words sinking in. For the first time, he didn't question it. He was starting to believe it himself.
But as he walked home, guitar case bouncing against his back, a shadow lingered. Lex's words—"You're holding back"—stuck with him. What was he afraid of? The answer was there, buried deep, and Kael knew he'd have to face it soon.
To be continued…
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