at your best

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The bus was vibrating with the low hum of tires on cracked pavement, music muffled behind thin walls, and the occasional sound of laughter or someone talking too loud on the phone. Korina was tucked into the corner of the greenroom backstage after soundcheck, hoodie up, looking out the venue’s back window. Her mind was caught between the lights of the stage and the weird pressure in the air lately.

Ren sat beside her, arms crossed over his chest, a tired look in his eyes. “Shit’s changin', you feel it too, huh?” he muttered, watching the cigarette between his fingers burn slow.

Korina tilted her head, curious. “What you mean?”

He looked around before speaking again. “Shit ain’t been the same since the checks started comin' in different. Since muthafuckas started thinkin' with they pockets instead of they heads. Cube ain’t sayin’ much, but I know he got his eye on Jerry. Dre been heated for weeks. And Eazy—Eazy tryna act like everything sweet. But it ain’t.”

Korina stayed quiet for a moment, then said, “Y’all leavin?”

Ren shook his head slowly. “We ain’t leavin. Not yet. But it ain’t in our control, not all of it. That’s the problem. It’s business now. Everything gotta go through somebody else.”

He stood up, dropping the cigarette to the floor and stomping it out. “Just… keep your head up, lil’ sis.” And with that, he dipped out the room, his boots thudding off.

A few minutes later, the door creaked again—and this time, it was Eazy.

He had that same cocky smirk he always wore, like he knew he didn’t even need to try. But tonight, it was softer.

“You good?” he asked, voice low, hands in his pockets.

Korina gave a half-smile. “I’m alright. Just thinkin’.”

Eazy walked in slowly, leaning against the wall, watching her. “Ren tryna hit you with the ‘world’s endin’’ speech?”

She let out a soft laugh. “Something like that. He talkin' ‘bout things bein' outta control and people switchin’ up.”

Eazy shrugged. “People always switch up when money get involved.”

“Yeah,” she said quietly. Then she looked at him, brows pulling together. “We gon’ have to leave, huh? Eventually? Like the tour gon’ end and we gon’ all go our own way?”

Eazy stepped closer, eyes softening. “Shit, I don’t know. Maybe. But not tonight. Right now we here. Right now I’m with you.”

They stood close. Not too close—but close enough that the silence between them started buzzing with something warm and familiar. Korina let her shoulder fall against his chest slightly. He let it stay there.

For a second, it felt like the world could fall apart and they’d still be standing right here.

But then—

“Yo,” Cube’s voice cut in sharp from behind them. He leaned against the doorway, arms folded. “Can I talk to you?” he asked Korina.

She nodded, pulling herself from Eazy and walking over.

They stepped out into the hallway, Cube walking slow, choosing his words like he didn’t wanna make her mad but still needed to say it.

“You sure 'bout him?” he asked.

Korina looked at him sideways. “What you mean?”

Cube rubbed the back of his neck. “You really think Eazy ain’t gon’ hurt you? That he gon’ stick around when all this shit start crashing?”

She stiffened. “I’m grown, Cube. I know what I’m doing.”

“I ain’t sayin' you ain't,” he replied calmly. “But just 'cause you grown don’t mean you immune to gettin' your shit wrecked. I’m askin' ‘cause I care.”

Her jaw tightened. “You think I don’t care about myself?”

“Nah, I think you act like you don’t wanna admit he still got shit to figure out. And I ain't tryin’ to start a fight. I just—” he stopped, exhaled slow. “You deserve better than someone who might not know what the hell he wants yet.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I know how to handle myself. I don’t need you tryna play brother every damn second.”

"Eazy is a nice guy he wouldn't do anything to hurt me,or atleast do anything to break my heart".

Cube held up his hands. “Alright. Alright. I hear you.” His tone dropped to something softer. “I just don’t wanna see you hurt. That’s it. If I ain’t give a fuck, I wouldn’t be talkin’ to you at all.”

The hallway got quiet for a beat. Then she sighed, running her hands through her hair.

“I know,” she muttered. “Thanks.”

Cube nodded. “Aight. We cool?”

She glanced up at him. “We cool.”

And just like that, the argument that almost spiraled turned into understanding. That’s the thing about real people—they clash, they speak up, and then they come back to center if the bond is real.

Just before they parted ways, Cube gave her one last look. “Just... be careful wit' that one. Eazy might got a heart, but sometimes he forgets how to use it.”

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The soft hum of chil music buzzed from the corner speaker as Navira and Korina lounged in her cozy living room, legs tucked under blankets, snacks scattered across the table like confetti from a lazy night in.

“I still can’t believe how fast we became friends,” Korina laughed, hugging a pillow. “It’s like—we blinked, and boom. Instant besties.”

Navira smiled, her eyes dancing with a mix of warmth and something heavier. “Right? It’s like… I didn’t even have to try with you. It just clicked.”

They clinked soda cans like it was champagne, both giggling at how unbothered they looked in their mismatched pajamas.

Korina tilted her head. “Can I ask you something kinda deep?”

Navira’s smile faltered, just a little. “Of course.”

“What’s something… I don’t know, something that really changed you?”

The room went still. The lo-fi looped. The candle flickered.

Navira looked away. “Damn, uh…” She inhaled sharply. “There was this time—when I was younger. Someone I really trusted left. Just… disappeared when I needed them the most. No warning. No goodbye. Just left me to clean up the mess.”

Her voice cracked mid-sentence, and her hands began fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve. “I don’t really tell people about it because—who wants to hear all that? But it messed me up for a long time. Made me think I wasn’t enough, or like I was some burden.”

Tears escaped before she could catch them. “I tried to move past it but... sometimes it still feels like I’m waiting for people to leave.”

Korina scooted over, wrapping her arms around her. “I’m not going anywhere. And girl, you are not a burden.”

Navira laughed through the tears. “You’re like the funny therapist I didn’t ask for but desperately needed.”

Trying to lighten the mood, Korina jumped up dramatically. “Okay, okay, enough sad. You know what we need? Studio time. Let’s make something. Something so bad it distracts you from your tears.”

Navira wiped her face, smirking. “Bet. But just so you know, if it turns into a Grammy-nominated hit, I’m stealing the credit.”

They shuffled into the mini studio tucked in one of the back rooms of the house. It was small, cozy, and littered with headphones, cords, and old lyric scribbles taped to the walls.

Korina stood in front of the mic, holding a crumpled paper. “Alright, I wrote this a while back… It was supposed to be a feature for your debut, but I thought it was kind of trash.”

“Lemme hear it,” Navira said, plopping onto the chair, half-interested.

Korina sang. It started off playful, but there was something real in the lyrics—raw, unfiltered. The kind of stuff that sneaks up on you when you’re not paying attention.

After the last line, she snorted. “Okay that was dumb, right? Like a joke track or something?”

Navira sat silently, then got up, grabbing her laptop and headphones. “Hold on. Let me mess with it.”

An hour later, the track sounded like… something. Actually, something good.

Navira’s eyes sparkled. “Korina. This is fire. I’m releasing it.”

“What? No, no. You can’t just—”

“I got access to the company’s rights. I can if I want to.”

“Girl, releasing something without Eazy’s knowledge is risky. You know that,” Korina whispered, her voice suddenly tense.

Navira shrugged. “It’s a risky move either way. But a good one.”

Korina stood in front of her, hands on her hips. “Don’t. Please don’t. Just leave it alone.”

“Why?” Navira asked, confused. “It’s your voice. It’s your lyrics. It’s good. People need to hear it.”

Korina looked down. Her voice dropped. “Because… the person I wrote it about is gone. And if you release that song, it’s like dragging up something I spent months trying to bury. It’ll hurt.”

Navira blinked, her breath catching. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Korina said softly. “It’s not just a song.”

For a moment, they stood in silence.

Then Navira nodded slowly. “Alright… I won’t drop it. Not unless you say it’s okay.”

Korina smiled with relief, her voice almost a whisper. “Thank you.”

Navira smirked. “Still gonna save the file though. Just in case you change your mind.”

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Continuing.....

She sat on the edge of her studio chair, arms crossed tight as she stared at the reel-to-reel recorder and the mixing board like they owed her answers. The whole house was quiet now that Korina left. But Navira’s mind wasn’t.

That photo had spread like wildfire—on street corners, word of mouth, and even printed on one of those early gossip rags passed around like mixtapes. That blurry shot of Korina next to Eazy? Folks were talking. And not in a good way.

Calling Korina a groupie. Calling her a fool for letting “some random chick” in her sessions. They ain’t know nothing about Korina. They ain’t know her pen game. Her voice. Her story.

And Navira? She was heated.

She got up, flipped through her tapes, and pulled out the one they recorded earlier. Korina’s vocals were raw but real. She slid it into the reel. She added a few little touches—some layered harmonies, a smoother drum break, tightened up the chorus. Her fingers moved like she was possessed. Like the beat was dragging the truth out of her.

Then she made a copy of the final version on cassette.

She picked up her pager and hit up one of the homies at a small local radio station she knew. DJ Tino. They’d spun some of her early demo tracks before her deal. And Tino owed her.

Next morning, Navira pulled up to the station in her beat-up car, tape in hand.

Tino raised an eyebrow. “This better be hot.”

“It is,” she said, sliding the cassette across the table. “It ain’t for me. It’s for someone people are sleeping on. Somebody they’re dragging for no reason.”

“You got clearance from your label?”

She hesitated, then smirked. “Let’s just say… it’s an independent joint. Underground. Exclusive.”

Tino nodded. He liked messy.

That night, while folks were chillin’ with their radios turned low, winding down, that track came on. No names. No credits. Just that soulful beat and Korina’s voice pouring through the speakers like smoke through an open window.

No one knew who it was at first.

But it was undeniable.

And Navira? She leaned back in her room, arms crossed, waiting.

She knew it was gonna blow up.She just didn’t know how Korina would take it.