The rain in Lagos had a way of turning the evening traffic into a motionless sea of red taillights, but inside the small, dim studio in Surulere, time moved to a completely different rhythm. Tena sat at the keyboard, her fingers casually playing a soft Afrobeats chord progression. She had been stuck on the chorus of her new track for three days. The beat was solid, the melody was there, but the soul of the song felt just out of reach. The door clicked open, letting in the cool, rain-scented air and Jude, carrying two steaming paper cups of coffee. He was her producer, her closest confidant, and—though neither of them had ever said it out loud—the person who knew her better than anyone else. "Still at it?" Jude asked, setting a cup down on the console beside her setup. See more stories.. "It's missing something, Jude," Tena sighed, leaning back and running a hand through her hair. "It sounds like a song about love, but it doesn't *feel* like one. It f...