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MidReal Story
My African Prince
Scenario:this story is about music and family and fame and relationships and drama and concerts and nepotism and sex and drama and multi racial and nudity and groupies and fights and news and interviews and tours and my name is mohamed abdi and i have mulat skin and i have tattoos on my arms and hands and abdomen and i am 18 years old and i am multi racial because my mother anna abdi is danish and she has light skin and blue eyes and she is 40 years old and she is a retired very rich world famous pop and rnb singer and my father abdinur abdi is somali and british he is born in london england and he is 41 years old and he is a famous record producer and singer and i am born in paris france and i am raised in london england and my mother taught me the danish language and i can speak french and danish and english like a british man fluently and my uncle ahmad abdi is a rock famous rich singer and he is 39 years old and he has dark skin and my aunt ayan abdi is 35 years old and she is a rnb famous rich singer and i want to be in my familys footsteps to become a famous singer and i have 3 citizenships in france and england and denmark
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Mohamed Abdikani Abdi
He is the son of a Danish mother and SomaliBritish father, living in London. He is charismatic, ambitious, and rebellious. Mohamed grew up surrounded by music and fame, with parents who were worldrenowned singers. He struggled with his parents' intense work ethic and lack of parental attention. Despite his wealthy lifestyle, Mohamed faced bullying and isolation at school. He developed a close relationship with his uncle Ahmad, who introduced him to music and the arts.
Abdinur Abdi
He is Mohamed’s father and a famous record producer in his mid40s. He is ambitious, busy, and distant. Abdinur was instrumental in the success of his former band but chose to focus on production rather than perform live anymore. His busy schedule keeps him away from home most of the time, leaving Mohamed feeling unattended. Despite his success, Abdinur struggles to balance work with family life, leading to an estranged relationship with his son during critical developmental years.
Ahmad Abdi
He is Mohamed's uncle and a famous rock singer with dark skin and striking features. He is charismatic, laidback, and supportive. Ahmad plays a significant role in Mohamed's life, offering him friendship and musical guidance. He ensures Mohamed attends his concerts, fostering a sense of family and music. Ahmad’s relaxed demeanor contrasts with Mohamed's intense upbringing, providing the young boy with an alternative perspective on life and the entertainment industry.
I was born in Paris, France, but I am raised in London, England.
My mother Anna Abdi is Danish with light skin and blue eyes.
She is 40 years old and she is a retired very rich world famous pop and RNB singer.
My father Abdinur Abdi is SomaliBritish.
He was born in London, England, and he is 41 years old.
He is a famous record producer and singer.
He used to perform live until he decided to stop singing live and only focus on producing music for other artists.
He is born in England but he is half Somali.
His father was Somali and his mother was British.
I have 3 citizenships: French, English, and Danish.
My mother taught me the Danish language, so I can speak French, Danish, and English like a British man fluently.
I am 18 years old and I have tattoos on my arms, hands, and abdomen.
I am mulat, which means I have mixed blood: my mother is white and my father is black.
I have curly hair and brown eyes.
My mother has always been working very hard since I was little until she turned 40 years old and decided to retire.
She was very famous for singing pop and RNB music all over the world until she decided to stop singing live.
She still organizes concerts for her former bandmates who were also very rich and famous world pop and RNB singers.
In the luxury music studio, I am sitting on a chair with my parents.
The walls are soundproof, so no one can hear what we are doing in here.
There is a mixing console and a lot of expensive equipment in this room.
In the middle of the room, there is a big window and on the other side of the window, there is a recording booth.
I get up from my chair and walk into the recording booth.
I put on the headphones and adjust them so they are comfortable to wear.
I take a deep breath and start singing.
"Know Me Better" is my first song.
I wrote it because I hope that people will know me better through my music.
I sing with all my heart and soul.
My parents watch me from outside the recording booth.
They listen to my song carefully, and when I finish singing, they don't say anything for a few minutes.
Then my mother's eyes widen in surprise, and my father nods his head in approval.
"You have an incredible voice," my mother says with a big smile on her face.
"You are so talented," she adds.
I sit at my desk, refreshing Spotify's analytics page over and over again.
The stream count for "Know Me Better" is climbing higher and higher.
In just three days, it has already hit 2 million streams.
My phone buzzes constantly with notifications from my new YouTube channel.
The music video for the song, which was shot in our home studio with me performing against a minimalist white backdrop, is getting more views by the minute.
Suddenly, my bedroom door bursts open and my dad rushes in, holding a letter in his hand.
His face is filled with excitement as he hands me the letter.
"The Official Charts Company," I read aloud, my heart racing with anticipation.
I quickly open the envelope and scan the contents.
My eyes widen in disbelief as I read the news.
"Know Me Better" has entered the UK pop charts at number 45 and is rising fast.
I look up at my dad, who is grinning from ear to ear.
"We did it," he says, pulling me into a tight hug. My dad doesn't usually show physical affection, so this hug means a lot to me.
He squeezes me tightly and whispers in my ear, "This is just the beginning."
As I pull away from the hug, I notice tears shining in his eyes.
I sit in my room, scrolling through TikTok and Instagram.
People of all ages are dancing to "Know Me Better."
The notifications keep coming; my followers are growing by the minute.
I refresh my Spotify account and see that the streams have reached 2 million, earning me 10,000 pounds.
I quickly call Ayan to share the news with her.
"Congratulations, baby," she says, her voice filled with pride.
I sit in the conference room at Universal Music UK, surrounded by my family.
My parents, Anna and Abdinur, along with my aunt Ayan and uncle Ahmad, listen intently as a representative from the label discusses the terms of my potential contract.
I watch my father's face light up with pride as he hears the details.
My mother scrutinizes every word, her eyes fixed on the representative.
Ayan squeezes my hand reassuringly, while Ahmad gives me a nod of encouragement.
The representative slides the contract across the table towards me.
My hand trembles slightly as I reach for the sleek black fountain pen that lies on the polished conference table.
The weight of this moment settles heavily on my shoulders.
I can feel the eyes of my family upon me, each one carrying their own expectations and hopes.
My mother's gaze is intense, her eyes searching for any sign of uncertainty.
My father's smile is beaming, filled with pride and anticipation.
Ayan's grip on my hand is firm, a silent reassurance that she believes in me.
Ahmad's presence is steady, a reminder of the support that surrounds me.
The representative slides the thick contract closer to me, its pages filled with intricate legal jargon and fine print.
I flip through the pages, noticing the yellow tabs that mark where my signature is required.
My father leans in, his voice low but firm, "Remember, this is your decision; we're here to support you no matter what."
My mother nods, adding softly, "Just make sure it feels right in your heart; that's what truly matters."
Ayan squeezes my hand again and whispers, "You've got this; we've all seen what you're capable of."
I grip the pen tightly, steadying my trembling hand.
The fluorescent lights of the conference room buzz overhead, casting an artificial glow on the proceedings.
I lower the pen to the first yellow tab, its metal nib gliding smoothly across the paper.
The sound of scratching ink fills the room as I carefully sign my name: Mohamed Abdikani Abdi.
I move to the next marked section, repeating the process with deliberate precision.
Each stroke of the pen feels like a commitment not just to myself, but to my family and their legacy.
After signing the final tab, I place the pen down on the table and look up at my family's expectant faces.
The representative smiles warmly and says, "Welcome to the Universal family, Mohamed."
We enter the London nightclub, a vibrant and lively place.
My friends are a diverse group, with some identifying as LGBTQIA and others as straight.
We make our way to the bar, where we order drinks and toast to my success.
The music pulses through the room, and we head to the dance floor to let loose and have fun.
As we dance, I tell them stories about the recording studio and the contract signing.
They cheer me on and congratulate me on my achievements.
We take breaks to sit down and talk, reminiscing about old times and sharing our dreams for the future.
The night goes by quickly, and before we know it, it's time to say goodbye.
Standing near the exit, the bass still thumping behind us, I embrace each friend one by one.
Sarah, who's been my biggest supporter since I first played guitar in her garage, holds on the longest.
James, my gay best friend since primary school, kisses my cheek and whispers congratulations in my ear.
Even quiet Marcus, who rarely shows emotion, gives me a firm squeeze.
The cool night air hits my face between hugs as the bouncer holds the door open for us.
My chest tightens with gratitude as I watch them disappear into waiting Ubers.
I enter the building, nodding to the receptionist who recognizes me from yesterday's contract signing.
The scent of fresh coffee and new carpet fills my nostrils as I make my way to the elevator.
The doors open on the third floor, revealing a sleek hallway lined with framed album covers.
I follow the signs to Studio 3, where my producer waits for me.
Inside, the state-of-the-art recording booth hums with anticipation.
"Good morning, Mohamed," my producer greets me with a firm handshake.
"Today, we're going to work on your second song, 'One Shot.' It's an afrobeat dance track that's all about seizing the moment and taking that one shot at happiness and freedom."
He presses a button, and the upbeat melody fills the room.
I adjust my headphones, step into the booth, and take a deep breath.
The producer gives me a nod, and I begin to sing the lyrics into the microphone.
The words flow effortlessly, my voice blending with the rhythm.
After several takes, we finally get it just right.
The producer gives me a thumbs-up as I step out of the booth.
"That was great, Mohamed. Now, let's head back to your place and upload 'One Shot' to Spotify through Universal Music."
Back at my apartment, I sit down at my laptop and open up Spotify for Artists.
I sit at my desk, watching the upload progress bar inch forward on my Spotify for Artists dashboard.
My producer leans over my shoulder, both of us silent as "One Shot" processes.
Finally, I click publish and wait.
We refresh the page over and over again, watching the streaming numbers climb from hundreds to thousands within hours.
The song rockets up the UK charts, reaching number 9 in just a few hours.
The Official Charts Company sends me a confirmation email, and my phone buzzes nonstop with notifications.
First, it's my family and friends, then music blogs and mainstream media outlets.
My heart races as I read the messages, my hands still shaking from refreshing the view counter on my music video.
And then, an email from Universal's accountant lands in my inbox.
I open it with trembling hands and read the message: "Dear Mohamed, We are pleased to inform you that your song 'One Shot' has reached number 9 on the UK charts. As per our contract agreement, we will be making a payment of £50,000 to your bank account. Congratulations on your success! Best regards, Universal Music Accountant" I immediately call my aunt Ayan's number.
"Ayan, you won't believe it!" I exclaim, my voice barely containing my excitement.
"Tell me, Mohamed, what's happened?" she replies, her tone a mix of curiosity and anticipation.
"I just got an email from Universal—they're paying me £50,000 because 'One Shot' hit number 9 on the UK charts!"
"Wow, Mohamed, that's incredible! You're really making a name for yourself in the music industry. I'm so proud of you," she responds, her voice filled with genuine pride and happiness.
I scroll through my phone, lying on my bed in my bedroom.
The notifications flood in from every social media platform.
BBC News has posted my photo with the caption: "Rising Star Mohamed Abdi: The Next Big Thing in Music?"
The article compares my rapid success to that of my parents.
I open Spotify, and my followers have skyrocketed to 500,000 overnight.
"One Shot" has climbed to number 3 on the UK charts.
I open my banking app, and the balance stares back at me: £80,000.
The wealth feels surreal.
A text from my mother interrupts me: "Mohamed, we're all going to The Ritz for dinner tonight. Your father wants to celebrate your growing fame. Can you join us?"
I reply with shaking fingers: "Yes, Mum. See you at 7 pm."
As I put my phone down, a call comes in from an unknown number.
"Hello, Mohamed speaking," I answer cautiously.
"Hi, Mohamed, this is Rachel from BBC News. We'd love to feature you in an exclusive interview about your meteoric rise—are you available tomorrow?"
I pace my bedroom, rehearsing possible responses.
My phone buzzes again with a follow-up text from Rachel: "We're at the BBC studio in London. Let us know if you're interested, and we'll send over the details."
I stand before my full-length mirror, adjusting my designer jacket.
I practice my camera smile, remembering how my mother always handled press with poise.
My hands tremble slightly as I type out a confirmation message to Rachel: "Yes, I'm interested. Please send over the details."
I call my aunt Ayan for advice, but it goes straight to voicemail.
After a deep breath, I open my laptop and search for common interview questions.
I won't let myself be caught off guard.
Another text from my father arrives: "How's the interview going?"
"It's happening tomorrow, Dad," I reply, trying to sound more confident than I feel.
"Remember, Mohamed, just be yourself and speak from the heart," he advises warmly.
"Thanks, Dad. I'll do my best to make you proud."
I sit at my desk, pulling out a notepad and pen.
I jot down potential questions and answers for tomorrow's interview.
My mother had always given me media training, so I know what they might ask.
I write down topics: my multicultural background, growing up in a musical family, and the whirlwind success of "One Shot."
I practice pronouncing "afrobeat" clearly, remembering how reporters often butcher the term.
My hand trembles slightly as I write.
Another text buzzes on my phone: "Mohamed, we're excited to have you on the show tomorrow! The interview is at 9 am. We'll send over the location details. Looking forward to it!"
It's from Rachel at the BBC.
I add "arrive by 8:30" to my notes and fold the paper carefully.
I enter the glass doors of the BBC building at 8:30 AM.
The receptionist greets me with a smile and points to the elevator.
"Third floor, please. Rachel will be waiting for you."
I take the elevator, my designer leather jacket and pants feeling stiff against my skin.
I've never worn such expensive clothes before.
When the doors open, I see Rachel standing in a hallway lined with cameras and lights.
"Good morning, Mohamed! Thank you for joining us today," she says, extending her hand for a firm handshake.
"Of course, thank you for having me," I reply, trying to sound confident.
She leads me into a room filled with makeup artists and stylists.
"Please make yourself comfortable in the green room. We'll get you ready for the interview."
I sit on a plush couch, watching as the makeup artist touches up my face.
My hands tremble slightly as I adjust my sneakers.
"Follow me, please," Lisa says, leading me down a hallway lined with cameras and lights.
We enter a large room with a table in the center.
Two microphones sit on it, along with glasses of water.
I take a seat, my nerves tingling.
Lisa sits across from me, adjusting her microphone.
"So, Mohamed, tell us about yourself," she says, her voice smooth and professional.
I sit in the BBC studio, facing Lisa's camera.
She asks about my background, and I detail my family's musical legacy.
My voice remains steady as I mention my father Abdinur's pop success, my mother Anna's R&B and pop fame, and my uncle Ahmad and aunt Ayan's achievements.
I explain my birth in Paris and upbringing in London, highlighting my fluency in French, Danish, and English.
As I discuss my songs "Know Me Better" and "One Shot," I express my ambition to forge my own path with my family's support.
I settle into the plush leather chair across from Lisa, the BBC interviewer.
The studio lights illuminate our faces, casting a professional glow on the scene.
Lisa's voice is smooth and engaging as she guides our conversation through my musical journey, family background, and recent chart success.
The atmosphere remains professional until Lisa shifts to personal territory.
Her eyes sparkle with interest as she leans in slightly.
"So, Mohamed, are you single or taken?"
I pause for a brief moment before responding.
"I'm single, but only for the past two months."
Lisa turns to the camera with a playful smile.
"Well, ladies, it seems like Mohamed is up for grabs. Better hurry before someone else snatches him!"
We share a polite laugh at her comment, though I can feel my cheeks warming slightly.
The interview comes to a close with a firm handshake.
As I step out of the studio, the weight of the world feels lighter, and I realize that this is only the beginning.
I sprawl on my leather couch, scrolling through Instagram when my phone buzzes.
I open the text from Universal Music: "Mohamed, we're excited to feature you on our homepage! Can you send over some new photos?"
My heart races as I read the message.
This is a huge opportunity.
I immediately call aunt Ayan.
"Hi, Mohamed! What's up?" she answers, her voice cheerful as always.
"Universal wants to feature me on their homepage. They need new photos," I explain, pacing my apartment's hardwood floors.
"That's amazing news! Send them something fresh and exciting. You can't go wrong with a good photo shoot," she advises, her voice filled with confidence.
I nod, even though she can't see me.
"Thanks, Ayan. I'll get right on it."
I end the call and open my contacts list.
James, my photographer friend, is just a few taps away.
"Hey, Mohamed! How's life after the BBC interview?"
James asks, his voice warm and familiar over the phone.
"It's been crazy. Universal wants to feature me on their homepage and needs new photos. Can you help?"
I ask, hoping he's available.
"Of course! I'd love to take some shots for you. When were you thinking?"
James replies eagerly.
"How about today? I need them ASAP."
"No problem. I'll be there in an hour."
True to his word, James arrives at my apartment within an hour.
He carries his camera equipment and flashes a smile as he enters.
"Let's get started!"
We set up in my living room, using the large windows for natural light.
James clicks away as I pose against various backdrops—my sofa, the city view outside, and even a plain white wall. After two hours of shooting, we take a break to review the photos on James' laptop.
We scroll through hundreds of images, selecting our favorites.
I pick three that capture different sides of me: one casual in a hoodie and jeans, one artistic with a guitar in hand, and one professional in a suit and tie.
James sends the photos to Universal's marketing team while I watch anxiously.
A few minutes later, he turns to me with a grin.
"They love them! You're going to look great on their homepage."
I pace around my apartment, phone pressed to my ear, as my new manager David breaks down the Universal homepage feature.
"We want to pair the photos with an exclusive stream of your upcoming third single," he explains, his voice filled with excitement.
"An exclusive stream? But I haven't even finished writing it yet," I reply, my stomach tightening at the thought of rushing my creative process.
"We're thinking a release date in two weeks. The momentum from your first two hits is still high. We need to strike while the iron's hot," David presses, his words echoing in my mind.
I grab my laptop and open the songwriting folder.
"I'll have something ready in three days," I assure him, determination coursing through me.
"Three days? That's ambitious, Mohamed," David responds, a hint of skepticism in his voice.
"I know, but I work best under pressure," I reply confidently, hoping to convince both him and myself.
"Alright, I'll trust your instincts on this one—just make sure it's another hit!" David says, his tone shifting to encouragement.
I sit at my desk, the worn leather notebook open in front of me.
I jot down lyrics, the words flowing as I channel my frustrations about recent social media comments and tabloid speculation.
The song begins to take shape, a blend of catchy melodies and raw emotions.
After triple-checking the lyrics, I save the document and close my laptop.
It's time to bring "Let Them Know" to life.
I head to Universal Music's Studio B, where my father waits as producer.
The studio is sleek and modern, equipped with state-of-the-art equipment.
The soundproof walls ensure that every note is captured with clarity.
I enter the recording booth, adjusting my headphones and taking a deep breath.
My father gives me a nod through the glass partition.
I give him a thumbs up in return.
"Ready when you are, son," he says, his voice steady and reassuring through the intercom.
"Let's do this," I reply, feeling a surge of adrenaline as the instrumental track begins to play.
As I start singing, my father leans forward, listening intently, and I can see the pride in his eyes.
I grip the microphone tightly, letting my emotions flow into each verse of "Let Them Know."
The upbeat instrumental track pulses through my headphones as I sing about rising above negativity and finding strength in one's voice.
My father adjusts levels on the mixing board while I pour intensity into the chorus.
Through the glass, I see him nodding along, his fingers moving across the controls with precision.
My voice grows stronger with each take, fueled by memories of social media trolls and tabloid gossip.
After the final run-through, I step back from the mic, my throat raw but satisfied.
I exit the booth, and my father greets me with a proud smile, knowing we've just created something unforgettable.
I lean back in the studio chair beside my father as he adjusts knobs on the mixing board.
We listen intently to each playback of "Let Them Know," focusing on different elements - first the vocals, then the bass, finally the overall mix.
When I point out a slightly muddy section in the bridge, he tweaks the equalizer until my voice cuts through cleanly.
After four hours of fine-tuning, my father removes his headphones and plays the final version through the studio speakers.
"Sounds incredible, Mohamed," my father says, his eyes shining with pride.
"Thanks, Dad. Do you think it'll resonate with people?" I ask, searching for reassurance.
"Absolutely. It's raw and honest—people will connect with that," he replies confidently, placing a reassuring hand on my shoulder.
I lean back in my studio chair, watching as my father clicks through the digital platform of Universal Music, preparing to upload "Let Them Know."
The loading bar inches forward on the screen, and I see him enter the metadata - title, credits, release date.
My leg bounces nervously with anticipation as we wait for the confirmation screen.
When it finally appears, my father's finger hovers over the submit button.
He looks at me one last time, eyebrows raised in question.
I take a deep breath and nod firmly.
He clicks, and the track officially enters the system for tomorrow's release.
"Do you think they'll finally see me for who I am?" I ask, my voice tinged with vulnerability.
My father turns to me, his expression softening. "They will, Mohamed. This song is your truth, and that's something no one can ignore."
I refresh Spotify obsessively after "Let Them Know" goes live, watching the stream count climb at an alarming rate.
Within hours, it hits one million streams, and I can barely believe my eyes.
My phone buzzes incessantly with notifications - my manager Theo sharing screenshots of magazine covers, social media mentions, and billboard locations featuring my face.
The song rockets to number 12 on the UK pop charts, and Theo arranges TV ad placements to further boost its visibility.
When Universal deposits £50,000 into my account, I stare at my new balance of £130,000, remembering how just months ago I was an unknown artist struggling to make ends meet.
I pace nervously in my apartment, Theo on speakerphone as he explains the details of my first major concert booking.
The contract for the O2 Academy Brixton venue sits on my coffee table, and I listen intently as he describes the stage layout, lighting setup, and backup dancers we'll need.
My hands shake slightly as I sign the paperwork, committing to perform for 10,000 people in three weeks.
"We'll start rehearsals tomorrow morning at Universal's practice space," Theo says, his voice filled with excitement.
"Be there by 9 AM sharp."
I nod, even though he can't see me.
"Got it. What about the setlist?"
"Three songs," Theo replies.
"Start with 'Know Me Better,' then transition into 'One Shot,' and finish with 'Let Them Know.'"
I take a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart.
"Sounds good. I'll see you tomorrow."
I hang up the phone and look around my apartment, feeling a mix of anticipation and fear.
I can do this, I tell myself.
I've worked too hard to let nerves get in the way.
I stand backstage at O2 Academy Brixton, my heart pounding in my chest as I hear the crowd's cheers through the walls.
My friends - a diverse group of men and women, mostly black, with bright smiles and encouraging eyes - surround me, offering words of support.
"You got this," one of them says, squeezing my shoulder.
"Just be yourself," another adds, handing me a bottle of water.
I take a sip, feeling the cool liquid slide down my throat.
My manager Theo appears beside me, his expression serious but reassuring.
"It's time," he says, nodding towards the stage door.
I take a deep breath, adjust the earpiece in my ear, and follow him out into the blinding lights. The roar of 10,000 people greets me like a tidal wave as I step onto the stage.
The crowd stretches out before me like a sea of faces, all eyes fixed on me as I make my way to the microphone stand.
I take a moment to absorb the energy of the room, feeling it course through my veins like electricity.
Then, with a steady voice that belies my nerves, I begin to sing.
"Know Me Better" fills the space around me, its familiar melody mingling with the cheers and applause of the audience.
As I perform, I feel myself becoming lost in the music - letting go of my fears and doubts as I pour my heart and soul into every word.
When I finish, I pause for a moment to catch my breath before launching into "One Shot."
The crowd responds immediately, singing along to the catchy chorus and dancing in their seats.
As the final notes of "Let Them Know" echo through the venue, I stand in silence, overwhelmed by the roar of 10,000 voices chanting my name.
I stand center stage, sweat dripping down my face as the final notes of "Let Them Know" fade into thunderous applause.
The stage lights blind me, but I can feel the energy of 10,000 people surging through the venue like a tidal wave.
My heart pounds against my chest, threatening to burst free as I step forward, legs shaking slightly.
The microphone feels heavy in my hand as I lower it from my lips.
Looking out at the sea of faces and phone lights, I take a deep breath.
The chanting of my name grows stronger, echoing off the walls of the venue.
My voice cracks slightly as I speak into the mic, "Thank you, everyone. This means more to me than you'll ever know."
From the side of the stage, Theo shouts over the noise, "Mohamed, tell them about the album!"
I grip the microphone tighter, my heart still pounding in my ears.
"I've got something special to tell you," I say, watching as Theo gives me a thumbs up from the wings.
"I've been working on something for a while now, and I'm excited to announce that my debut album, 'Ivys to Roses,' will be dropping on September 1st."
The crowd erupts again, even louder than before.
I can barely hear myself think as I step off the stage, my ears ringing from the cheers and applause.
Theo claps me on the back, grinning from ear to ear.
"That was amazing," he says, his voice filled with pride.
"You absolutely killed it out there."
I smile back at him, still trying to catch my breath.
"Thanks, Theo. That means a lot coming from you."
As we walk through the backstage area, I see my friends and family waiting for me.
Ayan runs up to me first, throwing her arms around my neck in a tight hug.
"I'm so proud of you," she whispers in my ear.
"You did an amazing job."
Ahmad gives me a high-five and a nod of approval.
My parents stand there with smiles on their faces, looking like they can't believe what they just witnessed.
I hug them both tightly, feeling grateful for their unwavering support throughout this journey. After a few moments of congratulations and well-wishes, I grab a bottle of water from the table and take a long drink.
The adrenaline is starting to wear off now, replaced by a mix of exhaustion and elation.
I sit in my apartment at 11:59 PM, refreshing Spotify every few seconds as I wait for "Ivys to Roses" to drop.
As soon as the clock strikes midnight, I click through all 13 tracks, examining the red roses album cover that I spent weeks perfecting.
My phone buzzes constantly with notifications as streams climb rapidly.
At 3 AM, Theo calls to tell me that the album has already hit 5 million streams.
Through my window, I spot a massive billboard with my album cover illuminated against the dark London sky.
Walking to my balcony, I see more advertisements plastered across buildings - my face staring back at me from every direction.
The city feels alive with my music, and for the first time, I truly believe I've made it.
I pace my apartment, still buzzing from the sight of billboards across London.
Grabbing my phone, I dial Theo's number with shaking hands.
When he answers, I suggest hosting an impromptu celebration.
He agrees enthusiastically and starts calling local event planners.
I text my closest friends - Sarah, James, and Marcus.
Within an hour, caterers arrive at my building's rooftop terrace with champagne and appetizers.
Music from "Ivys to Roses" plays through portable speakers as my friends arrive, hugging me tightly.
As I stand on the rooftop, surrounded by laughter and the glow of city lights, I realize this is just the beginning.
I lean against the rooftop railing, watching my friends dance to tracks from "Ivys to Roses" as the London skyline glitters behind them.
The champagne buzz mingles with my euphoria as Sarah approaches, noticing my trembling hands.
James and Marcus join us, raising their glasses in another toast to my success.
My voice catches as I try to thank them for their unwavering support.
Looking at their genuine smiles, seeing the billboard with my face illuminated in the distance, and hearing my own voice through the speakers, I can't hold back anymore.
Tears of gratitude spill over, marking the start of a new chapter.
I raise my champagne glass, the trembling of my hand still evident from the whirlwind of emotions tonight has brought.
Behind me, the city lights twinkle like a canvas of endless possibilities.
My friends gather closer, their glasses lifted in anticipation.
Sarah squeezes my shoulder reassuringly, while James and Marcus move in, forming a tight circle around me.
The soft melody of "Ivys to Roses" plays in the background, mingling with the laughter and chatter of celebration.
I clear my throat, attempting to steady my voice.
"To new beginnings..."
I pause, looking at each familiar face before me.
"And endless possibilities."
I wake up to the sound of sunlight filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows of my childhood bedroom in my parents' London mansion.
The remnants of last night's celebration still linger in my mind, a haze of champagne and elation.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand, pulling me from the slumber.
I reach for it, squinting at the screen as a notification from Universal Music flashes.
A £2 million deposit has hit my account.
Stunned, I throw off the covers and walk to the windows, pulling back the curtains to reveal an expansive view of the indoor pool and lush gardens below.
Returning to my phone, I open social media and am bombarded with notifications.
My face is plastered on billboards in Times Square, London bus stops, and even as an ad on Instagram.
Universal's merchandise team sends photos of t-shirts, hoodies, and posters with my image selling out worldwide.
My hands tremble as I scroll through countless shares of my album cover and reviews praising "Ivys to Roses."
A soft knock on the door interrupts my daze.
"Are you okay in there?"
My mother's voice drifts through the closed door.
I quickly compose myself before calling out, "Come in."
She enters with a warm smile and concern etched on her face.
"Your father and I heard about your album. We're so proud of you."
She stands in the doorway, her blue eyes glistening with pride.
"We love the album. We've been listening to it nonstop."
The morning sunlight casts a warm glow on her face, illuminating the love and support that has always been there.
I glance around the room, taking in the familiar surroundings of my childhood.
The platinum records on the wall, once hers, now inspire me.
I cross the room towards her, my hands still trembling slightly.
The weight of achieving my dreams while making my parents proud overwhelms me.
Without words, I wrap my arms around her smaller frame and pull her close.
We meet Sarah, James, and Marcus at Covent Garden for lunch.
Sarah greets me with a tight hug, her rainbow pin gleaming on her jacket.
"I love your album, especially 'Ivys to Roses,' 'Forever in the Moment,' and 'Lost in the Haze.'"
She beams with genuine enthusiasm.
We walk through the bustling market, weaving past street performers and shoppers.
The scent of food wafts from the various restaurants, enticing our senses.
We stop at our favorite Thai restaurant, where James orders champagne for the table.
Marcus shows me fan reactions to my album on his phone between bites of Pad Thai.
After lunch, we stroll along the Thames, taking selfies with fans who recognize me.
As we reach the London Eye, Sarah suggests riding it together.
I approach the ticket booth, with Sarah, James, and Marcus trailing behind.
"Hi, I'm here to ride the London Eye," I say to the ticket attendant.
She looks up, her eyes widening in recognition.
"Are you Mohamed Abdi?"
I nod, and she quickly calls out to her colleagues.
They all gather around, asking for selfies and autographs.
"I love your album!"
"I've been listening to 'Know Me Better' nonstop!"
"You're so talented!"
I smile, signing their tickets and taking photos with them.
Finally, we board the London Eye cabin, and it begins its slow ascent.
The crowd below cheers as we rise higher.
I wave at them, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness.
As we reach the top, Sarah points out my billboard near Big Ben.
We all take selfies with it in the background.
James plays "Know Me Better" on his phone, and we sing along.
Marcus records us with the cityscape behind us.
We laugh and joke as the song plays on repeat. The ride ends, and we exit the cabin.
A group of fans recognizes me and asks for autographs and selfies.
As we walk away from the crowd, Marcus turns to me with a serious expression.
"Hey, Mohamed, have you thought about what this all means for your next move?"
I pause, considering his words, and reply, "Honestly, I haven't had a moment to think about it yet."
We enter Fabric, and the bouncer immediately recognizes me.
"Hey, Mohamed, can I get a quick selfie with you?"
I nod, and he takes out his phone.
We pose for a photo, and he lets us skip the line.
The DJ transitions into "Let Them Know," and we make our way to the VIP section.
Sarah, James, Marcus, and I dance to the house music.
As we dance, fans approach me with their phones out.
"Can I get a selfie with you?"
"Sure."
I pose with them as they take photos.
"Can I get an autograph?"
I sign napkins and phone cases for them.
Sarah hands me vodka shots as I continue to dance and sign autographs.
The constant interruptions don't bother me; I'm used to it by now.
I pose for photos and give hugs to those who ask.
"Thank you for listening to my music," I say to each fan. A group of girls starts screaming my name from the dance floor below.
I keep dancing to the pulsing beat while waving at the group of screaming girls on the dance floor.
Sarah hands me another vodka shot, and I down it quickly before returning to our circle.
The music transitions into "One Shot," and the crowd recognizes it immediately.
James grabs my shoulders and shouts over the music, "It's your song!"
Marcus takes out his phone to record the reaction.
More fans press against the VIP barrier, phones raised.
I look around and notice that the screens in the club now display my face as I dance.
The realization hits me: this is just the beginning.
I wave to the crowd of fans pressed against the VIP barrier, their phones raised to capture every moment.
After exchanging glances with the security guard, I gesture for him to let them through.
Twenty excited fans rush in, phones recording as they surround our group.
Sarah shifts the bottle service table aside to make room while James and Marcus welcome everyone.
I pose for selfies, sign autographs on arms and phones, and dance with fans to "One Shot" still playing overhead.
One girl tearfully tells me she's memorized every lyric of my album.
I smile at her and say, "That means the world to me, thank you."
Marcus leans in and whispers, "This is wild, but have you thought about how you'll handle all this attention long-term?"
I nod slowly, replying, "Yeah, it's exciting, but I need to figure out how to stay grounded through it all."