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MidReal Story
Rebel Without A Cause
Scenario:this is the year of 2019 in danish language in aarhus denmark a story about ghetto and music and explicit nudity and bdsm and police and racism and fights and sexual content and parties and clubbing and strippers and and friendship and loyalty and drug and alcohol use and love and drama and violence and fame and tours and interviews and fans and my name is mohamed abdi and i am 18 years old and i have many friends who supports me and hangs with me and i am a new upcoming songwriter and rapper and i have dark skin and braids and i wear a black tracksuit and i have black braided cornrows and i just graduated from high school and i want to persue music but my dad his name is abdinur abdi and he has dark skin and he is 43 years old and my mother layla she is 41 years old and she has dark skin and my sister munira she is 15 years old and she has dark skin and she is in high school first year and she supports me and my brother mahad is 16 years old and he supports me and he has dark skin and he is in high school and my parents are against me making music and doing music and we are a muslim somali family and i have many friends who are gangsters and drug dealers and other friends i hang around in my neighborhood in viby aarhus called rosenhøj and i am the main and central pov character and i am the narrator
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Mohamed Abdi
He is an 18yearold aspiring rapper and songwriter in Aarhus, Denmark. He is passionate, rebellious, and determined. Mohamed faces opposition from his conservative Muslim parents who disapprove of his music career. He hangs out with friends who support him, including gangsters and drug dealers. Despite his family's traditional values, Mohamed embraces his Somali culture while pursuing his dream in the music industry. He struggles with the influence of drugs and alcohol but remains focused on achieving success.
Abdinur Abdi
He is Mohamed's 43yearold father with Somali origins. He is conservative, strict, and pragmatic. Abdinur disapproves of Mohamed's music career path, viewing it as unsuitable for a Muslim son. He prioritizes family tradition and stability over personal dreams. His disagreements with Layla often revolve around Mohamed’s lifestyle and friendships. Abdinur works hard to provide for his family, but he struggles to understand his son’s desire for a different path in life.
Gangster Friend
He is one of Mohamed's close friends from the neighborhood in Rosenhøj Aarhus. He is tough, loyal, and intimidating. This friend has a history of gang affiliations but remains a supportive figure for Mohamed despite his dangerous lifestyle. He provides Mohamed with insider knowledge about the music scene and offers protection when needed. His presence adds an element of danger and excitement to Mohamed’s life but also poses risks of getting entangled in dangerous activities.
It's the year 2019, and I'm living in Aarhus, Denmark.
My name is Mohamed Abdi, and I'm 18 years old.
I have dark skin and braids, and I'm wearing a black tracksuit with black braided cornrows.
I just graduated from high school, and I want to pursue music, but my parents are against it.
My dad's name is Abdinur Abdi, and he has dark skin.
He's 43 years old.
My mom's name is Layla, and she also has dark skin.
She's 41 years old.
My sister's name is Munira, and she also has dark skin.
She's 15 years old and in high school first year.
My brother's name is Mahad, and he also has dark skin.
He's 16 years old and in high school.
I have many friends who support me, including gangster friends from my neighborhood in Viby, Aarhus, called Rosenhøj, and school friends from Aarhus, Denmark.
I want to make music, but my parents are against it because they're traditional Muslims who don't want me to make music.
They want me to get a normal job like them.
I enter the basement studio in Rosenhøj, and I'm greeted by the familiar hum of music gear and the chatter of my friends.
I nod at them as I walk in, and they acknowledge me with a nod of their own.
"Hey, Mohamed, we're ready when you are," one of them says, gesturing to the microphone.
I take my place in front of the mic, adjust it to my height, and give a thumbs-up to my friends.
They start the beat, and I begin to rap.
My friends listen intently as I rap, nodding their heads along with the beat.
When I finish, they give me a round of applause.
"That was sick," one of them says.
"Now let's mix it up and make it sound good."
They start mixing the track, adding effects and adjusting the levels.
After a few minutes, they play it back for me.
It sounds great, and I give them a thumbs-up.
"Now let's upload it to Spotify and Apple Music," one of them says.
We choose a cover photo of us sitting at a table with hot women and bottles of liquor.
Then we upload the song to Spotify and Apple Music.
We wait for a few minutes, and then we check the streams. "4.6 million streams," one of my friends says, looking at his phone in disbelief.
"We did it! We're famous!"
We all cheer and high-five each other.
A few days later, we receive an email from Spotify saying that our song has been certified gold.
We can't believe it!
We've made it big!
I sit at my desk in my bedroom, staring at my phone screen.
The Danish Top 50 charts are displayed, and my song "Vinder" is sitting at number 31.
It's sandwiched between two well-known artists, and I can't believe it.
I click on the notification from my bank, and it shows a deposit of 3000 kroner from Spotify.
My hands are shaking as I take a screenshot to send to the group chat.
I meet my friends in the parking lot near Rosenhøj.
There are many BMWs, Audis, and Mercedes parked there.
We light cigarettes and laugh as we talk.
People passing by look at us like we're criminals.
The police come to Rosenhøj three times a day.
My friends are a mix of Muslims, Black, Arab, and some White Danes.
We lean against the cars, talking about our lives and sharing jokes.
The laughter fades as I realize this is only the beginning.
Sitting in my friend Jeppe's Mercedes, I scroll through my phone while the others pass around a joint.
TikTok's algorithm floods my screen with videos of Danish teens dancing to "Vinder."
A girl with blonde braids does a seductive dance in her bedroom.
Another video shows guys in tracksuits like mine, mouthing my lyrics in front of Aarhus street signs.
My friends peer over my shoulder, laughing and pointing.
"You're famous now," Mahad says, but I catch a hint of envy in his voice.
He shows me his failed YouTube gaming channel on his phone.
The others start talking about their own dreams - acting auditions, cryptocurrency schemes, street hustles.
In the studio, Ahmed plays an afrobeat rap beat.
I write lyrics about partying, drinking, and being with friends and sexy women.
I name the song "For Evigt."
I rap confidently, finishing the track in 15 minutes.
We create a cover photo of me sitting at a table in a nightclub, surrounded by friends and hot women.
The song is released on Spotify and Apple Music.
Within hours, it reaches 5 million streams.
It spreads like wildfire on social media, achieving gold status.
I receive the gold plaque featuring the song's cover.
"For Evigt" climbs to number 14 on Denmark's Top 50 charts, earning me 50,000 kroner.
While hanging at Ahmed's studio, my phone buzzes with an unknown number from Copenhagen.
I hesitate for a moment, then answer.
"Hello?"
"Hej, jeg hedder Thomas," a voice says in rapid Danish.
I don't understand what he's saying.
"Who's this?"
I ask in Danish.
"I'm from Universal Music Denmark. We've been following your music."
My hands start shaking.
"What do you want?"
"We want to sign you. You're doing great on the charts."
The next day, we head to the Universal Music Denmark building in Aarhus town square.
We enter the lobby and are greeted by walls filled with gold and platinum records of famous artists.
A receptionist directs us to a meeting room.
We enter and see a man sitting at a conference table with some other men and a woman.
They introduce themselves as the CEO, board members, and an assistant.
They tell me they're interested in my music and want to talk about a contract.
I sit down at the conference table, feeling nervous but excited.
My friends stand behind me, silently supporting me.
I sit across from two executives in crisp suits.
The female executive, Lisa, slides a thick contract across the table.
My hands feel sweaty as I flip through the pages filled with legal terms I barely understand.
The male executive, Henrik, explains they want three albums over five years, plus touring and promotion commitments.
They're offering a 150,000 kroner advance.
I glance at Jeppe, who nods encouragingly.
Jakob leans forward to examine the paperwork.
The studio requirements and deadlines make my stomach tighten.
"Is this really what you want, Mohamed?" Jeppe asks, his voice low and serious.
I hesitate, looking at the contract again. "I don't know, man. It feels like a huge step."
Lisa leans in, her tone persuasive. "It's a big opportunity, Mohamed. This could change your life."
I stare at the contract on the mahogany desk, my palms sweating.
Lisa slides a silver pen toward me.
The fluorescent office lights feel harsh and clinical compared to our basement studio.
Jeppe squeezes my shoulder reassuringly.
Jakob fidgets in his seat beside me.
Henrik points to the signature line, his voice filled with urgency.
"This is your chance to join the major leagues, Mohamed."
I think of my parents' disapproval, but then I remember the millions of streams, the fans dancing on TikTok, the rush of performing.
My hand trembles slightly as I pick up the pen.
I sign my name, sealing my future with a single stroke.
After signing the contract, Henrik leads us on a tour of the building.
We start at the ground floor studios where established artists are recording.
In Studio A, we see MØ, a famous Danish pop star, nodding her head to the beat as she listens to a playback.
She waves at us through the glass.
Next, we head upstairs to the producer rooms where Jeppe will work his magic.
Then we take the elevator to the rooftop lounge area.
The sleek outdoor furniture and bar setup take my breath away.
The panoramic view of Aarhus stretches out before us, with its cobblestone streets and historic buildings.
Back in the conference room, Lisa pops open a bottle of champagne while I stick to Coca-Cola.
Jeppe grabs a beer from the fridge, grinning as he clinks glasses with the executives.
The weight of my decision settles in as I gaze out at the city, knowing there's no turning back.
Standing in the conference room, I watch Lisa pour champagne into crystal flutes while Henrik distributes them around the table.
The bubbles catch the afternoon light streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Jeppe grabs his beer bottle eagerly, while Jakob accepts his glass with a grin.
I grip my cold Coca-Cola, the condensation dampening my palm.
The room falls quiet as Henrik clears his throat, lifting his glass.
"To our newest artist," he announces, his voice carrying authority.
Lisa beams at me from across the polished table.
My friends nod encouragingly.
I raise my glass, feeling the weight of both promise and uncertainty.
I stand frozen for a moment, the cold Coke glass pressed against my palm.
Everyone waits for me to speak.
The conference room feels smaller now, with all eyes on me.
My throat tightens as I think about my journey from recording in a basement to standing here at Universal.
Jeppe gives me an encouraging nod while Jakob grins.
The executives lean forward expectantly.
My voice comes out steadier than I expect as I raise my glass, looking each person in the eye.
I take a deep breath and say, "Here's to new beginnings and endless possibilities."
Henrik smiles, but there's a hint of something else in his eyes.
"Just remember, Mohamed," he says, lowering his voice, "success comes with its own set of challenges."
Lisa leans in slightly, her expression serious now. "And sometimes, those challenges aren't what you expect."
I follow Henrik down a long hallway lined with platinum records.
The walls are adorned with framed photographs of Universal's artists, their faces glowing with triumph.
We pass a door labeled "Studio B" and continue towards the end of the hall.
Henrik pushes open a door, revealing a dimly lit room filled with the hum of conversation and the clinking of glasses.
This is Universal's artist lounge, a place where musicians come to unwind and share stories.
As we enter, I spot Gilli lounging on a leather couch, his feet propped up on a coffee table.
Sivas stands at the pool table, lining up a shot while Benny Jamz mixes drinks behind the bar.
Node and Branco sit in a corner booth, their heads bent over their phones.
My heart races as Gilli notices us and stands up, walking over to greet us.
He extends his hand, his smile warm and genuine.
"Heard your track 'Vinder' - that shit's fire," he says, his voice carrying across the room.
The other artists turn to look at me, curiosity etched on their faces.
Sivas leaves the pool table to join us, followed by Benny Jamz carrying a tray of drinks.
Node and Branco slide out of their booth, nodding at me in recognition. "So you're Mohamed," Sivas says, eyeing me up and down.
"You've got some big shoes to fill."
I swallow hard, trying to keep my composure despite the sudden attention.
Gilli gestures for me to take a seat next to him on the couch while the others gather around us.
Benny Jamz hands me a glass filled with amber liquid that smells like whiskey.
I hesitate for a moment before taking a sip, feeling the burn all the way down my throat.
"So tell us about yourself," Gilli prompts, leaning back against the cushions.
I take another sip of whiskey before launching into my story - how I grew up in Aarhus listening to American hip-hop, how I started recording tracks in my basement with Jeppe and Jakob, and how our music eventually caught the attention of Universal.
As I finish my story, the room falls silent, and I realize I've just taken the first step into a world that will never be the same.
The artist lounge falls silent after my toast, the whiskey glass trembling slightly in my hand.
Gilli nods his approval while Benny Jamz leans forward, elbows resting on his knees.
Sivas takes a slow sip of his drink, his eyes fixed intently on me over the rim of the glass.
Node and Branco exchange a knowing glance before Branco speaks up, his voice carrying across the room.
"You got balls, kid."
The leather couch creaks as Gilli shifts closer, placing a heavy hand on my shoulder.
"Let me tell you about my first week after signing," he begins, his voice low and serious.
The leather couch creaks as I shift closer, my gold chain catching the dim light of the lounge.
My hand stays firm on his shoulder, while the other rappers fall silent, their drinks forgotten in their hands.
The whiskey burns in my throat as I continue, "It was my first performance under a label. I was supposed to open for Benny Jamz at a sold-out show."
I glance at Benny, who nods knowingly.
"I remember that night," he says, his voice filled with a mix of nostalgia and amusement.
Gilli takes another sip of his drink before continuing.
"I stepped onto the stage, heart pounding in my chest. The crowd was buzzing, but as soon as I opened my mouth to sing, my voice cracked."
He pauses for dramatic effect, letting the weight of his words sink in.
"The crowd went wild, but not in a good way. They started booing, throwing bottles at the stage."
I feel a shiver run down my spine as I recall that night.
"I was so humiliated that I almost quit music right then and there."
Sivas pulls out his phone and scrolls through it before showing me a grainy video.
"Is this it?"
I take the phone from him and watch the footage of myself getting booed off the stage.
I shift uncomfortably on the leather couch, my gold chains catching the dim light of the lounge.
The door to the artist lounge swings open, and three more legendary Danish rappers walk in.
Kesi leads the way, his gold chains glinting in the dim light.
He's followed by Stepz, who adjusts his signature cap as he scans the room.
Finally, Noah Carter walks in, his towering figure commanding attention.
The room falls silent as they make their way to our circle, grabbing drinks from the bar along the way.
I can't help but feel starstruck as they join us, their presence filling the room with an electric energy.
"Hey guys," Kesi greets us with a nod before taking a seat next to me.
Stepz follows suit, adjusting his cap again before leaning back in his chair.
Noah Carter stands tall for a moment, surveying the room before taking a seat directly across from me.
His deep voice rumbles through the room as he greaps everyone's attention.
"So what are we talking about?"
I grip my whiskey glass tightly, trying to appear composed despite being surrounded by some of my musical idols.
"It's just a little story about my first week after signing," Gilli explains, gesturing towards me. Noah nods thoughtfully before turning his gaze back to me.
"I'd love to hear it," he says, his deep voice commanding attention.
I take a sip of whiskey before launching into my story once again, this time with even more intensity and passion.
As I speak, I can feel their eyes on me, their expressions shifting from curiosity to admiration.
I grip my empty whiskey glass tightly, my heart still racing from the intensity of sharing my story.
The room falls silent once again, and I can feel the weight of their gaze on me.
Kesi leans forward, his gold chain swinging gently as he locks eyes with me.
"Let me tell you about my first major show," he begins, his voice low and steady.
"I remember stepping onto the stage, my hands trembling uncontrollably. My mouth was dry, and my vision blurred."
The other rappers nod knowingly, their expressions reflecting a mix of understanding and nostalgia.
"I thought I was going to pass out right there in front of thousands of people," Kesi continues, his voice filled with a hint of vulnerability.
"But then I remembered something my mentor told me: 'When you feel like you're losing control, find your anchor.'"
He takes a deep breath before continuing.
"For me, that anchor is breathing. Whenever I feel anxious or overwhelmed, I take a deep breath in through my nose."
He demonstrates the technique, inhaling slowly and steadily.
"And then I exhale through my mouth."
He exhales slowly, his shoulders relaxing slightly.
"Try it," he says, looking at me intently. I nod nervously before mimicking his breathing technique.
I inhale deeply through my nose, feeling the air fill my lungs.
And then I exhale slowly through my mouth, feeling a sense of calm wash over me.
Kesi nods in approval before continuing.
"The other thing that helps is to find an anchor point in the crowd. Someone to focus on when you feel like you're losing control."
He scans the room before pointing to Gilli.
"For example, if I were performing right now, Gilli would be my anchor point. Whenever I feel anxious or overwhelmed, I would focus on him."
Gilli nods slightly, acknowledging Kesi's words.
"And finally," Kesi says, standing up from his seat.
"The way you position your feet on stage can make all the difference."
He stands tall, his feet shoulder-width apart as he demonstrates his stance.
"Keep your feet grounded like this," Kesi instructs, glancing at me with a reassuring smile.
Stepz chimes in, adjusting his cap once more, "It's all about finding that balance, both physically and mentally."
Noah Carter leans back in his chair, adding with a knowing grin, "And remember, the crowd feeds off your energy—own it, don't let it own you."
I lean back on the leather couch, my whiskey glass now refilled by Kesi.
The tension in the room dissipates as we continue to share stories and advice, the age gap between us fading into the background.
The conversation flows effortlessly, punctuated by laughter and nods of understanding.
It's clear that despite our differences, we share a common bond—a passion for music and a desire to succeed in the industry.
As the night wears on, I feel myself becoming more relaxed in their presence.
They're no longer just legendary rappers; they're people with stories and experiences that resonate with me.
Gilli leans over, his voice filled with excitement.
"You should come join us in the studio tomorrow. We're working on some new tracks."
Benny Jamz chimes in, his voice filled with enthusiasm.
"And you should come to my party next week in Copenhagen. It's going to be lit."
Sivas pulls out his phone, his fingers flying across the screen as he types out a message.
"Let me send you some beats. Maybe we can work on something together."
I nod eagerly, grateful for the opportunity to collaborate with these talented artists.
As we continue to chat, Node mentions that they have a studio week planned in Stockholm soon.
"We'll be there for a week, working on new material," he explains, his voice filled with anticipation. The other rappers nod in agreement, their faces lighting up with excitement.
I pull out my phone, opening a new chat window as I prepare to add them all to a group chat.
The room buzzes with the promise of new beginnings, and I realize this is just the start.
I pull out my phone with trembling fingers, typing "100%" into the group chat.
The Danish rappers watch intently as I send the message, their expressions filled with anticipation.
Gilli is the first to respond, texting the address of his studio—a private location in Nørrebro.
Benny Jamz sends a message with details about his party at ARCH nightclub, mentioning that there'll be industry executives attending.
Sivas forwards me three beat samples through WhatsApp, and I can already hear the heavy bass lines playing in my head.
The whiskey has warmed my chest, giving me a sense of boldness.
"Maybe we can work on some lyrics together," I suggest, looking around the circle.
Node pulls out his phone, opening a new tab as he searches for flights to Stockholm.
He turns the screen towards me, pointing at various dates and times.
I lean back in the leather couch, watching as he scrolls through the options.
The whiskey warms my chest, and I can feel the effects of the alcohol coursing through my veins.
"Next week, Monday morning," Node says, pointing to a flight from Aarhus to Stockholm.
The other rappers gather around, discussing studio arrangements and accommodation details.
My hands tremble slightly as I pull out my credit card, ready to book my first international music trip.
Node helps me complete the booking, and Gilli explains the recording schedule.
"Don't worry about the cost," Gilli says, giving me a reassuring nod.
"We've got you covered for this trip," Kesi adds, his voice steady and supportive.
"Just focus on bringing your A-game to the studio," Sivas chimes in, flashing a confident smile.
I lean back into the leather couch, watching as Node taps the confirmation button on his phone.
The flight details appear on my screen: Aarhus to Stockholm, 6 AM Monday.
Gilli scrolls through his phone, showing me pictures of the Swedish studio and explaining the equipment they'll be using.
My heart races with excitement as Sivas plays a preview of the beat we'll be working with.
The whiskey has loosened my nerves, and I start freestyle rapping to the rhythm.
The other artists nod along, their expressions filled with approval.
When the beat fades out, Kesi raises his glass.
"To new beginnings and killer tracks," he toasts, his eyes gleaming with enthusiasm.
"Here's to making music that shakes the world," I reply, clinking my glass against his.
"And here's to you joining our crew," Benny Jamz adds, a grin spreading across his face.
I pull out my phone, opening the notes app as the whiskey buzz fuels my creativity.
The famous rappers continue sharing stories and laughter, but I'm lost in my own world, jotting down key phrases and rhyme patterns.
Gilli leans over, pointing at specific words on my screen.
"Switch the flow here," he suggests, his voice filled with expertise.
I nod, typing faster as the beat from Sivas's phone plays in the background.
"Try adding a metaphor about the city lights," Gilli continues, his eyes lighting up with inspiration.
"Yeah, something that captures the vibe of Stockholm at night," Kesi agrees, tapping his fingers rhythmically on the table.
"Make it vivid, like you're painting a picture with your words," Sivas adds, nodding in encouragement.
I pause mid-sentence, my thumbs hovering over the screen.
The whiskey's warmth spreads through my chest as a vision forms in my mind.
I picture the northern lights dancing over the Stockholm skyline, like spotlights at a concert.
My thumbs start moving frantically across the screen, capturing the imagery before it fades away.
Gilli leans in closer, his eyes widening as he reads my words.
Sivas stops the beat, and Node sets his glass down on the table.
The lounge falls silent as I type the last word, my heart pounding with anticipation.
When I finally look up, I see their faces lit with recognition.
"That's it!" Kesi exclaims, jumping to his feet.
I stand in the private terminal at Aarhus Airport, my passport and overnight bag clutched tightly in my hands.
The sky is still a deep shade of indigo, but the first hints of dawn are starting to creep over the horizon.
Before me stands Branco's gleaming white jet, its engines humming softly as it prepares for takeoff.
The famous rappers greet me with tired smiles and cups of steaming coffee.
We board the plane, settling into plush leather seats as flight attendants offer us breakfast.
I sink into the seat next to Gilli, my hands trembling slightly as I sign the international travel form.
It's my first time leaving Aarhus, and the thought of crossing borders sends a shiver down my spine.
As the jet taxis down the runway, I press my face against the window, watching as my hometown disappears beneath a blanket of clouds.
The engines roar louder, propelling us into the sky with a force that presses me deep into my seat.
My stomach flips with a mix of excitement and fear as we break through the clouds, revealing a vast expanse of blue stretching out before us.
The jet banks northward, heading toward Stockholm and a new chapter in my life. "So, you'll be staying in one of the guest rooms on the third floor," Branco explains, his voice carrying over the hum of the engines.
"The studio is on the ground floor, right next to the kitchen. We'll be working there most days."
I nod intently, trying to absorb every detail he shares about the mansion and our schedule.
Gilli leans back in his seat, closing his eyes as he listens to music through his headphones.
Sivas and Node sit across from me, engrossed in a heated game of cards while Kesi reads a book beside them.
Benny Jamz is nowhere to be found; he must have fallen asleep in one of the back seats.
"Hey, you nervous about the recording?" Sivas asks, glancing up from his cards with a knowing smile.
"A little," I admit, feeling the weight of their expectations settle on my shoulders.
"Don't be," Node chimes in, dealing another hand. "You've got something special, and we're all here to help you shine."
I grip the leather armrest as the pilot announces our descent.
My stomach lurches with each dip, and I can feel my knuckles turning white.
Gilli notices my tension and leans over, his voice low and reassuring.
"First time on a plane?"
I nod, unable to hide my anxiety.
He chuckles softly, sharing a story of his first flight years ago.
"I was terrified too. But it gets easier with time."
Outside the window, the clouds part to reveal the sprawling cityscape of Stockholm.
Tall skyscrapers and ancient buildings blend together in a tapestry of history and modernity.
Branco checks his phone, scrolling through messages with a frown.
"Our driver should be waiting for us at the gate," he explains, glancing up at me briefly before returning to his screen.
The flight attendant comes by to collect our breakfast trays, her heels clicking on the plush carpet.
Sivas and Node pack away their cards as the pilot announces our final approach.
"Once we land, we'll head straight to the mansion," Branco says, looking up from his phone.
"Is it really as big as they say?" I ask, trying to mask my awe with casual curiosity.
"Even bigger," Gilli replies with a grin, "but don't worry, you'll get used to it."
I step out onto the private terminal's tarmac, my legs wobbly from the flight.
The cold Stockholm breeze hits my face, carrying the scent of distant forests.
Gilli leads the way down the jet's stairs, and I follow closely behind.
Two black Mercedes vans wait for us on the tarmac, their drivers holding signs with our names.
Branco directs me to the first van while the crew loads our luggage into the second.
I slide into the leather interior, settling between Node and Sivas as they discuss tonight's studio session.
Through the tinted windows, I watch as Stockholm unfolds before me—a city of contrasts where ancient history meets modern innovation.
My heart races at the thought of stepping into their mansion, of bringing my lyrics to life in their state-of-the-art studio.
"Are you ready?" Node asks, glancing at me with a knowing smile.
I nod, my jaw dropping as the van turns into a long driveway lined with towering trees and manicured gardens.
The mansion looms before us, its sleek glass façade reflecting the morning sun.
Branco leads the way inside, pushing open the massive wooden doors to reveal a foyer that takes my breath away.
A crystal chandelier hangs from the vaulted ceiling, casting shards of light across the polished marble floors.
Gilli gestures for me to follow him, leading me through the sprawling mansion.
We pass by ten bedroom doors, each one adorned with intricate carvings and heavy curtains.
Node points out eight bathrooms, each one more opulent than the last.
Finally, we reach the main living area—a cavernous space filled with plush couches and floor-to-ceiling windows that offer a breathtaking view of Stockholm's skyline and glittering waterways. The scent of catered food wafts from the kitchen, mingling with the sound of laughter and music drifting from downstairs.
Sivas leads us down a spiral staircase to a state-of-the-art recording studio nestled in the basement.
The room hums with energy as Benny Jamz sets up his equipment and Kesi begins to tune his guitar.
My hands tremble slightly as I set down my bags, still trying to process that I've left Denmark for the first time in my life.
Branco opens a bottle of champagne, its cork popping loudly as he pours glasses for everyone.
"Welcome to our home away from home," he says, handing me a glass.
I stand in the middle of the studio, surrounded by some of Denmark's top rappers.
Branco pours expensive champagne into crystal flutes, the bubbles catching the light from the mixing board's LEDs.
My reflection stares back at me in the glass—braids pulled back, black tracksuit, and a pair of worn sneakers.
I look out of place among their designer clothes and gold chains.
Sivas adjusts some equipment while Gilli and Node chat by the mic stand.
When Branco hands me a glass, my fingers tremble slightly.
The cool crystal steadies my nerves as I lift it, joining the circle of artists.
"To new beginnings," Gilli says, raising his glass with a wink.
I clink my glass against his, feeling the weight of the moment.
"Alright, let's get to work," Branco says, setting his glass down.
I sit down on a couch in the corner of the studio, watching as Nicki Pooyandeh, their producer, sits at the mixing board.
He's a tall guy with tattoos covering his arms and hands, brown eyes, and black hair that falls to his shoulders.
He starts playing a hard drill beat through the speakers, the bass vibrating through my chest.
It's a dark and intense sound, not what I'm used to.
But I can feel the energy in the room building as he works his magic on the track.
"Try something new," he says, looking over at me with a smile.
I nod in agreement, grabbing a pen and paper from my bag.
The beat pulses through my veins as I start to write.
In just three minutes, I've got a rap song written about my ambition to become the best rapper and a legend.
I step into the recording booth, feeling the weight of everyone's eyes on me.
Nicki starts the beat again, and I take a deep breath before I start rapping.
I can see Stepz, Noah Carter, Sivas, Kesi, Gilli, Node, and Branco watching me from the other side of the glass.
I name the song "Populær" and deliver the lyrics with confidence.
After I'm done, I step out of the booth to find Nicki already mixing the track.
The room erupts in applause, and for the first time, I truly feel like I belong.
I sit beside Nicki at the mixing desk while he adds the final touches to "Populær."
The other rappers crowd around us, their faces lit up by the glow of the computer screens.
We scroll through the photos from yesterday's rooftop shoot, finally settling on one of me dangling my legs over the edge, the city lights twinkling below.
Nicki uploads the finished track to Universal's system, showing me the scheduled release date.
Gilli hands me a beer to celebrate, and Node predicts this will be my biggest hit yet.
I sit at my laptop in the studio, refreshing Spotify obsessively as Nicki watches the numbers tick up.
The cover photo is a close-up of my face, my eyes staring straight into the camera.
I'm dangling my legs over the edge of the rooftop, the city skyline stretching out behind me.
It's a dangerous photo, capturing the reckless energy of my rise to fame.
Within hours, the streaming numbers explode past one million.
My phone buzzes constantly with notifications from Danish music blogs and Instagram.
Soundvenue posts an article calling me "Denmark's next breakthrough artist."
By the end of the day, "Populær" has racked up six million streams.
Universal sends an email congratulating me on my gold certification.
I sit in the living room of the Stockholm mansion, my phone buzzing nonstop as Gilli hands me another beer.
We watch the numbers climb higher and higher, the song's popularity spreading like wildfire.
I refresh my bank app, seeing the 40,000 kroner from the gold certification added to my account.
My total now stands at 140,000 kroner.
The other rappers gather around me, their voices filled with a mix of congratulations and envy.
I scroll through social media, seeing my name trending on Twitter and Instagram.
By the end of the night, "Populær" has reached number 9 on the Danish charts.
I step off the plane at Aarhus Airport, my eyes heavy with exhaustion.
The whirlwind trip to Stockholm has left me drained but exhilarated.
The famous rappers head towards their connecting flight to Copenhagen, exchanging quick goodbyes and fist bumps.
I make my way outside, the cool Danish air a welcome respite from the sweltering heat of the mansion.
I hail a taxi, giving the driver the familiar address of Rosenhøj.
As we drive through the streets of Viby, I watch the passing scenery with a mix of nostalgia and pride.
The taxi pulls up to my childhood home, and I pay the driver before stepping out onto the curb.
The front door swings open before I can even reach for my keys, Munira and Mahad rushing out to greet me with wide smiles.
My parents remain in the kitchen, pretending not to notice my return.
I step inside, feeling the warmth of home wrap around me like a long-lost embrace.
I sink into our worn living room couch while Munira and Mahad lean forward eagerly on the floor.
"Tell us everything," Munira demands, her eyes shining with excitement.
I take a deep breath, reliving the whirlwind adventure in my mind.
"The private jet was insane," I begin, "with leather seats and champagne."
Munira's eyes widen even further.
"And the mansion? It was like something out of a movie, with crystal chandeliers and marble floors."
Mahad nods enthusiastically, his eyes glued to my every word.
I pull out my phone, showing them the photos I took during the trip.
The recording booth, the rooftop view, me posing with Gilli and Node and Nicki.
They ooh and ahh over each one, their faces lighting up with wonder.
I open Spotify and play "Populær" through my phone speaker, watching as Mahad bobs his head to the beat.
From the kitchen, I can hear the sound of dishes being washed aggressively.
Munira leans in close, whispering, "Mom and Dad haven't spoken to each other since they saw your song trending."
I lower the volume on my phone, not wanting to disturb them further.
Mahad looks at me, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Do you think it's because of the song?" he asks, concern etched on his face.
I nod slowly, feeling the weight of their unspoken disapproval.
I walk into the kitchen, where my parents are cleaning dishes, their backs turned to me.
The smell of cardamom tea fills the air as Mom scrubs a pot with more force than necessary.
Dad dries plates with sharp, angry movements.
The gold chain I bought with my first paycheck feels heavy against my chest.
I clear my throat to announce my presence.
They don't turn around.
"Mom, Dad," I begin, "I know you're upset about the song, but I want to explain."
Mom's shoulders tense, and Dad slams a plate down so hard it cracks.
"I went to Stockholm to record a song with some famous rappers," I continue, trying to keep my voice steady.
"It's a big opportunity for me, and it could help us financially."
Mom spins around, her eyes filled with tears.
"Have you forgotten everything we taught you?" she asks, her voice trembling.
"Everything about our culture and our people?"
I take a deep breath before answering.
"I haven't forgotten," I say softly, "but I want to show the world who we are through my music."
Dad finally turns to face me, his expression a mix of frustration and concern.
"But at what cost?" he asks, his voice heavy with emotion.
I stand there, the silence growing thicker than the air.
Mom wipes away tears while Dad's face hardens into a mask of determination.
"Choose now," he says, his voice firm and unwavering.
"Your music or this family."
My heart pounds in my chest as I look between them.
I think of the studio sessions, the streams, the contracts.
"Music is my future," I say quietly, my voice barely above a whisper.
Dad points towards the door, his eyes cold and unyielding.
Mom turns away, sobbing into her hands.
I rush upstairs, my hands shaking as I pull out my black luggage.
I stuff clothes and essentials inside, my mind racing with thoughts of where to go next.
I call a taxi, my fingers trembling as I dial the number.
As I wait for it to arrive, I send a text to Gilli about crashing at his place in Copenhagen. The taxi pulls up outside our house, its headlights illuminating the darkening evening sky.
I grab my luggage and run downstairs, not looking back at my parents.
The taxi driver loads my bags into the trunk as I climb into the backseat.
Munira and Mahad stand at the doorway, their faces a mix of confusion and sadness.
"Are you really leaving?" Munira asks, her voice small and trembling.
I nod, my throat tight with emotion.
"I have to follow my dreams," I say, trying to keep my voice steady.
The taxi pulls away from the curb, leaving my childhood home behind.
As we drive towards Aarhus Airport, I watch the city fade into the distance.
The three-hour drive to Copenhagen gives me time to think about my decision.
I check my phone, seeing messages from Gilli, Kesi, and the others.
They're excited for me to arrive in the city.
I look out the window as the taxi speeds down the highway.
The lights of Aarhus give way to rolling hills and fields.
I refresh my Spotify stats, watching as "Populær" climbs higher in the charts.
My bank account now holds 140,000 kroner.
I can buy an apartment or even a house with that kind of money. The taxi approaches Copenhagen, and my heart races with anticipation.
The city's skyline rises before us like a shimmering mirage.
I can see the Tivoli Gardens amusement park and the iconic Little Mermaid statue by the harbor.
The taxi takes me through the winding streets of Vesterbro and Nørrebro, passing by trendy cafes and vintage shops.
We finally arrive in Østerbro, and I pay the driver before stepping out onto the curb.
I look up at the tall buildings, their balconies filled with plants and flowers.
The air is filled with the smell of freshly baked bread from the nearby bakery.
I walk down a side street, looking for a place to stay.
I see a sign in a window that reads "Apartment for Sale."
I enter the building and knock on the door of the real estate agent's office.
She greets me with a friendly smile and asks about my budget.
I tell her I have 40,000 kroner to spend.
She nods and shows me some apartments in the building.
The first one is small but cozy, with a single bedroom and bathroom.
The second one is larger, with two bedrooms and a balcony overlooking the city.
The third one is even bigger, with three bedrooms, three bathrooms, a kitchen, and a large balcony. I decide to buy the third apartment, and she hands me the keys.
I spend the next few days moving my belongings inside and decorating the place.
I buy furniture for each room, including a TV and couch for the living room, toiletries for the bathrooms, and a bed and drawers for each bedroom.
I also purchase essentials like pots and pans for the kitchen and towels for the bathrooms.
I stock up on food and alcohol from the nearby supermarket.
As I settle into my new home, I learn that Copenhagen is a popular destination for celebrities from around the world.
Rappers, singers, social media influencers, models, comedians, and actors all come to visit this beautiful city.
And not just international celebrities – Danish artists are also frequent visitors to Copenhagen.
I sit on my new couch, sipping a soda and watching the big TV.
I flip through channels until I find a news station.
They're talking about music, and suddenly my face appears on the screen.
The news anchor says that "Populær" has hit number 9 on the Danish charts.
My phone buzzes with messages from Gilli and the other rappers, congratulating me on the song's success.
I flip through more channels until I find a local music show.
They're playing my song, and teenagers are dancing to it in the background.
I watch as they sing along to the lyrics.
My phone rings, and it's Munira calling to congratulate me too.
We talk for a while, but I can hear the sadness in her voice.
She misses me and wishes I hadn't left home.
I lie on my new leather couch, staring at the ceiling as I hold my phone.
The city lights flicker through the balcony windows, casting a colorful glow over the room.
I scroll through my phone, looking at pictures of my family.
There's one from Munira's birthday last month, with her wearing a pretty dress and holding a cake with candles.
Another shows Mahad playing soccer with his friends in the park.
And there's one of Mom in the kitchen, cooking up a big pot of suqaar.
I touch the gold chain around my neck, feeling its weight against my chest.
I refresh my Spotify stats again, watching as "Populær" climbs even higher in the charts.
My bank account now holds 200,000 kroner.
I can buy even more things with that kind of money.
I wake up to the sound of birds chirping outside my balcony.
The morning sunlight streams through the windows, illuminating the room with a warm glow.
I stretch my arms and yawn, feeling refreshed after a good night's sleep.
I get dressed and head out to explore the city.
I walk along the famous shopping street, Strøget, looking at all the stores and cafes.
I stop at a jewelry store and browse through the display cases.
There are all sorts of necklaces, bracelets, earrings, and rings on display.
I see a thick gold chain that catches my eye, and I ask the sales associate about it.
He tells me it's 18-karat gold and costs 20,000 kroner.
I also find a matching watch that costs 15,000 kroner.
I buy both of them and put them on as I walk out of the store.
The weight of the chain feels good against my chest.
Next, I visit a tattoo parlor near Nyhavn.
I walk in and see a burly man with tattoos covering his arms and neck.
He looks up from the design he's working on and asks if I need anything.
I tell him I want to get some tattoos, and he nods, gesturing for me to sit down.
I show him my phone with some ideas I found online.
The first one is a quote from "For Evigt," the song that started it all.
The second one is a lyric from "Vinder," the song that made me famous.
The third one is the Universal Music logo, symbolizing my record deal.
And the fourth one is a mix of Somali and Danish flags, representing my heritage.
He nods and starts sketching out the designs on a piece of paper.
After a few minutes, he shows me what he's come up with, and I like it.
He gets to work right away, starting with the quote from "For Evigt."
I watch as the needle moves across my skin, leaving behind a trail of ink.
It hurts a little bit, but it's worth it. As he works, I check my phone again and see that "Populær" has reached number 8 on the charts.
I refresh my bank app and see that I now have 250,000 kroner in my account.
The tattoo artist finishes the first design and moves on to the second one.
This time it's a lyric from "Vinder" on my other arm.
He works quickly and efficiently, making sure every line is perfect.
After about an hour, he finishes both arms and moves on to the logo on my chest.
I watch as he carefully traces out each letter, making sure they're even and symmetrical.
Finally, he starts working on the flag design on my back.
This one takes the longest because it's so intricate and detailed. As he works, Munira sends me another text message asking if I'm okay after leaving home so suddenly.
I tell her everything is fine and that I'm just enjoying life in Copenhagen for now.
She says she misses me already but understands why I had to go.
I thank her for being supportive and promise to visit soon.
The tattoo artist finishes up after about three hours total time spent working on all four designs together!
He hands me a mirror so I can see how they turned out, and I love them!
I pay him and leave the shop, feeling a sense of pride as I walk down the street.
Just then, my phone rings—it's Gilli on the line.
"Yo, you won't believe it," he says, excitement crackling through the call. "Universal wants to sign you for a full album."