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MidReal Story
The Mysterious Artist
Scenario:From fan to lover
Create my version of this story
Ramondo P.
Charles G.
Myia
I was walking down the street when I saw her.
She had the longest, waviest hair I had ever seen.
It was black and purple, with flowers and bows throughout.
She was wearing a short, poofy skirt with knee-high boots and a tight-fitting top.
She looked amazing.
I was immediately drawn to her.
I walked up to her and said, "Hello," in my best sexy voice.
She turned to me and gave me a big smile.
"Hi," she said.
"My name is Myia."
I was taken aback by her response.
I was expecting her to be shy or nervous around me, but instead she seemed confident and self-assured.
"I'm Charles G.," I said in return.
"It's nice to meet you."
We talked for a while and I found out that she was a fan of my music.
I was touched by her kind words and thoughtfulness.
I asked her if she wanted to go get a cup of coffee with me.
She agreed and we walked to my favorite coffee shop around the corner.
It was called Guitar Center Café and it was a place where local musicians would come to play.
They had a stage in the back and a house guitar that hung on the wall for anyone to use.
The barista knew me and nodded at me as I walked in.
I walked over to the wall and took down the guitar.
Myia slid into a worn leather booth, her eyes following me as I moved.
The café was pretty empty, it was late in the afternoon so most people had already gotten their coffee for the day.
There were a couple of students in the corner with their laptops open, an elderly man reading a newspaper, and a few other people scattered about.
I sat down across from Myia and adjusted the strings on the guitar.
I started with a few notes, testing the guitar.
Myia leaned forward, her elbows on the table, her expensive looking bangles clicking against the wood.
The espresso machine in the back hissed and someone clinked dishes together.
I strummed a few more chords and then looked up at Myia.
She gave me a smile and I knew I had her right where I wanted her.
I pulled out my phone to check my emails and kept an eye on her from the corner of my eye.
We had meetings with some sponsors in an hour and I didn’t want to be late, but I also didn’t want to rush this moment.
I was just about to suggest we leave when he started playing the opening notes to "Midnight Rain."
Myia's eyes widened, and she leaned in closer.
"That's my favorite song," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the music.
I paused, surprised, and asked, "Did you know I wrote it for someone special?"
She shook her head no, her eyes never leaving mine.
I started playing again, my fingers moving over the strings in a fluid motion.
The café patrons turned to look at me, phones appearing to record the moment.
Myia's eyes stayed fixed on me as I played, her coffee growing cold in front of her.
I glanced at my watch and saw that we were already ten minutes late.
I knew then that some moments were worth being late for.
I shifted uncomfortably in my chair as Charles finished the final chords of "Midnight Rain."
The café had grown more crowded, at least fifteen people now recording on their phones.
Myia burst into applause, her bracelets clinking together.
Her coffee was now completely cold, and I knew we needed to get going.
We were twenty minutes late for the sponsor meeting.
Charles carefully returned the guitar to its wall mount, Myia watching his every move.
When he came back to the table, she grabbed his hand and wrote her personal number on his palm with a purple marker.
I shifted uncomfortably in my chair.
Charles leaned in close to Myia, whispering something in her ear that made her giggle.
She nodded eagerly, gathering her things.
We were now thirty minutes late and I knew we would not be making the meeting with the sponsors.
The crowd of onlookers continued filming as Charles helped Myia out of the booth, his hand resting on the lower part of her back.
My phone buzzed urgently with messages from the sponsors, but Myia was already heading for the door with Charles.
"We'll give them an extra song at the show," she called back over her shoulder, her bracelets jingling as she waved.
I rushed out of the café, into the chilly afternoon air.
The sidewalk was crowded, and I scanned the sea of heads for Myia's purple and black strands.
I spotted them about half a block ahead, Charles's dark head bent down to hers as they walked toward Central Park.
I flagged down the first yellow cab I saw, jumping in as the driver honked impatiently.
"Follow that couple," I said, pointing at Myia and Charles.
The driver nodded, pulling into traffic.
We followed at a careful distance, watching as they stopped at a street vendor.
Charles bought Myia a pretzel while she clung to his arm, completely ignoring the group of teenagers who had recognized her and were taking photos.
As the cab slowed to a stop at the next light, I realized that some pursuits were worth every detour.
I paid the cab driver and jumped out, hurrying toward Central Park's stone archway where Myia and Charles had just disappeared.
My dress shoes clicked against the pavement as I weaved through the afternoon crowd.
I spotted Myia's purple and black hair a block ahead, her dark dress fluttering behind her like a flag.
They sat on a bench near the entrance, sharing the pretzel while Charles showed her something on his phone.
Several passersby stopped to take photos, creating a small crowd around them.
My fingers tightened around my phone, still buzzing with messages from our sponsors.
As I approached the bench, Myia looked up, her smile fading when she saw my stern expression.
I slowed my pace, my dress shoes crunching against the gravel path.
Charles stopped mid-sentence, looking up at me as I sat down beside them.
I kept a professional distance from them, my eyes scanning the crowd of onlookers.
The pretzel wrapper crinkled as Myia set it aside, her bracelets quiet for once.
The crowd of onlookers continued snapping photos, their cameras clicking rapidly.
I pulled the contract out of my leather portfolio, the pages stiff and official.
Charles shifted uncomfortably in his seat as I opened the document.
Myia's posture straightened, her fingers intertwining with Charles'.
She knew what this meant - the clause about personal relationships during tour season.
I pulled the contract out of my portfolio, the pages crinkling in the cool afternoon air.
Myia's shoulders tensed as I flipped to the relationship clause, highlighted in yellow.
Charles shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his hand still intertwined with Myia's.
A small crowd of fans had gathered nearby, their phones raised for photos.
I cleared my throat, pointing to the specific paragraph that prohibited romantic relationships during tour season.
Myia's bangles clinked against the metal bench as she reached for the contract, her fingers trembling slightly as she took the papers.
Charles leaned forward, his voice dropping to a whisper as he spoke to Myia.
I couldn't quite catch what he said, but her eyes widened, her grip tightening on the contract in her hands.
A loose circle of fans had formed around us, their cameras clicking rapidly.
My shoes shifted uncomfortably on the gravel path, and I knew I should interrupt them, but I hesitated.
When Myia turned to face Charles again, her bracelets jingled softly against the bench.
Her expression transformed from uncertainty to determination.
She looked me in the eye and said, "We'll find a way."
I sat back, watching as Myia tore the relationship clause from her contract.
The paper fluttered in the breeze, the pieces scattering across the park grass.
Charles squeezed her hand, his eyes shining with emotion.
Around us, fans continued snapping photos, their cameras clicking rapidly.
When Myia stood up, her bracelets jingled softly against the bench.
She announced that she would modify her tour schedule to include breaks for visiting Charles.
This meant renegotiating with venues and sponsors, but I found myself nodding along.
I stared blankly at the rescheduling mess on my computer screen, Myia's torn contract still scattered across my desk.
My phone buzzed incessantly with complaints from venues and sponsors.
Through the window, I spotted Myia and Charles walking hand-in-hand past the other management offices.
When they stopped to kiss, several band managers peered out their windows.
My fingers hovered over the keyboard, but instead of fighting this, I could move my office to band row where Charles's management team worked.
I opened my violin case, running my fingers over the polished wood.
I hadn't played in years, but the instrument still felt natural in my hands.
Through the window, I watched Myia and Charles rehearse in the courtyard.
They were a couple now, their chemistry obvious even during practice.
When Myia's violinist called in sick for tonight's show, I gripped my instrument tightly.
I had been a music major in college before switching to business, but I had never played professionally.
Still, when I walked into the rehearsal space, violin in hand, the band looked at me with surprise.
Myia's face lit up when she saw me, though.
I positioned the violin under my chin and began playing the opening notes of "Midnight Rain."
Charles turned to Myia, a grin spreading across his face.
"Did you know he could play like that?" he asked, nodding towards me.
Myia laughed softly, her eyes sparkling with newfound admiration. "I had no idea, but it looks like we've found our missing piece."
I sat in my office, sorting through the last of my paperwork.
Myia and Charles were rehearsing in the courtyard again, their music drifting through the open window.
As I watched, Charles turned to the band, directing them with a wave of his hand.
His movements were precise and natural, as if he had always been a conductor.
He suggested a new arrangement for "Midnight Rain," and Myia nodded enthusiastically.
Her bracelets caught the sunlight, jingling softly as she gestured back.
My violin case sat packed in the corner of my office, ready for moving to band row.
I signed my resignation letter, officially handing over management duties to Charles.
I stood up, walking out to join their rehearsal one final time.
I watched from the back of the rehearsal room, my violin still in its case.
Myia and Charles were working on a new duet version of "Midnight Rain."
Charles adjusted the tempo, his fingers moving deftly over the strings.
Myia harmonized with him, her voice blending with his guitar.
Her violin remained in its case, too - she was here as a singer now, not a musician.
When they finished the song, Charles pulled out a small calendar and began marking potential tour dates.
Myia leaned against his shoulder, pointing out cities where they could spend extra days together.
I sat in my new office, watching through the window as Charles led his first official management meeting with Myia's team.
He projected the tour dates on the wall, Myia seated beside him with her hand resting on his knee under the conference table.
The other staff members nodded along as Charles outlined their plans to extend city stays into multiple days, allowing time for both performances and personal exploration.
One of them asked how they would handle the dual roles of management and performer, but Myia spoke up confidently.
"We've been doing this for months now," she said.
"It's worked so far, and it's allowed us to keep our relationship private."
Charles squeezed her hand, his eyes never leaving the presentation.
I leaned back in my office chair, watching through the window as Charles led the final pre-tour meeting.
He stood at the head of the conference table, clicking through presentation slides showing venue layouts and performance schedules.
Myia sat among the crew, taking notes while occasionally glancing up at him with a subtle smile.
When Charles announced that their joint performances had increased ticket sales for both acts by over 50%, the room erupted in applause.
He caught my eye through the window, giving me a grateful nod.
The meeting ended with Charles distributing updated itineraries to everyone, his hand brushing Myia's shoulder as he passed her seat.
