The afternoon light filtered through Rico's office blinds in prison-bar patterns, stretching across the demo CD on his desk. We'd been sitting in silence for five minutes after playing it for the third time. Even the street noise from Jerome Avenue seemed muted, as if the universe itself was holding its breath.
"Say it again," Rico said finally, his normally smooth voice rough with disbelief. "Tell me why we're turning down Phantom Records."
I leaned back in my chair, feeling the weight of future knowledge like a crown of thorns. In my original timeline, this office would become a cell phone store by 2006. The same year Phantom Records' CEO would be indicted for embezzlement, taking dozens of artists' careers down with him.
*[Verse 1]*
*Some choices echo forward through the years*
*Some victories taste like future tears*
*Phantom's gold is fool's gold in disguise*
*Truth hidden from everyone's eyes*
*But I've seen the headlines yet to come*
*Watched careers fade to kingdom come*
*So trust the vision, trust the plan*
*Future's writing history through my hands*
"Two weeks," I repeated, watching dust motes dance in the sunbeams. "Elevation Records is launching their East Coast division. They'll offer better terms, better distribution, better everything."
Rico's fingers drummed against his desk—a habit he'd still have twenty years from now. "And you know this how?"
I pulled out my notebook, pages dense with lyrics and production notes written in the future but born in the past. "Same way I knew how to layer those strings. Same way I knew King Midas would try to trap me with his double-time in the third round. I just... know."
Through the wall, we could hear Santos in the studio, still trying to deconstruct the techniques we'd used last night. The rhythm of his experimentations provided a backdrop to Rico's contemplation:
*[Hook]*
*Knowledge is a burden*
*When it comes too soon*
*Dancing through the curtain*
*Between now and noon*
*Every choice a doorway*
*Every path a sign*
*Leading through tomorrow*
*One step at a time*
Rico stood suddenly, pacing the small office. "Marcus, since you walked into my life six months ago, everything you've touched has turned to gold. Your predictions, your production, your battles—it's like you're playing chess while everyone else is learning checkers." He paused, looking at me with eyes that had seen too much to believe in coincidences. "Tell me why I should trust you on this."
I reached for the demo, its surface reflecting fragments of both timelines:
*[Verse 2]*
*Trust ain't built on explanations clear*
*But on instincts sharp and vision near*
*Every move I make is calculated*
*Based on futures now terminated*
*By choices made and paths revised*
*Stories changed and dreams resized*
*So when I say wait, it ain't delay*
*Just positioning for a better play*
"Because," I said carefully, "in two weeks, when Elevation launches, this demo won't just be another hot track from the Bronx. It'll be proof that the future of music is already here." I met his gaze steadily. "And you'll be known as the man who saw it coming."
The afternoon sun had shifted, the shadows on the wall elongating like time itself stretching to accommodate new possibilities. Rico picked up the demo, held it to the light as if he could see the future encoded in its surface.
"Two weeks," he said finally. "But this better be worth it."
Through the wall, Santos hit upon a sequence that made both our heads turn—he was getting closer to understanding the future-past fusion we'd created. Rico's eyes widened slightly, and I knew he heard it too: the sound of tomorrow arriving ahead of schedule.
*[Bridge]*
*Time's a river flowing both ways*
*Through the nights and through the days*
*Every choice a stepping stone*
*Building paths to worlds unknown*
*Trust the vision, trust the dream*
*Future's closer than it seems*
*Just a few more moves to play*
*Till tomorrow finds its way*
"It will be," I promised, standing to leave. "And Rico? Start thinking bigger than just music. In five years, the whole industry's going digital. We need to be ready."
He looked at me sharply, another piece of the puzzle clicking into place behind his eyes. In my original timeline, Rico had been late to the streaming revolution. Not this time. The butterfly effects were spreading, rewriting not just my future, but everyone's.
As I stepped out onto Jerome Avenue, my phone buzzed. A text from King Midas:
"Been thinking about your offer to collab. Let's talk."
I smiled, remembering his fate in the other timeline. Another thread of history rewoven, another life redirected. Above me, the Bronx sky stretched out like a blank page, waiting to be filled with new stories, new possibilities, new futures built on the foundations of remembered tomorrows.
The demo's final bars echoed in my mind as I walked home:
*[Outro]*
*Every choice a butterfly*
*Taking wing through history's sky*
*Past and future intertwined*
*In this dance through space and time*
*Trust the vision, trust the way*
*Tomorrow's already on display*
*In the choices that we make*
*And the bridges that we break*
*Between what was and what will be*
*In this symphony of destiny*
Two weeks. The countdown to tomorrow had begun.