The morning crept across Brooklyn like spilled honey, golden and slow. I sat in Dino's Diner, picking at cold eggs while Hot 97's morning show played through my headphones. Rico had ordered me to get some rest, but sleep felt like a foreign country when you're waiting for history to pivot.
In my first life, I'd spent countless mornings like this – hungry, tired, watching opportunities slip past like taxis in the rain. But now, nursing my third coffee, I knew exactly when to raise my hand and hail the right ride.
"And now, something fresh out the oven," Funk Master Flex's voice crackled through my headphones. "Exclusive premier, straight from the streets of Crown Heights..."
The familiar opening notes of Jasmine's track filled my ears, but transformed by the radio compression, by the context, by the moment. Strange how music changes when it leaves the studio, like children growing beyond their parents' dreams.
Crown heights at midnight City lights like fallen stars...
Through the diner's windows, I watched the early morning crowd react. A woman in scrubs paused mid-stride, her head tilting like a bird catching an unfamiliar song. A teenager with his uniform tie already loose grabbed his phone, probably opening Shazam – though in 2004, he'd have to wait years for that technology.
My phone buzzed – Rico, of course. "You hearing this?" "Living it," I texted back.
The track was hitting differently than it had in the original timeline. The layers we'd added in those late hours, the harmonies that spoke to a future not yet born – they transformed what had once been a local curiosity into something that demanded attention.
The waitress, Maria (not my mother, but wearing the same tired dignity), stopped at my table. "That's the song from the radio," she said, nodding toward my headphones. "You know it?"
I smiled, remembering how this moment played out differently twenty years ago. "Yeah, I produced it."
She studied me with new interest. "For real? My daughter's gonna love this. She's always at those battles in the park."
In my first life, I'd brushed off such moments, too hungry for bigger stages to appreciate these intimate victories. Now I pulled out my phone, heavy with future contacts. "She rap? Sing? Here's my number. Tell her to hit up the studio."
Maria's eyes lit up. "For real? Jerome!" she called to the cook. "This kid made that song they keep playing!"
The diner's attention shifted, and suddenly I was holding court in a vinyl booth, explaining to the morning crowd about Jasmine's voice, about the studio, about the dreams we were building in Crown Heights. In my previous timeline, I'd been so focused on escaping the neighborhood that I'd missed its power to amplify, to nurture, to spread the word.
My phone buzzed again. A text from Jasmine: "THEY PLAYED IT AGAIN!!!"
Then Rico: "Hot 97 wants her live. Tomorrow morning." Then: "Power 105.1 called. They want it too." Then: "Labels sniffing around. Don't commit to anything."
The future was shifting beneath my feet like subway tracks adjusting their course. In my first life, Jasmine's track had been a footnote, a local hit that faded before it could bloom. Now, armed with two decades of industry knowledge compressed into a single night of production, we'd created something that spoke to both present and future.
The diner's door chimed and my mother walked in – the real Maria this time, still in her hospital administrative uniform. She saw me holding court and stopped, surprise flickering across her face.
"Baby, what are you doing here? I thought you'd be sleeping after..."
Her voice trailed off as she recognized the song playing through the diner's ancient radio. Her expression shifted from concern to something else – pride mixed with a touch of fear, the look parents get when they realize their children are becoming something beyond their original dreams.
I stood, hugged her, breathed in the familiar scent of her perfume mixed with hospital antiseptic. "Mom, you're just in time. We're about to be busy. Real busy."
The morning light streamed through the windows, painting everything in shades of possibility. In my pocket, my phone kept buzzing with future opportunities arriving right on schedule. But for now, I just held my mother, letting the music we'd crafted fill the space between what was and what would be.
Let the world keep spinning We own the crown tonight Time becomes a doorway To the stars we dare to breach
The future was changing, reshaping itself around this moment like water finding a new course. And this time, I knew exactly how to navigate its flow.