⸻ 𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆: ’𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐩𝐨𝐨𝐥' 𝐋𝐨𝐮𝐢𝐞 𝐙𝐨𝐧𝐠.

It started in the strangest place: a library that wasn’t just a library.

The shelves stretched impossibly high, towering walls of books whispered forgotten secrets in voices only silence could hear. But right in the center of it all, replacing the usual quiet study tables, was a glowing, turquoise pool. The water shimmered under the soft amber light of hanging lanterns, and I was floating—weightless, calm, suspended between knowledge and emotion.

My phone buzzed. I didn’t remember having it on me, but there it was, dry and glowing in my palm. A site I couldn’t name flashed on the screen, and suddenly, Star Bandz’s number appeared, like it had always been meant for me to see. Without thinking, I tapped “Call.”

To my surprise, she answered. Chill, like we were already cool.

“You tryna pull up today?” she asked, voice smooth, easy.

I paused. “Where?”

“The library,” she said, like it was obvious.

Then I heard them—DD Osama and Sugarhill Ddot—laughing in the background. “Tell ‘em we on the way!” one of them shouted.

The next moment, they were there. Not arriving, just there—like they’d always been part of the scene. We sat near the edge of the pool, shoes off, toes skimming the surface, and it felt like we’d known each other forever. DD clapped me on the back like I was his day-one. Ddot cracked jokes like we’d grown up on the same block. Star Bandz leaned in with a grin like, yeah, you belong here.

We didn’t talk about music. We didn’t talk about fame. We talked about life, memories that weren’t mine but somehow felt like they were. The kind of conversations that only happen in dreams or with people you trust deeply. I remember thinking: this must be what real friendship feels like—easy, effortless, safe.

But just as quickly as it came together, it began to fade. The lanterns flickered, the water stilled, and the shelves started to stretch even higher—as if pulling themselves out of reach.

I woke up with the echo of laughter still in my ears, and a strange feeling in my chest. Not sadness. Not confusion. Just… a quiet knowing that maybe, in some way, we had met. Not in this world, but in one my mind created just to feel a little more understood.