Chapter 3: Behind the Mask
1005 Words
Maya reached Horizon Records early the next day, determined not to look like she was chasing him, even though her nerves said otherwise. The venue run was in a small concert hall near Camden, its stage scattered with cables, mic stands, and chairs that smelled faintly of dust and polish. Crew members moved around like ants, adjusting lights, rolling cases, shouting checklists to one another.
Adrian was already there, sitting cross-legged on the stage, guitar balanced on his lap. No spotlight, no audience just him, humming quietly as he tightened a string. He looked younger like this, less guarded, though the weight in his eyes hadn’t left.
“Morning,” Maya said as she climbed the short stairs to the stage.
He glanced up. “You’re consistent. I’ll give you that.”
“I prefer reliable.”
A corner of his mouth moved, not quite a smile but close enough. “Fair.”
Before she could say more, Liv and Theo entered from the wings, bickering about coffee. Adrian ignored them, strumming a progression softly. The sound filled the empty hall, simple but aching.
Maya sat on the edge of the stage, notebook on her knees. “What’s this one?”
“Not finished,” he said. “Don’t write about it.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
He paused, looked at her. “Really?”
“Really,” she said. “Not everything belongs on the record.”
His gaze lingered a moment, then dropped back to his guitar. “Most journalists don’t think that way.”
“I’m not most journalists.”
Rehearsal started messy again, monitors screeching, Theo cursing under his breath, Ash fiddling with his pedalboard. Daniel stalked the aisles with his tablet, muttering about sponsors and ticket sales. Through it all, Adrian stayed seated on the stage, guitar across his lap, voice low as he guided the band back in.
It wasn’t polished. It wasn’t meant to be. But the rawness showed something Maya hadn’t seen yesterday: vulnerability. He wasn’t barking orders. He was pulling them through with patience, even when his jaw tightened at missed cues.
At one point, the sound tech cut everything with a sharp buzz. Adrian exhaled hard, rubbed his forehead.
“Take five,” he said. His voice was rough, tired.
He stood, guitar set carefully against an amp, and walked down the steps. Maya followed without thinking.
“You okay?” she asked when they reached the side corridor lined with posters from past tours.
He leaned against the wall, head tilted back. “Depends on your definition.”
“You sounded good.”
He gave her a look, half amused, half unimpressed. “You’re polite.”
“I’m honest,” she corrected. “There’s a difference.”
He studied her like he was deciding if she meant it. “Honest enough to tell me if I’m losing it?”
“Are you?”
A beat of silence. Then: “Sometimes.”
Maya wrote that in her head, not her notebook. This wasn’t for print. This was him, raw and human, peeling back a layer without meaning to.
They walked outside into the chill air. The street was quieter than the stage, the hum of traffic softened by distance. Adrian lit a cigarette, shielding the flame with his hand. He didn’t offer her one, just took a drag and let the smoke curl upward.
“You ever get tired of people watching you?” she asked.
“Always.”
“Then why do this?”
“Because the music’s louder than the noise,” he said. “At least on good days.”
She tucked that line away. It wasn’t for print yet but it was truth.
“Tell me about you,” he said suddenly.
“Me?”
“Yeah. The girl who keeps showing up with a notebook. What makes her tick?”
Maya hesitated. Nobody ever asked. Not like this. “I wanted to write since I was a kid. Stories, mostly. Then I realised real people have better stories than anything I could make up.”
“And you think mine’s one of them?”
“I think you’re hiding one,” she said softly.
His eyes narrowed, unreadable. “Careful, Bennett.”
She didn’t flinch. “Careful is boring.”
He laughed once, sharp but real. “You’re not boring.”
The words landed heavier than they should have.
Back inside, the band regrouped. Poppy had arrived, glitter phone case in hand, already snapping selfies by the stage lights. Daniel didn’t chase her out. Instead, he muttered something to her and she laughed too loud.
Adrian ignored it, sliding his guitar strap over his shoulder again. But Maya caught the tiny shift in his posture, the tension.
Liv leaned in as Maya scribbled. “Don’t let Poppy fool you. She’s not permanent.”
“I wasn’t asking.”
“Good,” Liv said with a grin. “Means you’re smarter than most.”
The next run of the set was stronger. Adrian’s voice soared, the band tighter, the hall filling with energy that prickled Maya’s skin. When the final chord hit, the crew applauded quietly. Even Daniel nodded.
Maya clapped once, too, before catching herself. Adrian’s gaze flicked to her. Not annoyed. Almost pleased.
They wrapped late afternoon. Adrian packed his guitar himself, ignoring Daniel’s offer to have someone else do it. As he zipped the case, he said, “Tomorrow. Studio again. Noon.”
Maya nodded. “I’ll be there.”
He slung the strap over his shoulder, eyes still on her. “You’re seeing more than you’re writing.”
“That’s how I work.”
“Dangerous,” he murmured.
“Or fair,” she countered.
For the first time, his smile reached his eyes. Brief, but there.
He turned away, leaving with Daniel and Poppy trailing. Maya stood in the empty hall, notebook heavy in her hand.
She wrote one line before closing it:
Adrian Cole wears armor. But it cracks when the music plays
- Writer
