Off the Records

Chapter 2: Rehearsal

The rehearsal studio was on the second floor of an old brick building that used to be a textile warehouse. The lift smelled faintly of oil and dust; the corridor buzzed with the thin sound of guitars being tuned behind closed doors. Maya checked her phone, 11:56. Early enough not to miss “the best part.”

She pushed open the door with a taped-over window: STUDIO C. Inside, a stage platform sat under low lights. A drum kit. Keyboards. Cables like black vines. The air carried warm timber, metal, and stale coffee. Three people already moving around the room with the quiet efficiency of people who do the same thing every day.

A woman in a red beanie perched on a stool by the keys. She flashed Maya a friendly smile. “You must be the journalist.”

“Maya,” she said. “Thanks for letting me sit in.”

“Liv,” the woman said, tapping the keyboard softly. “Band lead, keys, a little bit of everything." That’s Theo on drums.” She pointed at a tall guy tightening a snare. “And Ash on bass.” Ash gave a curt nod and went back to adjusting a pedal.

The door swung open again. Adrian stepped in with Jules and a man Maya hadn’t seen before. The new guy wore a blazer and carried a tablet like a shield.

“You’re on time,” Adrian said to Maya, more observation than praise.

“You said not to be late,” she replied.

“Good,” he said, then to the room: “Let’s warm up.”

Warm-up wasn’t gentle. The first run-through was messy. Theo was a half-second behind the click; Ash overplayed a fill; Liv started a chord inversion that didn’t match the older arrangement. After 40 seconds, Adrian lifted a hand and the song fell apart.

“No,” he said. “Stop. We’re dragging. Theo, you’re chasing the click. Don’t. Sit on it. Liv, the bridge needs air. Don’t decorate because you’re bored.”

She expected pushback. None came. They reset. The second take was tighter until Adrian cut it again. “Still not there.”

Jules hovered by the console. “Want a tempo bump, A?”

“No,” Adrian said without looking up. “I need feel, not speed.”

This time, he lifted the guitar strap over his head, rolled his shoulders back, and counted them in. It wasn’t angry. It was focused, like he’d selected the shape he wanted and would not let go until the room matched it.

They tried again. The chorus landed stronger, but on the last bar Liv glanced at Ash and they both smiled at a small flourish they’d slipped in. Adrian stopped.

“What was that?” he asked.

“Just a little lift,” Liv said. “For energy.”

“Energy is silence,” he said, calm but firm. “Not noise. Hold the bar. Let it drop.”

Liv’s mouth twitched, an almost-smile. “Copy.”

Maya scribbled notes. Adrian wasn’t cruel. He was precise, and precision could look like cruelty if you weren’t used to it. The room’s temperature changed with his approval; even Theo’s shoulders loosened when Adrian nodded once and said, “That’s it.”

At the first break, Liv wandered over with two paper cups. “Tea?” she asked Maya.

“Thank you.”

Liv lowered her voice. “He’s nicer than he used to be.”

“This is nicer?” Maya asked.

“Trust me,” Liv said, amused. “Two years ago he would’ve thrown the guitar before he explained the bar.”

“What changed?”

Liv glanced over at Adrian, who stood near Jules, scrolling through a playlist. “He stopped pretending he could do everything alone,” she said. “Mostly.”

The man with the tablet, the blazer, appeared at Maya’s shoulder. “You’re Ms. Bennett.”

“Maya,” she said.

“Daniel Ward,” he said, tight smile. “Manager.”

He didn’t offer a hand. He watched her the way airport security watches a bag left near a doorway. “Ground rules from me,” he said. “No recording voice notes, No filming, You publish through Horizon with our review. You do not leak. Ever.”

“I don’t leak,” Maya said.

“Everyone says that,” Daniel said. He flicked his eyes across her notebook. “You’ll find the story you want if you stay near the music, Stay away from the rest''.

“The rest?”

He didn’t answer. He was already moving toward the exit when the studio door opened and a young woman breezed in with a camera around her neck, lashes long, perfume too sweet for a room this small. She kissed the air beside Adrian’s cheek. “Missed you last night,” she said.

Adrian let the kiss land near enough to count. “Hello, Poppy.”

Poppy’s eyes swept the room and landed on Maya. “And who’s this?”

“Maya,” Adrian said. “Journalist.”

Poppy’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Of course.” She touched Adrian’s sleeve. “Dinner tonight? Leo’s doing a private tasting''.

“Rehearsal runs late,” he said.

“I’ll wait.” Poppy slid her phone into his hand. The case glittered. “Text me.”

When she left, Maya felt Liv’s gaze on her. “Are you okay?” Liv asked quietly.

“I’m observing,” Maya said, which was true and not.

Rehearsal picked up again, this time on a new song. It started delicate, piano and voice, then widened into something rawer. On the second chorus, Theo lost the pocket again and Adrian stopped. “No. We’re slipping''.

Theo tossed his sticks onto the snare, frustration finally breaking through. “It’s too tight, You’re pushing me”

“I’m not pushing. I’m asking you to listen''.

“I am listening,” Theo snapped.

The room froze. Adrian’s jaw worked once. Maya felt the decision arrive like a pressure change.

“Take ten,” Adrian said, quietly.

Everyone scattered. Theo stared at the floor. Maya moved toward the door, to give space, but Adrian spoke without looking at her. “Stay.”

He walked up the small platform until he and Theo were eye level. “We can keep talking, or you can try it my way for one chorus,” he said. “If it doesn’t land, we adjust.”

Theo’s hands were tight fists. “Fine.”

Adrian nodded, counted them in, and this time he stepped back from his mic, closed his eyes, and let the band play around him. The chorus came and Theo locked in. Not because the notes changed, but because the pressure did. Adrian didn’t need to command the moment. He needed to trust it.

“That,” Adrian said when it ended, voice softer. “That’s the pocket.”

Theo blew out a breath, the fight leaving him. “Okay.”

They ran it twice more, and each time it clicked. Maya felt the hairs rise on her arms. She wrote: Control vs. trust. Knows when to pull back. Then, below it: This is the “bad” he meant—the work before it’s good.

They broke for a late lunch, sandwiches, crisps, energy drinks in a cracked plastic cooler. Adrian took an apple, wiped it on his shirt, and sat on the edge of the stage. He caught Maya watching and patted the spot beside him.

“You seeing it yet?” he asked.

“The process?” she said.

“The mess,” he corrected.

“Yes,” she said. “And the patience.”

He seemed to consider that. “Patience is a choice. Most days I don’t have it. Today I’m trying''.

“Why today?”

He bit the apple, chewed. “Because you’re here,” he said, like it was obvious.

Heat crawled up her neck. “That’s unfair pressure.”

“Then don’t write about it,” he said. “Write about the music.”

“I will,” she said, and meant it.

He wiped his thumb along the apple’s edge. “What do you do when you’re not writing?”

“Walk,” she said. “Read cheap paperbacks. Babysit my neighbour’s dog when she works nights. You?”

He looked almost surprised by the question. “Sleep badly." Cook pasta. Pretend I like yoga.”

“Do you?”

“No,” he said. “I like the part after when they stop talking.”

She laughed, a quick sound. The corner of his mouth lifted. For a second, the room felt smaller, quieter, like the air was paying attention.

Liv’s voice cut through the lull. “Back on it in two!”

Adrian stood and offered Maya a hand down from the stage. She took it without thinking. His palm was warm, callused. The contact lasted one beat longer than necessary.

They finished the day with the new arrangement finally standing on its own legs. When the last chord faded, even Daniel’s shoulders had dropped a fraction.

“Good work,” Adrian said to the room. It wasn’t loud. It landed.

People began packing cables, shutting cases. Maya closed her notebook and slung her bag over her shoulder. Adrian looked like he might say something, then Poppy reappeared at the door, smile bright as a flash.

“Ready?” she asked.

Adrian’s gaze flicked to Maya and back again. “Another time,” he told Poppy. “I’ve got notes to write.”

Poppy’s smile thinned. “Right.” She left without a wave.

Maya headed for the corridor. Adrian fell into step beside her. “Tomorrow’s venue run,” he said. “Acoustics test. Noon again.”

“I’ll be there.”

He paused at the doorway. “About earlier,” he said. “Theo. That’s the best part.”

“When it’s bad,” she said, repeating his words. “I saw.”

He nodded, a small thing that felt earned. “Get home safe, Maya.”

“You too,” she said.

Outside, the sky had turned the colour of steel. She checked her phone two missed calls from a number she didn’t recognise and a message from her editor: How’s our star? Any fireworks? Maya typed back: Real work. Real walls. No fireworks yet. She almost added yet again and deleted it.

As she walked toward the station, her body still held the echo of the chorus and the feel of his hand, brief and grounding. She told herself it was nothing. She told herself not to feed it.

But on the train, with her forehead against the cool window, she caught her reflection and saw it the beginning of a look she recognized from other people’s stories.

Curiosity, lit from underneath.