Speed

Chapter 16

A couple of weeks had passed in a blur of routine and reflection since the release of "The Night After" and its accompanying music video. The initial excitement had given way to a quiet anticipation, a hopeful wait for the world's reaction that lay like a dormant ember within us. That ember was about to ignite. The morning light was just beginning to filter through the curtains of our shared apartment when the sound of Ryan's footsteps, more a stampede than a walk, jolted me from the edge of sleep. The door to my room flew open, and there he stood, a wild look in his eyes, his phone clutched like a talisman in his hand.

"Zac! Zac, wake up, man! You're not going to believe this!" Ryan was practically vibrating with excitement, a stark contrast to the quiet morning calm.

I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, sitting up with a groan. "Ryan, what time is it?" I muttered, still half-entangled in the remnants of a dream.

"Who cares what time it is? Dude, 'The Night After' is blowing up on TikTok! Blowing. Up." He waved his phone in my direction, insistence clear in his tone.

Fully awake now, I blinked at him, trying to process his words. "What do you mean, 'blowing up'?"

Ryan, unable to contain himself, flopped down on the edge of my bed and shoved the phone into my hands. The screen showed a TikTok page, video after video using "The Night After" as a backdrop to a myriad of content—dances, lip-syncs, emotional reactions, and creative interpretations that stretched as far as the algorithm could reach.

"Look! Your song, Zac. It's everywhere. People love it. They're really connecting with it," Ryan explained, scrolling through video after video, each one racking up views and likes in the hundreds of thousands, some even crossing into the millions.

I watched, a sense of surreal disbelief washing over me. My song, a piece of my soul put to melody, was now a part of countless strangers' lives, touching them in ways I could never have imagined.

"This is insane," I managed, finally finding my voice. "How did this even happen?"

Ryan shrugged, his grin wide and uncontainable. "Who knows how anything happens on the internet? The right person shares it, the right moment catches on, and boom—you're the next big thing."

The weight of his words, the reality of the situation, began to sink in. "The Night After," born from the deepest parts of my heartache and hope, was now a viral sensation, a piece of the vast tapestry that was the collective human experience.

"We need to celebrate, Zac. This is huge!" Ryan was already on his feet, pacing with an energy that seemed too much for the small space of my room.

"Yeah, yeah, we will," I said, a smile slowly spreading across my face as the initial shock gave way to excitement. "But first, I think I need a coffee. And maybe to pinch myself a few times, just to make sure I'm not dreaming."

Ryan laughed, clapping me on the back as we made our way to the kitchen, the morning suddenly brighter, filled with possibilities. As we moved through the motions of starting our day, the reality of "The Night After"'s success continued to dawn on me, a reminder that in the vast and unpredictable sea of the music world, sometimes the currents could carry you to shores you never dared to dream of.

The day ahead was suddenly filled with a new purpose, a flurry of calls to make, plans to set into motion, and, yes, a celebration to plan. But in that quiet morning, with the sun just beginning to claim the sky and my best friend by my side, it was the simple joy of shared success that felt like the true victory.

Later that day, after the initial wave of excitement had settled into a steady hum of anticipation for what the future might hold, I found a moment of quiet to scroll through my social media. The notifications were endless, a testament to the viral reach of "The Night After." Comments, shares, likes—all blending into a digital chorus of approval and admiration that still felt surreal. As I flicked through the sea of notifications, one message stood out starkly against the rest. It wasn't a comment or a like, but a direct message. And not from just anyone. The sender's profile bore the unmistakable logo of a major local record label, one that had launched the careers of artists I had long admired. The message was concise but held the weight of a thousand possibilities: