The drive back from the studio was quieter than the earlier trip there. The city outside the window had settled into its evening rhythm, the streets still alive but no longer chaotic. Headlights stretched across the road in long moving lines while distant music from roadside bars mixed with the occasional honk of impatient drivers. Dayo sat in the back seat with one arm resting near the window, watching Lagos pass by in slow motion.
The studio session had lasted longer than he expected, and even though the work had gone well, the exhaustion that came after creative focus had started creeping into his muscles. It was not the kind of tiredness that came from labor. It was the kind that arrived when your mind had been active for too long and suddenly everything slowed down.
The collaboration song was finished. The rollout strategy was decided. Davido's album sounded strong. Everything was moving exactly the way it needed to move.
