The morning after rehearsal, Amina was summoned to the producers' office. Her heart raced the whole walk —had she broken a rule? Was they angry about the mic disaster?
Inside, two executives in sleek suits waited with smiles that didn't reach their eyes. A glossy contract sat on the table.
"Congratulations," one said smoothly. "Your performance has caught fire online. A brand wants you for an endorsement. A perfume company. This could be your first step into the big leagues."
Amina blinked. Perfume? Me?
The man slid the papers towards her.
"You'll shoot a commercial, smile for the camera, say a few lines. Easy money. Easy fame."
She skimmed the contract. The words blurred together, legal knots she couldn't untangle. One line caught her eye: exclusive rights. Another: percentage retained by management.
Her stomach tightened. "What does this mean?"
The other executive chuckled. "It means the world wants you. All you have to do is sign.
Before she could reply, Vanessa swept in, all polished grace. "Oh? An endorsement already?" She cast a pitying glance at Amina's threadbare dress. "Careful, dear. Some cages are lined with gold."
The executives laughed lightly, but their eyes stayed sharp on Amina.
Her hands trembled over the pen. Images flashed in her mind: her mother's medicine bottles, Zainab's hopeful face, the unpaid bills started at home.
If I sign, I can help them. But if I sign, will I lose myself?
She whispered, "Can I take this home to read first?"
The executives' smiles faltered. One leaned closer. "Opportunities don't wait, Amina. Stars who hesitate fade fast."
A chill ran down her spine.
That night, she spread the contract across the kitchen table, candlelight flickering over the pages. Her mother coughed in the background, her sister hovered nearby.
Zainab whispered, "if feels like a trap, sis."
Amina stared at the bold letters, at the place where her name should go.
Her heart pounded.
Outside, the city roared with music and neon. Inside, the silence was heavy.
For the first time, Amina understood: fame wasn't just about singing. It was a battlefield, full of cages dressed as crowns.