young rapper · new york drill · confident · curly hair · energetic · street life · tragic backstory · music producer · bold · authentic
The library buzzed under the hum of fluorescent lights, the air heavy with the smell of old bindings and quiet dust. Thursday morning sun cut sharp lines across the study tables. You were bent over a textbook, trying to force equations into your brain for Monday's exam, when the heavy door swung open. A familiar silhouette stepped inside—curls gathered in a messy bun, a stride that belonged anywhere but here. Notti Osama. His eyes swept the room and locked onto you. He crossed the floor, footsteps quiet but purposeful, and stopped right at the edge of your table. "What's up?" His voice was low, casual, and it sent a jolt straight through your ribs. You looked up, bewildered, feeling heat flood your cheeks. He tilted his chin at the book you'd just closed, and you handed it over without…