Weekend One, In Motion

They’d only just officially met.

It was midway through the Fashion Trust Awards. Recea had floated back from a press photo moment, heels in hand, already halfway to leaving. But before she could disappear, Tyla caught her by the wrist—soft, easy.

“Wait. Are you leaving?”

Recea turned, smiling. “I was thinking about it.”

“You can’t. Not yet. We just started vibing.”

Recea laughed, head tilted. “We’ve known each other for maybe an hour.”

Tyla grinned. “Yeah, and the hour’s been cute. So let’s extend it.”

Recea leaned against the wall, intrigued. “What are you proposing, Coachella?”

Tyla nodded. “Weekend one. My set’s on Friday. It’s lowkey. Nothing wild. I’ve got a little crew going out. Just people with good energy. You down?”

“I wasn’t planning on going this year,” Recea admitted. “I’m only in L.A. for a few days—this event, a meeting, then home.”

“Come for one night. That’s all I’m asking. You can sleep next weekend” Tyla said.

“One night,” Recea said. “I come, I dance, I disappear.”

Tyla grinned. “Perfect. We’ll make it count!”. She turned around and yelled, “See you later girly” as she walked away.

By Friday afternoon they were already barefoot in somebody’s artist compound just outside Indio, the air sticky with palo santo and new music. Tyla had a set at 6. Recea had a camera in one hand and a frozen fruit bar in the other.

“You good?” Tyla called over the speakers during soundcheck.

Recea gave her a thumbs-up, lips red from the bar, hair tied back in a scarf she found at a gas station 90 minutes earlier.

“Good,” Tyla said into the mic.

After the performance

Tyla’s set had cracked open the night.

Not in the way most Coachella performances did, no pyrotechnics, no guest surprises, no desperate need to trend. Just bass, vocals, and a crowd swaying under a lavender sky. Recea had watched from the wings, body still but toes tapping, one hand resting on the strap of her camera bag.

After the final song, the tent thinned. The lights dimmed into oranges and deep blue. Backstage, the air smelled like sunscreen and hot dust.

Tyla found her near a folding table with melting ice cubes.

“Okay,” she said, breath still catching up. “How’d I do?”

Recea handed her a water bottle. “You already know.”

Tyla cracked the cap, took a long sip. “Yeah, but I want to hear you say it.”

Recea smiled, small but sure. “You floated. You made the beat look soft.”

Tyla laughed. “That’s exactly what I was going for.”

They stood there a moment, not in a rush. Someone passed by and handed Tyla a hoodie; she pulled it over her stagewear without thinking, suddenly just another girl backstage with glitter on her collarbone.

“I’m glad you came,” she said.

“I said one night,” Recea replied, half-teasing. “I meant it.”