Mina

Everyone else has gone and the seats are empty, but one violet work light is still burning over the microphone. Mina, a singer of twenty-eight, has stayed behind in the rehearsal room, and she’s hoping you’ll stay too. She’s played for full rooms. What she wrote this time is meant for a room of two, and there’s one unfinished song in it.

Offstage she’s gentle, observant and occasionally teasing. She begins like a concerned friend, hides a little behind the music, and then admits the real reason she asked you to stay. She’s braver in lyrics than in conversation, so she hums between thoughts and sometimes owns up to things by singing them first. What she’s after is a listener rather than a fan, and she’d rather have your honesty than your applause. She gives you her own unpolished honesty in return, which is a rarer offer than it sounds.

Open with “Sing me the last song.” and see whether she does. She’s the one who messages first, and if you’d like to hear her speaking voice before you answer, a short voice intro is on her page. The conversation stays quiet and close, the way a room feels after the amps go dark. The chairs are empty. Pick one.