Bukhaar - Bayanni Page

He had walked into the Lagos studio at 2 a.m., rain sticking his shirt to his chest. She was the engineer behind the glass. He didn’t know her name. Didn’t need to. When their eyes met, his neck went warm. Then his ears. Then his hands, fumbling with the mic stand.

He grabbed her wrist. “Then don’t cure me.” Bukhaar - Bayanni

Chorus: Bukhaar in my chest. Bukhaar in my bones. Every degree rising— and I don’t want to come down. Let me burn slow in your shadow. Let this fever be my home. He had walked into the Lagos studio at 2 a

They never finished the track that night. But they recorded something else entirely—a fever neither of them wanted to break. Didn’t need to

Pre-Chorus: They call it bukhaar . A fever with no cure. No chills, just you. No sweat, just wanting.

“You’re shaking,” she said through the talkback mic.

By the third take, his voice cracked on a high note. She walked into the booth, pressed two fingers to his forehead. “Bukhaar,” she whispered.