It began in the quiet moments between the clicks of a video game controller and the hiss of cassette tapes. Souha Rejeb’s first encounters with music did not come through instruments or lessons. They came from the sounds around her: her brother’s video games, a CD spinning backward, and the crackle of vinyl records whose language she could not yet understand. Music was always there, quietly finding its way into her life. But it still felt distant, something to admire rather than something she could make her own.

Years later, far from home, that distance began to disappear. In a city where anonymity gave her room to discover herself, she bought her first electric guitar. It was not a statement of ambition, but a quiet response to a need she could no longer ignore. She had no mentor, no formal training, and no knowledge of music theory. She simply began to experiment with sound.

At first, the results were rough and unpredictable. There was no sudden transformation, no instant mastery. There was only noise, imperfect and unresolved. But for the first time, it was hers.

She began sharing her early experiments on private social media, posting rough sketches, simple loops, and glimpses of her progress. These were not performances designed to impress. They were fragments of a process, shared without the need to appear accomplished. The response surprised her. People listened, not to judge her abilities, but to recognize something familiar in her honesty. There was something compelling about watching someone learn in public, allowing others to witness the uncertainty that usually remains hidden. Her openness became an invitation, showing that vulnerability could bring people together rather than hold them back.

Encouraged by this exchange, Souha gradually expanded her musical world. She picked up a bass, added a looper, and invested in a modest sound card. Little by little, she built a studio of her own within the solitude of her bedroom. It was not a stage, but a space for experimentation, where emotions could take shape through sound and hesitation could become texture. She was less concerned with achieving a polished result than with finding a sound that felt honest.

Her path into music production took a decisive turn in the bedroom studio of Omar Ramsjamss, where she experienced her first recording session. Omar welcomed her into his creative process and gave her the freedom to experiment. More than a simple collaboration, that session marked the beginning of a new chapter. It was her first real introduction to recording, an opportunity to move beyond solitary experimentation and discover what her music could become when given space to grow.

She wasn’t alone. Around her, a circle of kindred spirits began to form. Nadim Chihaoui, Iheb Limem, Iheb Zitouni, Karim Laabidi, and Amine Kaabi became more than fellow musicians. They became her chosen family. With them, music was not just a craft, but a way of connecting. Ideas flowed through long nights, shared conversations, and endless experiments. Living rooms became rehearsal spaces, and rehearsals became moments of collective discovery.

One of these encounters proved particularly important. In the bedroom studio of Omar Ramsjamss, Souha recorded her first production. Omar welcomed her into his creative process and gave her the freedom to experiment. That session marked more than the beginning of a collaboration. It was an introduction to a new way of making music, one in which curiosity mattered more than certainty.

Within this circle of friends, Souha began to imagine something bigger. Her ideas became clearer, her sound more defined, and her songwriting more personal. Eventually, these explorations took shape in Asthma.

The EP was more than a debut. Its title carried a deeper meaning, reflecting the struggle to breathe after years of holding everything inside. It became both a confession and a release, expressing the difficulty of finding a voice and allowing it to be heard. Blending the warmth of R&B with the introspection of soul, the softness of jazz, and the subtle rhythms of hip-hop, Asthma explores intimacy, distance, and the experience of belonging. Each track feels like a private thought finally spoken aloud. Each loop marks another step toward freedom.

But finding her voice did not make the journey any easier. Souha’s first live performance almost fell apart because of airport delays and self-doubt. At the last minute, however, her pitch for B7L9’s Ma Moghreb showcase was accepted. She found herself preparing to perform on a stage she had never expected to stand on.

The room was full. Despite her fears, and despite having told people not to come, they showed up. They listened. What she had imagined as a possible failure became a moment of connection, breaking through the doubts that had kept her from being seen.

Her next performance, at Root Roof, offered a different experience. This time, the atmosphere was more intimate, built around trust rather than the pressure of a conventional concert. The music developed through live arrangements, shaped by the people in the room and the energy they shared. It was a reminder that art can grow when people feel safe enough to contribute, and that community is not simply the setting for a performance. It can become part of the music itself.

Souha often says she was never meant to be seen. Yet there is something powerful about the way she has gradually stepped into view. She does not present herself as a finished artist or a polished product. Instead, she invites listeners into her process, with all its uncertainties and discoveries. She offers no promise of perfection, only a willingness to be present.

Her music does not demand attention. It draws you in quietly, leaving an impression that often becomes clearer after the sound has faded. Tracks such as One Lucky Guy and Make It Right move between lo-fi textures and moments of emotional clarity. There is something distinctly nocturnal about her sound, as if it captures the silence that follows a difficult period and the fragile calm of learning to live beyond it. Her melodies unfold slowly, without urgency. They leave room for the listener to find their own way into the music.

Today, Souha Ben Rejab is finding her place as an artist, not by reaching for a pedestal, but by becoming more comfortable with who she is and who she might become. Her journey remains open, suspended between past experiences and future possibilities, between distance and belonging, between the need to breathe and the courage to speak.