Kayan’s ‘Is Love Enough?’ Maps The Hope and Frustrations of Modern Dating

A few weeks ago, I found myself sitting in the back of a cab at 1:30 a.m., AirPods in, as city lights flickered through the window, the streets mostly empty. I wasn’t heartbroken, not exactly. But I was tired in that specific way you get when you’ve loved people who didn’t quite love you back in the way you hoped. The kind of tired that makes your chest feel full and hollow at the same time. That’s when I hit play on Is Love Enough?, Kayan’s new five-track EP. Within seconds, it felt like someone had opened a door I didn’t realize I’d been knocking on.

Kayan doesn’t posture or preach. She doesn’t chase a climax or spoon-feed a resolution. What she does instead is document. Each track on Is Love Enough? captures a feeling just as it is, without filtering it for relatability or trying to turn it into something bigger. The record leans into the quiet, unglamorous corners of intimacy—the mornings after, the 3 AM texts, the ache of staying even when you know it’s time to leave. This isn’t a concept project, and it isn’t here to teach you a lesson. It’s a diary you’re being allowed to borrow for 13 minutes, written by someone who isn’t afraid to admit that she doesn’t always have it together.

It begins with “Denim Jeans,” a slow, breathy meditation on the first flicker of something new. There’s tension in the air, not from drama, but from proximity. The production is warm and minimal, as if trying not to interrupt a moment already in progress. Kayan’s voice never tries too hard—it just lands. Soft, matter-of-fact, intimate.. It’s a song that feels like lying next to someone without touching, both of you pretending it means nothing, even as your hearts are thudding out the truth.

“Good Kinda Love” is the closest the EP comes to an open-hearted confession. There’s a sweetness here, but it’s tinged with nerves. The song blends Indian rhythms with easy pop melodies, and Kayan lets her voice stretch a little more this time. You get the sense she wants to believe what she’s singing—that there’s a kind of love out there that doesn’t leave you guessing. That devotion can feel like ease. Produced by Val, whose work in the alt-pop space is known for being clean but emotionally textured, the track feels hopeful without being naive.

Then comes “Hold Me Down,” the first real pivot. It’s flirtatious, direct, and rhythmically charged, with a beat that leans on amapiano percussion, but still manages to leave just enough room for the lyrics to bite. There’s a smirk in Kayan’s delivery here—a shrug of the shoulders and a little bit of power reclaimed. It’s the kind of track that plays when you’re putting on mascara after a few weeks of crying. The accompanying music video places her in a palace, styled like a modern-day queen—equal parts fantasy and refusal. It’s the moment on the EP where Kayan steps out of her own head and speaks out loud.

“Too Long” is the breaking point. Where the illusion of control starts to crack. The production gets colder, more electronic. There’s a restraint to it that mirrors the numbness in the lyrics. She’s not pleading, she’s processing. You can hear the exact moment when disappointment stops feeling surprising and starts feeling familiar. What makes it land is the clarity. No one is demonized, there’s no high drama. Just fatigue. That painful, quiet realization that you gave someone more time than they deserved, and that maybe you knew it all along.

The final track, “i’m fine,” is the one that stayed with me long after I’d stepped out of the cab that night. Built on afro-influenced rhythm with an emotional undercurrent that creeps in gradually, it’s not about heartbreak, it’s about the lie you start to believe just to keep going. Kayan repeats the phrase like a prayer, each time a little less convincing. The strength in the song doesn’t come from resolution, but from the honesty of sitting with that denial. What makes Is Love Enough? so affecting is how little it tries to perform its pain. There’s no overproduction, no vocal acrobatics, no desperate push for relatability. Instead, Kayan offers specificity, restraint, and texture. The result is a project that doesn’t try to make you cry or dance—it just makes you feel seen. And maybe that’s the point. Love might not be enough, but sometimes, a song is.