A songwriter discovers that the love song she wrote for someone close to her has been used to woo a glamorous influencer. As the betrayal comes to light, she must decide whether to reclaim her music and her heart or let the people who used her get away with it.
golden hour on Tower Bridge, rain on cobblestones, Nan laughing in her garden, scored melody I'd been sitting on for months, and I quietly uploaded it to the incoming freshman forum for my California Schools Music Collective. No expectations. I just needed to make something that belonged to me. Within a day, someone commented. Your audio mix is muddy,
the low end around 120. You're clipping on the left channel. I stared at the screen. flaring out of nowhere. I didn't know this person. I typed back, thanks for the feedback. Next time, maybe try saying hi first. Hi, your mix is still muddy. One month of silence from the boy I loved, and somehow, a stranger 6,000 miles away just made me feel something other than
I fixed the mix. Spent two hours re-EQ the low end, adjusting levels, cleaning up the clipping. Happy now? Better. The reverb on the bridge is actually good. Did you do that intentionally or did you stumble into it? I saw red. Intentionally. Not everyone needs to be told what to do.
He didn't respond, but the next day I noticed he'd followed my account. I did not follow back, on principle. For two days I had the most peace I'd felt in weeks. Then my phone rang. Unknown international number. So you just ditch everyone and fly to London?
The silent treatment doesn't work on me, Willa. Come home. My mom keeps asking about you, by the way. She won't shut up about it.
Is that Willa? Give me the phone. Willa, sweetheart. How's London?
Are you eating enough? Oh, and congratulations to Lennox. He got his acceptance letter. New York, just like he wanted.