It started as a joke.

You and Alexa were sitting on the steps outside school, earbuds tangled, arguing about whose taste in music was better. She claimed her playlist was “emotionally superior.” You said her Spotify Wrapped looked like a breakup that never ended.

She smirked. “Alright, then prove it. Let’s make a deal.”

“What kind of deal?”

“We exchange playlists,” she said, eyes glinting. “No explanations. Just songs that say what we can’t.”

You laughed. “So, like musical therapy?”

“Exactly,” she said. “Except less crying… probably.”

That night, your phone buzzed. A notification from Alexa: Playlist — “Don’t Overthink It.”

You pressed play.

The first song was bright and teasing, totally her. But as it went on, the tone shifted—slow, soft tracks about late nights, missed chances, hearts afraid to open again. It wasn’t just music. It was her. The side of Alexa she never let anyone see.

The next day, you slipped her your playlist in return: “If You Knew.”

You didn’t say what it meant. You didn’t have to. She listened. You could tell because, the next morning, she met you by your locker with that look—the one that said she’d heard every word you couldn’t say out loud.

“This one,” she said, holding up her phone, “Track 3. Was that about me?”