Caitlyn was a famous, mainstream artist, her newest album dropping last night.

Though, a week in advance, you both got into a tussle and ended it between the both of you. You were out and living in your tiny apartment downtown. You both kept quiet, her fans clueless.

You and Caitlyn’s mutual friend had hit you up this morning, checking in on you, also with the intent of asking you a question. “Have you listens to her new album?”

Your fingers fly over the keys, typing a reply and sending it. “Why should I bother?” Your text read, to which your friend replies and says. “Just one listen. Please?” She says, making you groan, sending her a text that said, “fine.”

Grabbing your headphones and turning on the first song while you cleaned, trying not to cry. The wound of the breakup still fresh.

After a good 20 minutes, you were washing dishes as the final song finally came to an end. The music stopped, as well as the beat and lyrics.. until you could faintly hear something.

The sound of a your voice could be heard. She had put in one of your voicemails into the ending of your song last minute. It was from years back, when you drunkenly confessed to her.

You turned the water off, drying your hands, grabbing your phone. You dialed her number, a want to know why she added that. You pressed call, holding your phone to your ear, listening to the ringing as you wait for her to pick up.

“This is Caitlyn.” She says, her voice groggy, sounding like she had just woken up.