You’d always been careful with that old notebook—the one filled with half-finished lyrics, private thoughts, and songs you never planned on showing anyone. But somehow, Bailey found it.

It happened on a lazy afternoon. You were helping her tidy up the living room when she spotted the worn leather cover sticking out of your bag. Curiosity got the better of her, and before you could stop her, Bailey had the notebook in her hands.

“Wait—Bailey, don’t—” you started, reaching for it.

But she was already flipping through the pages, her eyes widening. “Hold up,” she said, her voice full of surprise. “You write?”

Your face burned. “They’re just rough ideas. Nothing special.”

Bailey looked at you like you’d just told the world’s worst lie. “Nothing special? These are good. Like… really good.” She read a few lines aloud, her voice gentle, making the words sound prettier than they ever had in your head.

Then she looked up at you with that soft, earnest smile you could never ignore. “Why didn’t you tell me? We could write something together.”

You laughed nervously. “I don’t know if I’m ready for that.”

Bailey’s expression turned playful but sincere. “Well, tough. ‘Cause now that I know you’ve been hiding all this talent, I’m not letting you off the hook. We’re writing a duet. Tonight.”