Our Playlist Was a Love Story"

Our Playlist Was a Love Story

Subtitle:Every song had a memory. Every lyric told the truth we couldn’t say out loud.*

Track 1: “Yellow” – Coldplay

It started with a song.

I was seventeen. So was Noah. We were that kind of small-town cliché where everyone grows up together but only a few actually *see* each other.

He saw me.

It was the last day of senior year, and I was outside the music room, humming under my breath. I didn’t know he was listening until he said, “You know, you hum like you mean it.”

I rolled my eyes. “Is that your pickup line?”

He grinned. “No. My pickup line is: Want to help me build the greatest playlist in history?”

I raised an eyebrow. “What kind of playlist?”

“Our lives,” he said simply. “Song by song. You in?”

I laughed then—but said yes.

We didn’t know it then, but that playlist would grow with us. Track after track. Year after year. A record of everything we felt but never dared say out loud.

Track 7: “You Are the Reason” – Calum Scott

College was a whirlwind.

We went to different schools but stayed close. Too close, some said.

We’d send each other songs at midnight. When classes got hard. When someone broke our hearts. When we missed each other.

Music was our way of saying, I’m still here.

One night, after my first real breakup, I called him in tears. No words, just silence.

He didn’t say much. But the next morning, I woke up to a shared Spotify link. One song. That was it.

“You Are the Reason.”

It said everything he couldn’t.

Or maybe everything I wasn’t ready to hear.

Track 11: “I Like Me Better” – Lauv

We had that kind of friendship where the world faded when we were together. Movie nights. Drive-thru runs at 2AM. Road trips with windows down and music up.

But people talk. They asked if we were a couple.

He always laughed it off.

I didn’t.

Because somewhere between a shared milkshake and him fixing my broken necklace with the gentlest fingers, I started to wonder.

What if we were more?

I started choosing songs more carefully. Lyrics that hinted. Melodies that felt like confessions.

But he never said a word. Maybe he didn’t hear them the way I did.

Maybe he didn’t hear me.

Track 17: “The Night We Met” – Lord Huron

Senior year of college. I was dating someone new. So was he.

We were both pretending really well.

We threw a party after finals. Music, lights, drinks.

And then our song came on.

Track 1. “Yellow.”

We both froze.

I looked up. He was staring right at me across the room, a thousand memories flooding between us in one chord.

He walked over, slow and unsure, like he wasn’t sure if he had the right to be that close anymore.

“Do you still have the playlist?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded. “It’s grown.”

“Me too,” I said. And it felt like a goodbye.

Even though no one said the words.

Track 21: “Someone You Loved” – Lewis Capaldi

We drifted after that.

Jobs. Cities. Life.

The playlist stopped growing.

Until the day my dad passed away.

I hadn’t spoken to Noah in nearly a year, but he was the first person I wanted to call.

When I did, I didn’t need to explain anything. He just came.

He held my hand during the funeral. He hugged my mom. He brought my favorite ice cream without asking.

And that night, in the quiet of my childhood bedroom, he handed me a small speaker.

“Play this,” he said.

A new song. Track 21.

Every lyric hurt in all the right ways.

“Someone You Loved.”

Noah always knew how to find the words when I couldn’t.

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Track 25: “Falling Like the Stars” – James Arthur

It wasn’t a grand confession. It wasn’t fireworks.

It was coffee at a bookstore, a slow Sunday afternoon. We were browsing records when he said, “I think I’ve loved you since Track 1.”

I stared at him. Speechless.

“I didn’t know how to say it back then,” he continued. “But I do now. And if you still want to build a playlist with me…”

I smiled. “Only if I get to pick Track 26.”

Track 26: “Can’t Help Falling in Love” – Kina Grannis version

Dating Noah was like listening to your favorite song on repeat and still finding new meaning every time.

We were slow. Gentle. Familiar.

We danced in our kitchen. Took road trips just to play old tracks. We added one song every month. One for every kiss, every argument, every quiet morning waking up tangled in blankets and sunlight.

We weren’t perfect.

But we were real.

Track 33: “Say You Won’t Let Go” – James Arthur

He proposed on a rooftop. Just us, city lights, and a tiny speaker playing softly between us.

He didn’t get down on one knee. He just took my hand and said, “You’re my favorite song.”

I said yes before he even finished the sentence.

Track 42: “This Is Us” – Jimmie Allen ft. Noah Cyrus

Our wedding was small. Friends. Family. Vinyl records as centerpieces. A playlist printed on every table—our playlist.

Guests laughed as they read the titles.

But only we knew what each song meant.

Track 4? Our first fight.

Track 16? The night we almost kissed but didn’t.

Track 30? The drive we took in silence when we didn’t have the words, only the music.

And Track 42?

Our first dance.

Track 50: “You’re Still the One” – Shania Twain

Ten years later, we still play the playlist.

Sometimes in the car. Sometimes during Sunday cleaning.

Each song is a chapter. A timestamp.

And when our daughter was born, we added a lullaby as Track 50.

She hums it now when she’s tired. Just like I used to.

Track 60: “Forever Like That” – Ben Rector

The night he fell sick, I was the one who played the music.

He smiled, weak but warm. “Still curating our life, huh?”

“Always,” I said, tears in my eyes.

He squeezed my hand. “Don’t stop. Even if…”

“No,” I whispered. “Don’t say it.”

He didn’t.

Instead, he whispered a lyric:

“We'll build this love from the ground up, now 'til forever it's all of me, all of you.”

Track 61: “A Drop in the Ocean” – Ron Pope

He passed away peacefully, with our playlist playing beside him.

Friends came. Family mourned. They talked about his kindness, his laugh, his quiet strength.

But I remembered the boy with the mischievous grin who asked me to help build the greatest playlist of all time.

He did.

And I will keep adding to it.

One song at a time.

Track 62: “Supermarket Flowers” – Ed Sheeran

Grief is a strange song.

Some days it’s loud. Some days it’s a quiet hum beneath everything.

But the playlist remains. On hard days. On lonely nights. On mornings when the sky feels too big.

And sometimes, I hear a song on the radio that makes me smile and cry at the same time.

Those are the ones I save.

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Track 70: “Until I Found You” – Stephen Sanchez

Years later, I sit on a porch swing with my daughter.

She’s older now. Wiser. Curious.

“Mom,” she says, “Why do you love music so much?”

I smile. “Because it’s how I learned to love.”

She scrolls through my old phone. Finds the playlist.

Reads the name: “Us.”

She hits shuffle. A song begins.

She doesn’t know it yet, but she’s hearing the story of us.

Every lyric, a moment.

Every melody, a memory.

Because in the end, our playlist wasn’t just songs.

It was a love story