I was the songwriter for our band, and Jax was the lead singer, my boyfriend.
We promised to stand on the music festival stage together, singing our own songs.
But he secretly changed our work into a dumbed-down, market-friendly pop track, all for a solo contract with a mainstream record label.
My bandmates confronted him for me:
“Did you even ask Kira before doing this? This song is her heart and soul!”
He couldn’t care less:
“The songs she writes, aren’t they for me to sing? Her talent means zilch without my voice. Once I’m famous, I’ll just toss her some cash.”
Back in that stuffy rehearsal room, when he again asked me to revise the lyrics, I calmly gathered all my sheet music.
On the day of the music festival, he was sued for breach of contract.
Meanwhile, my song, “The Unnamed Bird,” performed by another rising star, went viral overnight, winning the Song of the Year Award.
“Change punk to pop? Add a rap bridge? Jax, are you insane?! Kira pulled three all-nighters writing this. Did you even ask her?”
Jax and Alex, our bassist, were fighting, their voices cutting through the cheap door of the rehearsal room.
Silence fell inside for a few seconds, then Jax’s dismissive chuckle rang out.
“Ask her? The songs she writes, aren’t they for me to sing?”
“Alex, get this straight. The only reason Tidal Wave Records even noticed our band is because of my looks and my voice, not her so-called ‘artistic integrity’! Without my vocals, all her stuff is worthless!”
Alex was still fuming for me:
“What about Kira? Do you have any idea how much she’s poured into this band? When we were dead broke, she worked three jobs a day, came home exhausted, eating cheap ramen, and still wrote songs for you!”
“Enough.”
Jax’s voice was edged with impatience.
“Once I’m famous, a big star, I’ll just give her a lump sum to buy out the copyright, right? Why does a girl need so many grand dreams? Wouldn’t a stable life be better? Anyway, she’s dependent on me; I’ll always take care of her.”
“Besides, she’s head-over-heels in love with me; she’ll definitely agree to this.”
I stood frozen in the hallway, clutching a bag of cold beers and some street tacos I’d just bought, listening to the conversation from inside the room.
We promised to stand on the music festival stage together, singing our own songs.
This was the pact we made the very first day we formed the band in college.
For this dream, we crammed into a rundown, cheap rental.
Whenever it rained, the roof leaked, flooding our room, and we had to sleep in water.
To save money for a decent used guitar, we ate instant ramen for an entire month.
At our poorest, I put down my pen and waited tables at a restaurant, handed out flyers on the street.
I had no choice. Music didn’t pay, so I had to earn money to support the music, to keep the band alive.
Working all day, then staying up night after night, writing lyric after lyric, note after note.
But now, all my hard work, in Jax’s eyes, was just a tool for his success.
Our rough beginnings, our struggling past, had become my personal joke.
I bit my lip, my eyes lowering, wanting to laugh, but no sound came out.
Jax wanting to be famous, that was normal.
But this was *my* song, and he was going to casually change it without telling me.
He was also going to casually trample on my talent and my dreams!
I wanted to push open the door and confront him, only to find my whole body trembling.
I took half a step forward, but my hand froze in mid-air, hovering over the doorknob.
After a long moment, I silently turned and walked away, pretending I knew nothing.
I just tossed that bag of still-warm tacos, along with that burning period of my youth, into the trash can in the hallway.
I did love Jax, but I loved my music more.
He could abandon his principles for a smooth path to stardom, but I had a sanctuary of music I wanted to protect.
I returned alone to our tiny, shared apartment, the one we jokingly called “the birdcage.”
The room was small, with our band’s first poster stuck on the wall. The young man in the poster smiled wildly, radiating passion.
Back then, Jax would sit on the rug, guitar in hand, singing the melodies I wrote, over and over.
“Kira, your lyrics and music have light in them, and I want to sing that light to the whole world!”
We busked in subway stations together, argued until dawn over a single chord progression.
Then we’d look at each other and laugh, thinking how freaking awesome it was to fight for a dream.
“The Unnamed Bird” – I wrote that song for him, and for our shared dream.
The bird in the song, breaking free from its cage and soaring into the storm, was a reflection of us.
I sat on the cold floor, looking around the cramped space that was filled with so many memories.
Past scenes flashed through my mind. Five years of my youth, all wasted.
Just last week, when we got our first signing bonus, Jax had spun me around in the street late at night, screaming with excitement:
“Kira! We did it! Soon, we’ll be on the music festival stage, letting everyone hear our songs!”
In that moment, the light in his eyes was brighter than the stars.
I thought we’d be each other’s strongest support, moving from obscurity to success together.
I was wrong.
I was too naive, thinking people’s hearts would never change.
Jax was no longer the boy with light in his eyes.
That winter, the boy who played guitar in the heavy snow, singing his first love song to me, that genuine, heart-pounding feeling despite the cold.
It had long since vanished with time.
The glitter of fame and fortune had blinded his eyes and corrupted his heart.
He was no longer walking the same path as me.
What he wanted was a fancy birdcage and carefully prepared feed.
And all I wanted was for my bird to fly freely in the sky where it belonged.
My phone screen lit up. A message from Jax:
“Babe, rehearsal might end early tonight. Wait for me to get back. Love you.”
Followed by a kiss emoji.
I looked at that “Love you” and felt an immense irony.
I didn’t reply. I just calmly retrieved the song’s demo from deep within my computer, backed it up, and encrypted it.
This was my heart and soul, my baby.
No one would ever distort it into something I didn’t recognize.
Soon, Jax pushed open the door.
He pulled off his sweat-soaked T-shirt, tossed it casually on the couch, and came over to hug me from behind.
“Kira, why didn’t you come to the rehearsal room to find me? I bought you your favorite bubble tea.”
His chin rubbed against my neck, his tone playful, as if the cold, ruthless person in the rehearsal room just now wasn’t him.
I didn’t move or respond.
“What’s wrong?”
He sensed my stiffness and turned me around to face him.
“Are you still mad about me yelling at you last time? I already apologized, didn’t I? I’ve been under a lot of stress lately, Kira, don’t be so petty.”
“Last time,” he referred to, was when I found out he was getting very close to an award-winning producer named Scarlett.
I just asked a couple of questions, and he flew into a rage.
Now, I realized Scarlett must have been the one Tidal Wave Records sent to recruit him.
“Jax,” I looked into his eyes, asking calmly,
“Is there something you need to tell me about ‘The Unnamed Bird’?”
His eyes flickered for a second, then he chuckled calmly:
“Oh, you mean that. You know Scarlett from Tidal Wave, she’s a top producer. She said our song has massive hit potential but needs a few tweaks to make it more market-friendly.”
He stroked my face, his voice casual:
“She’s right, too niche songs don’t easily blow up. Haven’t you always said you wanted a bigger place? Once this song hits big, we’ll have the money.”
I asked, word for word:
“So, you’re going to turn our heart and soul into a piece of trash?”
Jax’s patience seemed to run out. He let go of me, frustration clouding his face.
“Trash song? Kira, can you stop being so naive? Making music isn’t a game; it’s about making money to live! Scarlett is right, we can’t always live in our own little world; we need to learn to play by the market’s rules!”
“Besides, I’m not doing this just for myself; I’m doing it for the future of our entire band! Do you think Alex and Finn don’t want to make money? You’re just so arrogant!”
He spun all his betrayal into “doing what’s best for us.”
I laughed, a bitter laugh, stood up, walked to the table, picked up the bubble tea he’d bought, and poured it straight down the kitchen sink.
The liquid swirled and disappeared down the drain, like our vanished love.
“My song, not a single word is changing! If you want to sell out, find someone else to write your tracks.”
“And, we’re over.”
After saying that, I walked into the bedroom and started packing my things.
Jax was stunned. He hadn’t expected me to react so intensely.
“Kira, what kind of tantrum are you throwing now? You always do this, is it fun? What else can you do besides write a few songs? You’re nothing without me!”
My hands stopped packing, tears streaming uncontrollably.
For all these years we were together, everyone thought I was just Jax’s accessory, the lead singer’s girlfriend and his songwriting tool.
Even Jax himself implicitly believed my talent had to be dependent on him.
But no one knew that my original intention for writing songs was simply to heal myself.
During the darkest period of my life after my father’s passing, music pulled me out of the abyss.
My dream was for my work to be heard, to be loved.
Who sang it wasn’t the most important thing.
That’s why I willingly handled everything for him, why I compromised unconditionally.
And that’s what gave Jax the chance to hurt me.
I wiped away my tears and continued packing.
All my sheet music, manuscripts, and that old guitar that had accompanied me through countless nights, I carefully placed them into my suitcase, one by one.
Finally, I took off the necklace he had made for me from a guitar pick, the one around my neck.
It was a gift he gave me when we first started dating.
I placed it on the table and pushed it towards him.
“Your stuff, I’m returning it to you.”
He blocked my path, his eyes red-rimmed.
“Kira, do you really have to do this? All for one song?”
I looked at him and suddenly felt like he was a complete stranger.
“It’s not for one song,” I said calmly,
“It’s for myself.”
Then, I pulled my suitcase and walked out without looking back.
After leaving home, I moved in with my friend, Lena.
Lena heard my story and was so furious she almost stormed over to Jax’s place to beat him up.
“I told you Jax was no good! He treated you like a maid, and now he wants to treat you like a tool! You should’ve left him ages ago!”
I gave a bitter smile, my heart feeling utterly lost.
Over the next few days, Jax called and messaged me frantically.
At first, it was accusations and threats.
[Kira, how dare you leave? Without my voice, your pathetic sheet music is just trash. Who do you think will want it?]
[If you’re talking about breaking up, I’ll just assume you’re throwing a tantrum. I order you to get back here right now!]
I ignored all of them and blocked his number.
When he saw I wasn’t responding, his tone softened, and he started to beg.
[Kira, I was wrong, I shouldn’t have yelled at you. Please come back? I can’t live without you.]
[Have you forgotten all those days we ate ramen together? Forgotten our promise to stand on the music festival stage?]
Reading those messages, I only felt irony.
Who was it, really, who had forgotten all that?
A week later, Finn, our drummer, came to find me. He was the only one besides Alex in the band who stood by me.
“Kira, Jax really changed ‘The Unnamed Bird.’ Tidal Wave found a new lyricist, and it’s absolutely disgusting, unlistenable.”
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