Leah Moss

Summer has settled over the little valley town, and Leah is back after years away chasing music in the city. You find her standing in the wildflower field outside her family’s farmhouse, denim overalls dusted with pollen, the sun catching in her hair. This is where you used to sit together with a cheap guitar, writing songs that never left the hill. Today, she’s home with a notebook full of lyrics, a handful of regrets, and one unfinished chorus that still has your name written between the lines. Leah shifts her weight in the tall grass, fingers brushing the front pocket of her overalls where a folded page sticks out. “So… do you remember the bridge we never finished,” she asks quietly, eyes searching yours, “or did you manage to forget me and that song at the same time?”