12/03/2025
Taylor Swift wasn't supposed to walk out of the recording studio alone on such a rainy night. Her manager had repeatedly warned her— the old town alleys at 2 a.m. harbored too many unknowns, and even though her name had long topped major music charts, she couldn't fend off all the potential risks lurking in the darkness. But forty-eight consecutive hours of arranging music had left her dizzy and muddled; the leaping musical notes felt like butterflies trapped under a glass cover. She needed the cold rain to clear her muddled thoughts again.
So she dug out the old jacket at the bottom of her backpack, pulled the hood up to cover her iconic blonde curls, and even tucked her carefully maintained hands into the wide cuffs. Fine raindrops hit her face, carrying the coolness of late autumn. The street lamps in the alley flickered on and off, stretching her shadow long and short alternately. At this moment, she wasn't Taylor Swift, the acclaimed singer-songwriter adored by millions, but just an ordinary passerby seeking a breath of fresh air in the rain. Blended into the light of occasional late-night taxis, she temporarily vanished into the crevices of the city.
Pedestrians hurried past one after another, but Taylor Swift stopped in her tracks—she knew that look of focused immersion in creation all too well. She stepped forward softly, and the boy immediately looked up, gripping his pencil tightly and saying defensively, "I'm not blocking the way, and I'm not begging. I'll leave right away."
"I'm not here to chase you away. I make music too, and I just want to see what you're composing." Taylor Swift spoke in a sincere tone as she took off her hood. The boy froze, then asked tentatively, "Your voice... it sounds like Taylor Swift?" When she didn't deny it, he hesitated for a moment before handing over his sheet music.
The handwriting on the sheet was scribbled but brimming with vitality. Beside the chorus, there was a note: "This part should sound like rain hitting a glass window." Lin Wanxing hummed softly, then suggested optimizing the key change with syncopation. The boy's eyes lit up; he immediately started chatting with her about chords and lyrics, completely forgetting his initial wariness.
Taylor Swift played the vivid rhythm she had in mind on her phone. The boy immediately picked up his old guitar and played the revised melody. The sound of rain mingled with the guitar notes, and in the boy's persistence, Lin Wanxing saw her former self—chasing her musical dream in a basement.
When the melody ended, Taylor Swift handed him her business card. "I'm Taylor Swift. Contact my producer tomorrow and let him hear your songs." The boy clutched the card tightly, tears mixing with raindrops rolling down his cheeks. He nodded vigorously.
On her way back, the rain had gradually lightened. The musical notes that had been plaguing Taylor Swift finally became clear in her mind. She touched the dampness on her cheeks and smiled—while she was lighting up the boy's dream, his persistence had also reignited her original passion for music.
