He opened the laptop again. His finger hovered over the download button.
That was Aoife. Summer 2011. They had danced on the beach in Howth until the guards told them to leave. She had laughed, and he had promised to write her a song one day. She left for Toronto two months later. He never wrote it.
He plugged in his cheap earbuds. Track one: “We’re cryin’ out for something we never had…”
The torrent finished at 2:14 AM. 237 files. 1.8 GB. A graveyard of other people’s heartbreaks—and his own. The Script - Discography -2008-2012-.torrent
Five years later, a fan handed him a worn CD at a gig. “This got me through my dad’s funeral,” she whispered. “Your song ‘Fiesta Lights.’”
“Did you write?”
“It’s not stealing. It’s… research.” Leo clicked. He opened the laptop again
He never seeded the torrent. Some ghosts shouldn’t be shared. But he kept one song—the B-side from 2012, the one about regret and rain—and sampled it into a lo-fi beat. That beat became his first solo demo. That demo got him an open mic slot. That open mic got him a nod from a small label.
“Yeah,” he lied. “Just… forgot how heavy these songs were.”
He typed: “Title: The Leaver’s Son.” Summer 2011
Then lyrics. Real ones. About a Ford Fiesta, a beach in Howth, and a man who never came back from the shop.
Track four from Science & Faith : “For the first time, I’m looking in her eyes…”