Great Bedtime Stories For Your Boyfriend

There is something about a warm summer evening that makes you want to whisper your biggest feelings into the dark. In The Playlist of Unspoken Things, a boy named Milo keeps a secret playlist of songs that all remind him of his best friend Lila, and finding the courage to finally share it becomes the sweetest part of the story. It is one of our favorite short great bedtime stories for your boyfriend because it captures the tender, quiet ache of growing up and learning when to speak from the heart. If a gentle, music filled tale like this one sparks your imagination, try creating your own version with Sleepytale.

Why Great For Your Boyfriend Stories Work So Well at Bedtime

Stories about unspoken feelings and quiet devotion carry a special kind of comfort at bedtime. Children understand what it means to hold something precious inside, whether it is a crush, a worry, or a hope they are not ready to share. A great bedtime story for your boyfriend to read touches that tender nerve gently, giving kids permission to sit with emotions rather than rushing to name them. The playlist in this story becomes a stand in for all the things Milo cannot say, and that metaphor lands softly right before sleep. Music and memory are deeply linked, and children feel that connection even before they can explain it. When the evening winds down and the house goes quiet, a story that weaves together crickets, fireflies, and a shaky drum beat on a phone speaker mirrors the way a child's own thoughts drift and hum. It is a lullaby disguised as a narrative, and that is exactly why it works.

The Playlist of Unspoken Things

6 min 23 sec

In the hush of evening, when the sky turned the color of a bruised peach, Milo sat on the back steps of his grandmother’s house, knees drawn up, phone glowing like a trapped firefly.
He kept a playlist called songs that remind me of her on his phone.

Twenty-three songs.
Each one had snuck in during ordinary afternoons: a guitar riff while he shelled peas, a piano chord when he folded towels.

He never planned the list; it simply grew, like moss on the north side of a tree.
The girl in question was his best friend, Lila, who lived three houses down and always smelled faintly of cinnamon because her mother baked when she worried.

Milo never told her about the playlist.
Some things felt too loud when spoken.

He tapped the screen, skipping to track seven, a song with a shaky drum that matched the way his heart wobbled whenever Lila laughed.
The porch boards creaked behind him.

Grandma Ruth lowered herself, knees popping, and handed him a square of cornbread wrapped in a napkin.
"Supper’s in thirty, but you looked like you might float away."

She squinted at the tiny text.
"That the girl’s song?"

Milo shrugged, cheeks hot.
"Maybe."

Grandma hummed, low and knowing, then left him with the cornbread and the crickets.
Next morning, Lila showed up dragging a red wagon loaded with mason jars.

"Firefly season," she announced, as if declaring a national holiday.
They spent the day punching holes in lids, tearing bread for bait, and racing across the dewy yard.

Milo’s phone stayed in his pocket, but the songs played in his head, quiet as breathing.
At twilight they sat cross-legged inside the ring of jars, green lights blinking like tiny traffic signals.

Lila tipped her head.
"You ever notice how a song can taste like summer?"

Milo swallowed.
"Yeah."

He wanted to say more, but the words tangled.
Later, when the moon hung crooked, they carried the jars to the edge of the woods and opened the lids.

Fireflies drifted out, slow as sparks from a campfire.
One landed on Lila’s wrist.

She smiled, humming.
Milo recognized the tune immediately.

It was track twelve.
His breath snagged.

She found it once and didn’t say anything.
That night she hummed one of the songs while they were falling asleep on the trampoline, backs against cool vinyl, stars pressing down like curious faces.

Milo opened his eyes in the dark and smiled so wide it hurt.
The next weeks felt like holding a secret candy against his tongue.

School ended.
Days pooled, long and golden.

Milo and Lila built a fort from refrigerator boxes behind the barn, lined it with quilts, and declared it headquarters.
They invented a game called Cloud Tag: point to a cloud, shout a memory, and if the other guessed it right, the cloud had to dissolve within ten seconds.

Lila always won; she knew Milo’s memories better than he did.
One sticky afternoon they biked to the creek, shoes dangling from handlebars.

The water was low, rocks wearing necklaces of white foam.
They hunted for fossils and found a heart shaped stone.

Lila pressed it into his palm.
"For luck," she said.

Milo slipped it into his pocket beside his phone.
The playlist had grown to twenty-seven songs.

He still hadn’t spoken.
July fourth arrived with fireworks that sounded like someone tearing paper in the sky.

After the show, Milo walked Lila home.
Her porch light was burnt out, so fireflies filled the dark space, blinking in slow Morse code.

She stopped at the steps.
"I’m moving next month.

Dad got a job two states away."
The words hit Milo like a pocket of cold creek water.

He opened his mouth, closed it.
All twenty-seven songs crashed together in his head, a traffic jam of sound.

"Say something," she whispered.
He pulled out his phone, thumb hovering.

The screen lit her face.
"I made this for you," he managed.

"I mean, for me.
About you."

The first song began, tinny but brave.
They stood on the sidewalk, sharing one earbud each, music threading between them like a clothesline where memories hung.

She cried quietly, tears slipping off her chin and landing on her sneakers.
When the last note faded, she took the phone, added a new track, and handed it back.

"Track twenty-eight," she said.
"Our song."

Then she kissed his cheek, quick and certain, and ran inside.
Milo walked home through streets that smelled of sulfur and cut grass.

In bed he pressed play.
Track twenty-eight was forty-three seconds of silence followed by her laughter, bright as dimes on sidewalk cracks.

He listened to it on repeat until sunrise.
The next day he found a note wedged in his mailbox: Meet me at the fort.

Inside the cardboard headquarters, Lila had strung Christmas lights.
The quilts were folded into a neat tower.

On top lay a fresh burned CD labeled Milo’s Songs That Remind Me of Him.
She grinned, dimple deep.

"Trade?"
They swapped playlists the way other kids swapped baseball cards.

Milo’s heart felt both full and hollow, like a drum just before the beat.
They spent the last weeks completing a list they had written in June: climb the water tower at dawn, eat peach ice cream until tongues sting, catch one hundred fireflies, dance in the rain.

On her final night, they lay on the trampoline again.
Clouds had vanished, leaving the sky wide open.

Lila started humming.
He joined in, off key but steady.

When they reached the end, she rolled toward him.
"Promise we’ll find each other again."

Milo nodded, throat thick.
"Promise."

After she left, days tasted like dry bread.
Milo rode his bike past her empty house, past the fort now sagging with rain.

He kept both playlists on his phone, one after the other, fifty-five songs total.
Sometimes he played them back to back, letting the music braid into a single story.

Autumn arrived with yellow school buses and new kids who didn’t know his name.
One afternoon he found the heart shaped stone in his jacket pocket, smooth as a worry coin.

He carried it to the creek where the water ran higher, colder.
Sitting on the bank, he pulled out his earbuds and scrolled to track twenty-eight.

He smiled so wide it hurt, then pressed record and spoke into the phone, voice shaking but true.
"Hey, Lila, I found our cloud."

He sent the clip, a new song for a new list that had already begun to grow.

The Quiet Lessons in This Great For Your Boyfriend Bedtime Story

This story explores vulnerability, showing through Milo's long hesitation that sharing what we feel is brave even when our voice shakes. It also touches on the beauty of letting go, as Milo and Lila release fireflies and eventually release each other with a promise to reconnect. Finally, it celebrates creative expression: Milo cannot find the right words, so he lets music speak for him, reminding listeners that feelings can travel in many forms. These themes settle especially well at bedtime, when children are quiet enough to recognize their own unspoken things.

Tips for Reading This Story

Give Grandma Ruth a warm, raspy voice and slow down when she says “you looked like you might float away“ to let that tenderness land. When Lila announces “Firefly season,“ brighten your tone like she is calling everyone to a celebration, then drop to a near whisper during the moment Milo hears her humming track twelve on the trampoline. Pause for a full breath after Lila says “I'm moving next month“ so the weight of the news fills the room the same way it fills Milo's chest.

Frequently Asked Questions

What age is this story best for?

This story works beautifully for children ages 7 to 12, especially those beginning to notice their own big, complicated feelings. Younger listeners will love the firefly catching scenes and the warmth of Grandma Ruth's cornbread, while older kids will connect with Milo's struggle to say what he means. The gentle pacing and sensory details make it cozy enough for any age that still enjoys a bedtime read.

Is this story available as audio?

Yes, you can listen to the full audio version by pressing play at the top of the page. The narration brings out every detail, from the creak of the porch boards under Grandma Ruth to the tinny, brave sound of the first song playing through a shared earbud on the sidewalk. Listening in the dark makes the trampoline scenes under the stars feel especially close and real.

Why does music play such a big role in this bedtime story?

Music is the language Milo uses when words fail him; his playlist of twenty seven songs becomes a living diary of every moment he shared with Lila. The story shows that a melody can carry feelings sentences cannot, from the shaky drum beat of track seven to the forty three seconds of silence followed by Lila's laughter on track twenty eight. For young listeners, it is a gentle reminder that there are many honest ways to express what matters most.

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Create Your Own Version

Sleepytale turns your child's own ideas into warm, personalized bedtime stories in moments. You can swap the playlist for a scrapbook of drawings, change the fireflies to paper lanterns, or set the whole tale in a rooftop garden instead of a grandmother's backyard. In just a few clicks you will have a calm, cozy story that feels like it was written for your family alone.