Chapter 1: Her Best Birthday, My Worst Memory.
Birthdays are strange things.
They’re meant to make us feel special. Seen. But sometimes, they become the loudest reminder of how invisible we truly are to the ones who matter most.
She came to this city with nothing but a suitcase full of dreams, worn-out books, and a heart still learning how to trust. A new city. A new college. No familiar faces, no familiar voices—except for mine.
Her first birthday away from home was approaching, and I made myself a promise: She wouldn’t feel like a stranger in this city. Not on her day.
Two months before, the universe gave me a heads-up. A phone call I didn’t expect.
“Mummy, who was that?” I asked. “Shahin mother,” my mom said, calm as ever. “She’s moving to Mumbai For college.”
My heart paused. And then it raced. “How? Why? When?” I asked, words stumbling over excitement.
My younger brother grinned from the other side of the room. “Bhabhi’s coming!” he teased. “Shut up, idiot,” I laughed, hiding more than I cared to admit. Even my mom joined in with a knowing smile. “We all know how much you like her.” I didn’t deny it. I just smiled, my heart pounding, and asked, “When is she coming?”
That was the beginning.
And now, July 3rd was nearing. I had ₹2000 saved, earned through checking exam papers, helping teachers, doing odd accounting gigs. Every rupee had one purpose: Her smile.
I planned her day like it was a festival. Photo edits, video reels, captions. Instagram posts for the world. Private notes, just for her.
One hour before midnight, I started counting down in her DMs. 59 minutes left—almost your moment.
58 minutes—did you pick your outfit yet? 57...56...55... Every minute, a message. Every message, a heartbeat.
At midnight, I posted everything— From public stories to close-friend notes. I even changed my IG name to: “Happy Birthday, Princess.”
And when she smiled in reply, I swear I felt like I’d made the stars move.
That morning, I asked Amma to cook her favorite dishes—biryani, kebabs, fried chicken. I sent Papa to buy her favorite sweets. I bought her a chocolate cake. I invited her over.
She came. She smiled. We celebrated.
I gave her the gifts: A bouquet made of Kinder Joys. A photo frame with the picture I loved most. A full novel set she had been dreaming of. Letters she didn’t know I stayed up all night writing. And in between all that... my heart.
She said, “This is the best birthday I’ve ever had.” And for a moment, I believed her. I called that love.
But birthdays... They’re strange things. Because when mine came, She forgot.
No call. No message. Not even a whisper in the wind.
And that’s the thing about love. Sometimes, it begins with a smile… And ends in silence.
That was the day I stopped celebrating. That was the day I realized— Some people walk into your life with candles... And leave, blowing out yours.
That was before she forgot me.
