I woke up at 4 in the morning, like every day. I did some exercise and yoga, then got dressed and ready to head to the firm. It’s not like I have some important work to do, but staying at the firm is better than staying here with these people.

I glanced at the clock—it was still 7:30. That meant I still had time. So, I decided to go downstairs, bring my breakfast up, and maybe watch a movie.

I was eating while watching a thriller movie—I love watching and reading thrillers—when my gaze suddenly got locked onto the calendar.

It’s July 30th.

Which means… it’s my birthday.

I chuckled. Of course, I forgot my own birthday. I had stopped celebrating them ever since I was seventeen years old. I still remember that day like it was yesterday.

FLASHBACK

Thank God I reached the entrance on time. After getting myself checked, I entered the examination hall. God, I was so nervous—and, of course, how could I not be? Today was the physics paper, and I hate this subject for its derivations.

Anyway, I found my seat, the last one in the room, and sat down. I took out my essentials: pens, scale, pencil, eraser, and sharpener.

Just then, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around, but no one was there. When I turned to the front again, there he was—smiling, his hand extended for me to shake.

“Happy Birthday,” he said in that cheerful voice of his.

I never thought I’d love someone this much in my life, but Aalok, my boyfriend, had this way of making my life feel less empty.

“Thank you, alien!” I said, shaking his hand.

“Well, how’s your preparation for physics?” he asked. But before I could answer—

“Aalok,” came a voice from behind him, as he was standing in front of me.

My mood changed instantly. It was Smriti, his so-called sister. Not blood-related—they just lived in the same area, so he called her his sister.

Before any of us could start talking again, the bell rang, signaling the start of the exam. The examiner came in and started distributing question papers.

I glanced at Aalok. He was sitting at the second-last seat in the row beside mine, talking to Smriti in signs. She was in the third seat from the front in the row besides his.

I quickly averted my attention back to the paper. We had 15 minutes to read the questions and clear doubts, because once we started writing, we weren’t allowed to ask anything.

But my gaze kept drifting back to Aalok. He was still talking to Smriti.

I knew I was being unreasonable—maybe it was because he was the first person to ever love me for me, not for my looks or achievements. I knew I was being pathetic, but… I couldn’t help but feel jealous.

The exam went well, but afterward, I ignored him, even though he tried to talk to me. I wasn’t in the mood, despite knowing this might be the last time I’d see him in person like this.

I walked to my car and got inside. My uncle had come to pick me up—he was sitting in the front seat beside driver uncle. I settled into the back.

“How was your exam?” he asked once I got comfortable.

“It was good,” I replied, controlling my tears and trying to keep my voice as normal as I could.

I didn’t know why, but I wanted to cry so badly. And yet… there was nothing to cry about. Was there?

My board physics exam was over and it went well. It was my birthday. I should’ve been happy, right?

But I wasn’t.

And I didn’t even know why.

When we reached home, I went straight to my room, threw my bag on the bed, kicked off my shoes, and lay face-down on the mattress, my face buried in the pillow. Then I started crying.

And not just sniffling—I cried so hard that, at one point, I couldn’t breathe.

It felt wrong. Today was my birthday, and look at me. I didn’t look like a birthday girl at all.

After crying for a good three hours, I wiped my face, sat up, and decided to unpack my school bag and open the gifts my friends had given me.

I had only two gifts, from my two best friends. I didn’t have many friends—and honestly, I didn’t like being surrounded by too many people anyway.

“Wait… what’s this?” I whispered to myself, pulling out a small box wrapped in ochre-colored paper. No one knew that was my favorite color—except Aalok and my sisters. Could it be…?

I took it out and noticed a note attached. I opened it.

Dear Isha,

You’re probably wondering who put this in your bag. You don’t know me, and no, this isn’t from your boyfriend. This is from me. Sorry I can’t give you this gift in person—I don’t want you to hate me. Also, sorry for touching your bag without permission, but I just wanted to give you this. I hope you like it. If you do, just post a picture of it on your Instagram story with a white heart—I’ll know.

                                          - Yours

What?

I opened the box with shaky hands. What was inside made my eyes widen instantly.

“This…” I whispered, pulling it out of the box.

It was a bracelet made of beads—the one my grandmother had given me. She’s no longer alive, and that was her last gift to me. Two months ago, one of my teachers had broken it and thrown it away, the beads scattering across the classroom.

Which meant… whoever had given me this must have stayed behind, collected all the beads, and remade the bracelet, knowing how much it meant to me.

God.

How can someone be this selfless?

Then I remembered what the note said—I had to post the picture on Instagram.

I frantically searched for my phone, found it on the bedside table, unlocked it, and snapped a picture of the bracelet. I posted it with a white heart and a caption: Best gift, thank you sooooo much.

Thinking… whoever gave me this gift, if they saw my story, they’d know I was grateful.

FLASHBACK ENDS

I was having a normal day until I opened Instagram and, by mistake, ended up clicking on my cousin sister’s story. She had posted Aalok’s picture on her story with a caption that read, “Best big brother.”

Wait.

I remember clearly telling her to unfollow him after he ghosted me. So why has she posted this on her story?

I checked her account, and sure enough, they were both following each other.

And no, I am not overreacting. If it had been anyone else, I would’ve let it slide. But this is Pihu—my cousin, my best friend, the one person I trust the most after my sisters. Why would she do this to me, knowing I’m still trying to move on?

Should I call her?

Or text?

I was still debating when my phone rang, snapping me out of my thoughts. I looked at the caller ID: Sweetheart. Swallowing the lump forming in my throat, I picked it up.

“Hello, birthday girl,” came her cheerful voice.

“Heyy.”

“Well, don’t be mad at me, please. You know naa I just got a job and I’m still figuring it out.”

“Yes, don’t worry. I’m not at all angry. Umm… Pihu, actually, I have some work. We’ll talk later, okay?”

“Yeah, fine,” she replied, and I quickly hung up.

I didn’t want to, but my fingers didn’t listen to me. Working on their own, they opened Pihu’s story again and, against my better judgment, I took a screenshot of that picture.

It was his recent picture. He looks even more handsome now.

The last time I saw him was during the last board exam. He was 18 at that time, and I was 17.

I ended up saving that screenshot to the secret album on my phone, where I’ve kept all our memories. It’s been so many years since he ghosted me, but I still stalk him sometimes.

I know it wasn’t my fault. All I did was love him with my whole heart, and one day, he decided he didn’t want it anymore. So he threw it away—like it meant nothing.

I don’t know why I’m being punished for loving him so deeply.

While he’s out there dating whoever he wants, every time he posts a picture with some girl, my heart aches. Sometimes, I even cry over it.

But fine, people disappointing me isn’t new.

It still hurts, though.

Today is my birthday—and yet, no wishes from anyone. I chuckled to myself.

Well, I don’t have any friends. And let’s not even talk about my family.

As for the firm, no one here knows it’s my birthday either.

Still, there’s this little girl inside me, the one who never got any love, who wishes—just once before I die—to be someone’s priority. Someone’s only choice.

But life is cruel.

And I know it’s never going to happen. I don’t want to give myself fake hope because I know how badly it hurts when your hope gets crushed.

My phone buzzed, this time with a message on my private Instagram. I clicked on it.

The account username was @yours_. Whoever it was followed me, but I didn’t follow them back. Maybe I had approved their request because of mutuals.

“Happy birthday. Sorry, I know I’m late, but I was really nervous before texting you, so it took a lot of self-motivation—and also motivation from my friends—to finally do it. Actually, I just wanted to wish you. I know you don’t celebrate your birthdays, but please… I’ve sent you a cake and your favorite flowers. Please receive them, and please don’t be mad at me for trying to invade your life like this. Also… send me a white heart if you liked the gift. And, if I’m not asking for too much… can you please send me a picture? Just one, while cutting the cake I sent you. PLEASE…” The text read.

‘Do I know you?’ I texted back.

The reply came instantly:

“NO. And if you don’t want to send your picture, it’s fine—I respect your decision. Just… please let me know if you liked the cake. I made it myself, so I really want to know how it turned out.”

Before I could reply, Zoya walked in.

“Ma’am, someone got this cake and bouquet delivered for you.”

“Thanks, keep them here. You can go,” I said, instantly dismissing her.

I took the bouquet in my hands. The criminal lawyer in me screamed to throw it all away, but something in my heart whispered that I could trust this person.

I brought the bouquet closer. The flowers were fresh white lilies—my favorite. Then I opened the cake box.

It was a chocolate cake, with way too much frosting and garnishing, uneven layers… It looked like it had been made by someone who didn’t know how to frost a cake but had tried anyway, pouring all their effort into it.

I smiled—without even realizing it.

There was a knife included. I picked it up, cut a slice, and took a bite. Closing my eyes, I savored the taste on my tongue. It was heaven.

Since I couldn’t send my own pictures—of course, for safety reasons—I unlocked my phone, clicked a picture of the cut cake, and sent it to them.

Along with a text:

“Heyy, dear stranger. Thanks for making my birthday special. I never thought I would ever celebrate my birthday again, but I just did—and it’s all thanks to you. May Krishna bless you with all the prosperity and happiness in your life.”

They didn’t reply to my text or the photo I sent, but they reacted with a red heart emoji.

I locked my phone and leaned back in my chair, taking another bite of the cake, smiling like a fool.

I don’t even remember the last time I was this happy.

I don’t know why, but just the thought that there’s someone out there who cares about me makes me feel… warm.

I know I’m a fool for feeling this way, especially when I don’t even know who this person is.

But I can’t help it.

And I can’t stop these feelings, no matter how helpless it makes me feel.