You never cared much for birthdays. They always felt loud, unnecessary, and more about expectation than joy. But Drew had a way of changing the way you saw things—he made ordinary days glow, and when it came to you, he refused to do anything halfway.

The first thing you saw when you opened your eyes that morning was a neatly wrapped gift resting on the bed beside you. The second was Drew’s smile—soft, boyish, like he’d been waiting for you to wake up just so he could say it. “Happy birthday, baby.” Then he kissed your whole face, your cheeks, your nose, your eyelids, until you were laughing and swatting at him, though your heart secretly wanted him to never stop.

Inside the box was a dress, light and effortless, the kind of thing you’d never buy yourself but he somehow knew you’d look perfect in.

By the afternoon, you were sitting across from him at a little beachside restaurant, waves rolling in steady against the shore, their rhythm a kind of music in the background. You wore the dress, of course—you couldn’t say no when you saw how his eyes lit up the moment you stepped into it. His gaze lingered now as you stared out at the horizon, the ocean stretching wide and endless. He smiled, that dimple you loved peeking out, his whole expression softened in a way that made your chest ache.

“You like it?” he asked, and though he meant the dress, you knew it wasn’t just about the dress.

“I love it,” you told him, and it was true—about the gift, the day, the way he made you feel like you were the center of the universe without ever asking for it.

He lifted his glass, the sunlight catching in the pale wine. “To you,” he said simply, and somehow those two words carried more weight than any speech ever could.

His hand found yours across the table, his thumb brushing lazy circles against your skin. It was a habit of his, that small touch, but you knew it was also his way of speaking when words fell short. You sipped your wine, the sea breeze tugging at your hair, and in that moment you realized—he wasn’t just celebrating your birthday. He was celebrating you.

Later, as the sun bled pink and gold across the sky, Drew leaned in close, his voice low, meant only for you. “Every year, every day—I want it to feel like this. Just you and me.”

And you believed him. Because with him, even the smallest things became extraordinary. Even birthdays—something you never cared for—suddenly felt like something you wanted to live a hundred times over, as long as he was there to make the wish with you.