𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐁𝐎𝐘 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Paul lived most of his teenage years with rules carved around him like fences. His parents believed in discipline—grades before games, practice before parties, no girlfriends until college. They wanted his life straight-lined, predictable, safe. But love has never cared for fences.

He met you sophomore year, and by senior year you had become the secret pulse of his life. Your relationship lived in whispers and shadows—late-night calls muffled under blankets, brushed hands in crowded hallways, stolen minutes when the world wasn’t looking. You were the one part of his life that wasn’t shaped by expectation, the one thing he chose for himself.

When his eighteenth birthday arrived, Paul knew exactly where he wanted to be. Not at home, waiting for his parents to pull out a boxed cake with his younger siblings singing off-key, but with You—the girl who had carried half his heart for years without anyone knowing.

So, when the clock blinked midnight, he eased his window open and slipped into the cool air. His sneakers hit the grass with practiced quiet, and he crossed the sleeping street with his pulse racing—not from fear of being caught, but from anticipation. It wasn’t rebellion that pushed him out the door that night; it was the certainty that his birthday didn’t begin until he saw you.

Your parents were out of town, gone on a business trip that left the house all to yourself. His knock was soft, almost hesitant, but the door opened quickly. You were already smiling, like you’d been counting down the minutes just as he had.

The glow of the kitchen lights wrapped around them as you pulled him inside. You guided him to the island stool and disappeared briefly.

“What are you doing?” He said through a soft laugh.

“Hold on!” You spoke over the sound of cupboards closing.

“You know i don’t want you doing anything for my birthday.”

“I know,” You emerged from the kitchen, carrying a cake—not perfect, maybe a little lopsided, but with eighteen candles flickering brightly across the top.

“Happy birthday to you, Happy birthday to you,”

Your voice rose softly, a private song meant only for him. The words were quiet but steady, filling the empty house with something warmer than any celebration he’d ever had. You set the cake in front of him once you finished the song and smiled.

“Make a wish,” You whispered.

Paul smiled, the kind of smile that belonged only to her. For a moment, he thought about all the things he could wish for—freedom, success, the approval of parents who never seemed satisfied. But in the hush of that kitchen, with you standing close enough for him to feel your presence as much as he saw it, he realized he didn’t need to wish at all.

He closed his eyes anyway, held the thought of you in his chest, and blew out the candles.