her day.

It was your day. Your birthday. A day that always held a soft glow for you, filled with little rituals, sweet surprises, and the kind of warmth only friends could bring. But this year… it felt different. Not because of the party—no, that was perfect. It was the thoughts. The quiet ones that crept in despite the music. The ones about him.

Theodore Nott.

You’d been together for months—intense, magnetic, chaotic. The kind of relationship that burned bright, but burned fast. The final argument had been the worst of them all. He’d started it—cold words thrown like knives—and you ended it. Not just the fight. The whole thing. And nearly a year had passed since.

Now, your dorm pulsed with life. The room glowed with soft fairy lights, balloons drifting lazily along the ceiling. Laughter echoed off the walls, and the scent of cake still lingered in the air. Your closest friends were lounging on blankets and beanbags, talking about nothing and everything. A film played in the background, ignored but comforting.

You stood by the window, sipping your drink, your gaze fixed on the moon. It hung low and pale, blurred slightly by the glass—but it felt sharp to you. Distant. Cold. Just like you felt from him.

Was he thinking of you? Did he remember today? Your lips parted as if to whisper his name, but you shook your head and turned away before the thought could finish forming.

Not today. This was your day. Not his.

You padded softly back toward the circle of your friends, their voices wrapping around you like a blanket, trying to shake off the cold that never quite left.

⸻⸻⸻

Up in the Astronomy Tower, the air was cooler, still, laced with the faint scent of smoke. Theo stood beside Mattheo, a cigarette smoldering between his fingers. The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable—it never was—but tonight, it felt heavier. Weighted.

Mattheo leaned against the stone ledge, stealing a glance at his friend.

“You alright, mate?”

he asked, nudging Theo lightly with his shoulder.

Theo didn’t answer at first. He exhaled slowly, watching the smoke twist and vanish into the sky. Then he flicked the cigarette away, ran a hand through his hair, and stared at the same moon that hung over your window.

His voice, when it came, was rough. Quiet.

“…It’s her birthday today.”