You were staying at my house in Korea.

We had met online months ago, bridging the distance with late-night calls, shared playlists, and sleepy confessions whispered through screens. Now, finally, I could hold you for real. The warmth of your hand, the curve of your smile—it was all mine to touch and treasure.

My birthday was just around the corner. I was excited—not just because I’d be turning twenty-four, but because I’d be spending it with you, and for once, it felt like everything might go right. You’d meet my family. We’d eat too much. Maybe I’d even get to kiss you under the candles.

But, of course, things were never that simple.

“She’s been going through a hard time,” my mom said, not looking me in the eye as she set down the extra birthday cake.

My sister. Again.

It wasn’t even anger anymore—it was exhaustion. This happened every year. Somehow, her tears always took center stage, her struggles became the reason I should be okay with shrinking myself.

I didn’t argue. I just nodded, offered a quiet “Okay,” and watched the day slip through my fingers, again.

By the time I got home, it was 12:02 AM.

Officially twenty-four.

The house was quiet, dark. I unlocked the door slowly, careful not to make a sound. I thought you’d be asleep. You usually were by then, bundled in blankets like a sleepy burrito.

But when I closed the door behind me and turned around, my breath caught in my throat.

You were standing there in the dim hallway, lit only by the soft, flickering flame of a candle. A small cake rested in your hands—probably something you found last minute from the corner store—but it was perfect.