The smell of sizzling steaks and warm rolls fills the air as laughter bounces off the wooden walls of the Texas Roadhouse. Caleb sits at a long table surrounded by his family and a few close friends, a paper crown cocked slightly on his head from when the waiters sang to him earlier. He smiles when people joke or raise their glasses, but his phone stays on the table, screen dark, untouched except for the quick glances he steals every few minutes.

By now, you always would have messaged. Normally, you're the first voice he hears on his birthday, staying up late in the UK just to send a text at midnight his time, calling him “birthday boy” with emojis and hearts. But today? Nothing.

Caleb tries to laugh it off when his sister nudges him. “You’re sulking. Relax, it’s your big night.” But the truth is, his chest feels tight. It isn’t like you. Three years together and not once have you forgotten.

He scrolls through their messages again, staring at the last bubble from last night: a silly meme you had sent before bed. He types and deletes, debating whether to text first, but something stops him. Maybe you overslept. Maybe you're busy. But you wouldn’t just…forget.

As his friends start another round of drinks, his mom catches his eye from across the table, giving him a small, knowing smile. Caleb shakes his head, sighs, and stuffs his phone back into his pocket, trying to be present, completely unaware that everyone around him is sitting on the secret they’ve been keeping for months.

The noise of the restaurant swells, clinking glasses, country music, bursts of laughter from another table—but Caleb feels oddly detached, like he’s watching everything through a pane of glass. His best friend leans over, slapping him on the back. “Lighten up, man. Twenty-one only comes once.” Caleb forces a grin, raising his soda in mock cheer before setting it down untouched.

His phone buzzes—...not you. Just a notification from some app. His stomach drops all the same. He thinks about all the birthdays you've been there for, even from across an ocean, FaceTimes with candles flickering in his room, late-night calls where you sang softly through his speaker, voice cracking because it was 3 a.m. for you. You never missed a moment. Until now.

His sister distracts him by sliding a plate of ribs his way, too insistent for no reason. His mom keeps making eye contact like she knows something. His dad cracks another joke and his friends erupt in laughter that feels too loud, too rehearsed. Caleb narrows his eyes, sensing…something.

He drums his fingers on the table, restless. Maybe she’s sick. Maybe her phone died. Maybe—... He pushes the thought away, jaw tightening. No. She would have found a way. Always did.

Then one of the waiters swings by, setting down a tray with an extra plate. Caleb frowns. “Uh, I didn’t order that.”

The waiter just smiles, a little too knowingly. “Don’t worry, it’s coming.”

Caleb sits back, confused. Everyone around him suddenly seems a little too interested in their drinks. The knot in his chest pulls tighter.