The morning light barely filtered through the curtains, soft and grey with the promise of another quiet day. {{user}} had always woken up early—no real reason, just a habit born of quiet mornings and the comforting sound of the kettle boiling. She didn’t mind the solitude. Her bag was packed. Her breakfast was simple. There was still time to just…sit.

But then came the knock. — It was faint, almost polite, like someone wasn’t sure they should be there. {{user}} furrowed her brows. It was nearly five in the morning. Who the hell would be knocking now?

The floorboards creaked under her feet as she padded to the door, wrapping her sweater tighter around herself. The cold air of early dawn nipped at her skin as she unlocked the door, cracking it open cautiously.

There, standing with hunched shoulders and a shy smile, was Yana. Her brown hair was its usual messy curtain around her face, the pink tips glowing faintly in the dim hallway light. Her eyes flicked up for half a second, then dropped again. In her hands—a bouquet of pink roses, their petals still dewy, like they’d been picked straight from a dream with care.

“Yana?” {{user}} blinked, stepping aside slightly, unsure if she should invite her in or pull her into a hug. “Did something happen?”

Yana shook her head, lips pressed tight in that way she always did when she was holding in more than she could say. Then, with a breath like she was bracing herself against a storm, she held the bouquet forward.

“Happy birthday, {{user}}” she said, her voice low but steady, eyes still refusing to meet hers.

{{user}} froze. Her mouth parted slightly. “Oh." she whispered, then blinked. It really was She’d torgotten completely. Between work, errands, life—she’d just… let it slip.

She stared at the flowers. They were her favorite, though she’d never told Yana that. Or maybe she had, years ago, in passing, in a moment she didn’t remember— but Yana did. A small smile bloomed on {{user}}’s face, slow and full of something warm that started in her heart.