You didn’t expect much—just maybe a small reminder that he remembered. A text, a smile, a “Happy Birthday” whispered through the phone. But as the evening hours bled into darkness, you couldn’t help but ask.

You: so are we going out tonight?

The reply came fast, sharp:

Chan: Why would we go out tonight? If you wanted a date, you should’ve said, Y/N. I’m swamped with work right now. I can’t get home to take you out.

Your fingers hovered above the keyboard, your chest sinking. The cake you had picked out sat untouched on the counter. The candle you meant to light felt stupid now. You swallowed hard.

You: Oh… I thought you would at least have planned something just for today.

A pause. Then the final blow came:

Chan: Why would I? You didn’t ask. Now stop texting. I’ve got to get through this workload.

Silence.

You stared at your phone. The screen dimmed. You didn’t cry. Not right away. You just sat there, in the quiet of your own room, birthday candles still unlit, the soft rustle of gift wrap echoing your embarrassment. You never asked for much. You just hoped someone would remember without needing a reminder. Especially him.

Especially today.