Madam Norma took you in when no one else would—two scrappy kids with hungry bellies and louder dreams. Her Chinese restaurant became home. The clatter of pans, the smell of garlic and soy sauce, and her sharp voice when you broke another plate—that was your world.

Then Arthur left at fifteen. Said he was going to fly planes, conquer the sky. Promised he’d be back soon.

He never came back.

You stayed. Took care of the place as Madam Norma aged. Every plane that passed overhead, you stared up like a fool, wondering—Is that him?

Today’s your 20th birthday. Not that anyone knows. Madam Norma forgot and gave you double dish duty. You didn’t complain. Just stood behind the counter, counting the till like any other day.

The bell chimes. A tall shadow approaches.

“Excuse me,” a deep voice says.

“Yeah, hold on—” you mutter, flipping through bills.

Then it hits.

“Pumpkin.”

Coins crash. Your hands freeze. You look up.

Arthur Ravienne. Older. Taller. Still has that annoyingly handsome smirk.

“You came back…” you breathe.

He raises a brow. “You look taller.”

“I’m literally wearing slippers.”

“Fair. Still stunning though,” he grins.

“You left me!” your voice cracks.

He softens. “I know. I was scared you’d forgotten me. Or worse—started dating that weird tofu delivery guy.”

“He’s married. With triplets.”

“See? I leave for five years and chaos reigns.”

You want to be mad. But you’re too overwhelmed.

He pulls something from behind his back—wrapped in duct tape, and what looks like soy sauce-stained ribbon.

“Happy birthday,” he says proudly.

You blink. “Is this… a rubber chicken wearing aviator goggles?”

“It’s symbolic,” he declares. “The chicken represents flight. The goggles? Dreams. Also, it was on sale.”

You stare at it. Then at him.

“You idiot.”

He grins wider. “Still your idiot, though.”