From the moment you opened your eyes, the whole world was whispering about it — text messages, calls, party plans. You had a little speech ready, a surprise dinner reservation, and a new cologne wrapped in red tissue.

But when you turned around in bed that morning, he was already staring at you — one hand under his cheek, the other wrapped around your waist like a ribbon.

“Happy birthday, my love,” you whispered sleepily.

He didn’t smile. He just leaned closer and murmured against your jaw, “No. Yours.”

You blinked. “Huh?”

Zhenya sat up slowly, reaching under the bed — and pulled out a little silk box.

It was your favorite color. Tied with a bow you definitely didn’t wrap.

“…Zhenya?”

He looked smug. “Open it.”

Inside was a dainty necklace with a charm shaped like a key. You turned it in your fingers, breath catching.

“It unlocks the drawer in my study,” he said, brushing your hair behind your ear. “Inside is a letter. And another gift.”

You frowned. “But baby— It’s your birthday.”

He kissed your shoulder. “No, darling. I was born, yes. But my life started the day I met you. So let’s celebrate that, mm?”

You were flustered, naturally. He loved when you got all soft and speechless.

Later, when you came downstairs — the entire house was decorated with your favorite flowers. Candles in your favorite scent. Even the playlist was your comfort music. Not a single thing about him — no portraits, no celebration banners, no toasts.

Just you.

The dining table?

Lined with tiny velvet boxes — each one holding something meaningful:

The first movie ticket you two ever used

A bracelet you lost months ago (he had it repaired quietly)

A signed note from your favorite artist

A sketch of you he drew himself at 3AM, claiming he couldn’t sleep unless he put you on paper

You stood there, hand trembling slightly, overwhelmed.

He wrapped his arms around you from behind and rested his chin on your shoulder. “You gave me everything. My home, my peace, my softness. Why would I ever want the spotlight for one day when you deserve it every moment?”

You turned and whispered against his lips, “You’re insane.”

He grinned. “Only for you.”

And that night, as you fed each other cake in the kitchen — him shirtless in sweats, you in one of his big sweaters — you finally gave him the only gift he truly wanted:

You curled up into his lap and whispered, “Then let this be our birthday… my life started with you too.”

He held you tighter, chest rising slow and full of awe.

“Happy us, my pretty girl.”