Happy Birthday, Elara

I came home to find a few parcels waiting at my door. The moment I saw them, I knew exactly from whom they were.

Balancing the boxes in my arms, I unlocked the door and stepped into my small one-bedroom apartment. I closed the door behind me with my foot and set the packages down on the sofa. With a tired sigh, I slipped off my coat and tossed my bag and keys onto the coffee table.

I was exhausted, but curiosity got the better of me. I already knew these were from my parents. Of course, they’d sent me a birthday gift. They never missed a year.

Inside the largest box were two smaller ones, labeled in familiar handwriting: one from Mom and one from Dad (you’ll know which one’s which). I couldn’t help but laugh, imagining them bickering over what to get me until they finally gave up and bought separate gifts.

I opened Mom’s first. Inside was a delicate necklace: thin, simple, understated. Exactly my style. She always remembered I preferred minimal jewelry. As I held it up to the light, a sudden wave of emotion hit me. My eyes welled up. I fastened it around my neck immediately and snapped a quick selfie to send her. She’d be thrilled. Along with it, she sent me some of her handmade bread, her famous homemade raspberry jam, a jar of honey, a jar of pickled vegetables, and a vacuum-sealed beef jerky.

Next came Dad’s gift. I laughed out loud when I saw it: a white mug with bold letters that read, “World’s Best Daughter.” Classic Dad. He’s always been terrible at gift-giving, and somehow that made this silly mug even more perfect.

I could already picture it. Tomorrow morning, I’d make my coffee in it, send him a photo, and wait for his proud reply: “See? Told you she’d like it.” And Mom, no doubt, would scoff and say, “Oh, please. She’s just being polite.”

I chuckled softly, then fell quiet. God, I missed them. My throat tightened, and tears stung the corners of my eyes. It had been three months since I last saw them. I was already planning a visit in a couple of months—just needed to save up a little more. Sniffling, I wiped my eyes and turned my attention to the remaining two parcels.

I already knew who the next present was from. And I knew exactly what it was.

The label read: Happy reading, Elara! I hope you’ll like this month’s read. Enjoy! — Mr. Whitmore.

It wasn’t a birthday gift, at least not intentionally. It was a ritual. For the past eight years, without fail, Senior Mr. Whitmore has sent me a book on the 25th of every month (my birthday falls on October 25th). Always something new. Always something thoughtful. I hadn’t needed to buy a book for myself in years.

I was sure it was his assistant who handled the logistics, but only with his approval. That made it mean something more. I opened the parcel and smiled. Inside was a translated first edition of The Shadow of the Wind by Carlos Ruiz Zafón. He always sent me first editions when he could.

I held the book in my hands for a moment, running my fingers over the cover, a smile tugging at my lips. I’d be reading this one over the weekend. And for a while at least, I’d escape into someone else’s story.

The third parcel caught me off guard.

I hadn’t ordered anything, and I couldn’t think of anyone else who might be sending me a gift. It was smaller than the others, wrapped neatly, with a simple tag that read:

"Happy Birthday, Elara."

No sender’s name.

Curious, I opened it, and froze.

Inside was a bottle of perfume. Not just any perfume, but something luxurious, elegant… expensive. Nestled beside it was a folded note:

Happy birthday, Elara. I missed you so much. Hope to see you soon.

Love, Noah.

I gasped.

Noah.

He sent me a gift.

My heart skipped a beat, then quickened as if trying to catch up.

For a brief, dizzy moment, everything else: the divorce, Vivienne, the complicated ache I’d been carrying…faded. All that remained was his name written in ink and the scent of something familiar.

Yes, he had sent me gifts before, but always as Noah and Viv. Together.

This was different.

This was just from him.

And just as quickly as the excitement hit me, it vanished. A wave of guilt crashed over me, heavy and sharp.

What was I doing? Why was I getting so thrilled over a perfume, over him, when he had just gone through a divorce? And not just with anyone… with Viv. My best friend. Sure, we haven’t spoken in a while, and yes, life has gotten in the way, but that doesn’t mean she’s any less important to me.

God, how awful did I have to be to forget her so easily?

Since I heard about the divorce, all I’d been thinking about was Noah, what he must be feeling, what it all meant. Not once had Viv really crossed my mind. Shame burned in my chest as I set the perfume aside and grabbed my phone. I couldn’t just call her out of the blue; she’d think I was fishing for gossip or trying to be nosy. So, I did the only thing that felt right. I typed a simple message:

Hi, Viv.

It looked so small on the screen, so inadequate. But it was a start. I hadn’t realized how long it had been since we last talked, eight months. Eight months of silence. I’d buried myself so deep in work that I didn’t even notice time slipping past us.

I sighed and sank into the couch, the weight of everything settling on my shoulders.

How messy is this going to get?

I’d always been close with both of them. Noah and Viv. Viv and Noah. I was the one who stayed in touch with both, who kept it balanced. And now? Now I didn’t know where I stood. I didn’t want to pick sides. I couldn’t.

My eyes drifted to the perfume again. Part of me wanted to text Noah, too, to say thank you. Just a polite reply, nothing more. But I didn’t. It had taken me so long to move on from him. From the idea of him. And I was terrified that even a single message could pull me right back into that place. That version of me I’d fought so hard to leave behind.

So, I left the message unsent. And I left the perfume untouched.

After that, I took a long shower, ordered some Chinese takeout, and spent over an hour on the phone with my parents. I scrolled through my phone for a while, carefully avoiding anything related to Noah and Viv. I wasn’t in the mood to feed off the heartbreak of people I cared about. Before I knew it, it was late, and I had work in the morning. So, I turned off the lights and went to bed.

Just like that, my birthday slipped quietly into the background, blending in with every other ordinary day. But that’s okay. It’s just a birthday, after all. Just another day for the rest of the world… and me.