Novel & Cerita Death Happy Birthday

Ten years later But I, I'm in love (love, love, love, love) With my future And you don't know her And I, I'm in love (love, love) But not with anybody here I'll see you in a couple years Billie Elish Dear diary I didn't die Instead,I got reborn and life isn't unbearable anymore I am happier than ever I am happy I deserve to be happy "You're spacing out again love " "I'm processing my thoughts so leave me alone"

Hazel raised her eyebrows, not afraid or panicked, but instead smiled brightly. "Mr. Jack, who would be foolish to seek death? I haven't had enough of life yet, why would I want to die?" She blinked a few times. "By the way, today is your birthday. It's not very nice to say these things, right?" Jack chuckled, seeming to be in a better mood. "You know it's my birthday." "I know." Hazel shrugged. "I even organized your birthday party myself. Unfortunately, you didn't come."

Chapter Forty-Three: Surprise Gone Wrong The day Daphne has been waiting for has arrived. Treyton's birthday. His parents were right that he might forget his birthday, and that's exactly what happened. Treyton goes to work without remembering his day. And because of that, Daphne smiled even more, because that only meant that she would be able to properly plan her surprise for his birthday.

Fellow agents smile at me, looking a bit silly with birthday hats on top of their formal suits. Not having noticed Cade leaving my side, I see him bringing in a tall chocolate truffle cake with the words, “Happy Birthday Hira,” written in red. Coming to a stop before me, he whispers, “Happy Birthday, love.” “Thank you, you shouldn’t have,” celebrating your birthday is useless when you know that anytime, you’ll die. “Who says agents can't celebrate their birthday?” The lights flickered from the glowing yellow to dim blue light as the music began playing through the speakers that surround the room, everyone shuffles around.

I know that magic is just an illusion, a trick. Dusting my clothes, I made my way toward my team. They had now assembled themselves in one place, their eyes still holding surprise, and I could guess that they were waiting for me to explain. The crowds were as silent as a graveyard. They weren't making any of their stupid noises, and I am sure they were still trying to recover from the shock of seeing me again. That made me remember a story in the Bible that our Sunday school teacher told us about. It was the story of a man named Lazarus who was resurrected from the dead. The only difference between us is that I have been dead for two months, or should I say suffering and wandering around an

Early the next morning, I received a message from an unfamiliar number. "My dad's 50th birthday is at noon today. Don't forget. "Remember to bring a gift. Something small is fine." My expression was indifferent. I wrapped Grandma's urn in a piece of red cloth, pinned a black armband to my sleeve, and left the old house. When I arrived at the Hayes family gate, I was about to walk in when someone stopped me. "You there. The kitchen is swamped. Go help out."

But not from fear. "What happened to her? If I may ask?” I was already asking though. He shrugged. But his shrug was too quick. Too practiced. "She died, on our birthday, from a fire outbreak.” He said slowly. And strangely, I felt really bad to hear him, like my heart was shattered. Like the pain was mine. Like I had lost someone too. I didn't know why my eyes were stinging. "I'm so sorry about that.” I said slowly. He nodded and looked away. His jaw was tight. His breathing uneven.

On the same day, my dad had orchestrated his "death" I realized I had been given a second chance to change my fate. Leaping out of bed, I fumbled for my phone to hail a cab. "Alice, cover for me in class. I need to head home." In my previous life, the "attack" had hit at 10:30 a.m. My mom had crumpled under the news. By the time she came to and reached me, Hank Cook's remains were already a pile of ash. I barreled home from campus, but the grim news hadn't broken yet.

I unlocked my phone, and it buzzed to life with a flood of messages from every chat app, all congratulating me on the new drug's successful first phase. Keira had gone wild in the group chats, tagging me nonstop and sending digital gift cards like confetti. But as I scrolled through the flood of praise and flattery, not a spark of joy stirred in me. I stayed in bed for a long time, lost in a haze of thoughts. Finally, I grabbed the divorce papers and dragged myself out of the room. The living room was empty. Keira was nowhere in sight. On the coffee table sat a ticket to a concert by my favorite singer, Tyler Combs. Next to it was a sticky note in her familiar handwriting.

I could not even remember how. At the very least, I should thank him for serving as our first lab rat and providing such valuable data. … That night, the hospital informed me that he had killed himself shortly after I left by drinking a bottle of sanitizer. They pronounced him dead soon after. I gave a noncommittal "mm-hmm" and told the hospital to handle the body. His funeral was simple: no ceremony, no pomp, no ritual, not even a single guest. I watched as they lowered him into the grave.