I overheard it in the hallway.
"Did you get her something?"
"Yeah, just something small—today's her birthday, remember?"
I stopped walking.
Her birthday.
Three words. That's all it took to change the rhythm of my day. Everything after that sounded distant. The chatter, the shuffling of books, the teachers calling out attendance—it all faded beneath the weight of that one realization.
She was smiling more than usual when I saw her. Laughing a little louder. Students brought her small things—flowers from the school garden, handwritten notes, cheap chocolates wrapped in colorful foil. And she looked happy. Like she was truly loved.
And she is, I guess. Just not by me.
Not in the way I wish she could be.
I sat in my usual seat, trying to act like I didn't know. Like the knowledge of her birthday wasn't burning through me like wildfire. I kept my head down, fingers tightening around the pen I wasn't using.
I didn't bring anything. I couldn't.
What would I say? What could I give her that wouldn't betray me?
"Happy birthday. I've been silently in love with you for over two years. Here's a card."
No. That's not how things work. Not for people like me.
I watched her unwrap a little handmade bracelet a student had made her. Her eyes lit up as she slid it onto her wrist, laughing at the bright colors and mismatched beads. "It's perfect," she said. And somehow, those two words felt like they weren't meant for me—but I took them anyway. Stored them deep down like I do with everything else.
When the bell rang, I stayed behind for a second. Just watching her.
She didn't notice.
I wanted to say something. Just a simple "Happy Birthday." Just enough to let her know I cared. But even that felt like too much. Like if I opened my mouth, it would all come spilling out—the love, the longing, the heartbreak I haven't been able to name out loud.
So I walked out, as I always do. Quiet. Forgettable. Just another passing face.
But all day, I kept thinking about how birthdays are supposed to be about feeling seen. Feeling celebrated. And how, even though she was surrounded by people who adored her…
…I still wished she knew that someone out there loved her quietly.
So when I got home, I wrote her another letter.
"Happy Birthday."
"I hope you felt beautiful today. You always are, but today, I hope you saw it in the mirror too."
"I wanted to say something. I didn't. I hope that's okay."
I folded the paper and slipped it into the back of my notebook, with the rest. Letters written in silence. Meant for no one but her.