A Birthday to Forget - Short Story

In this emotional heartbreak story about love and regret, a girl receives a final kiss and goodbye from the one who loved her most, on her birthday. As the weight of her choices hits her, she’s left to confront the silence of what remains unsaid.

They say birthdays are for balloons, candles, and wishes. But that day, mine felt like a silent funeral. I was dressed in smiles but grieving something I couldn’t quite name.

He arrived just after sunset, carrying a tiny cheesecake—my favorite. He had that crooked smile he wore when he was nervous. A smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Photo by @danielacoberman on Pinterest.

Birthdays are supposed to be special, right? Full of cake, noise, laughter, and the people who matter. And, for me, he mattered. More than most.

“Happy birthday, idiot,” he said, nudging my arm like he always did. “You’ve officially entered the grandma zone.”

“Rude,” I grinned, smacking his shoulder. “But thank you.” I giggled like a child seeing bubbles for the first time. We sat, talked, joked like nothing had changed. But something had. I just didn’t know what yet.

Then, I asked. Stupidly, casually, with a smirk.

“So… what do you want from me today? It’s my birthday, after all. But, you get the gift. I am so happy that I will grant you one wish. Anything.”

That’s when he changed. He went still. Like someone had just hit pause on his soul.

I watched him closely. His eyes didn’t dart around. He didn’t laugh it off like I expected. He looked at me—straight through me.

And then came the words. Soft. Barely a whisper. But sharp enough to slice me in half.

“Please kiss me for the last time… and forget that I ever existed.”

I blinked. Then I laughed, awkwardly. “Haha. Good one. What, are we doing tragic movie lines now?”

He said nothing. Just stared. Still. Quiet.

“…Wait, you’re joking, right?”

His silence stretched longer than my breath. Still nothing. No smile. No laugh. Just… heartbreak in his eyes.

I felt a flicker of something sharp in my chest. However, I brushed it away and stood up.

“What the hell is this, huh? You seriously picked my birthday to pull this melodramatic crap? What is this, a test?”

He didn’t flinch. My voice rose. I couldn’t help it.

“You’re spoiling my day. Do you even realize that? What kind of person does this? You come here, you look me in the eye, and say that?”

Still, nothing. Just pain in his eyes. A silent, aching storm.

“I don’t get you,” I snapped. “You’ve been there for me through everything. You were the only constant in my mess of a life. And now you just—what—want to vanish?”

His lips parted slightly, like he might speak. But he didn’t. Just stared.

And that stare—God, that stare—it broke something inside me.

I felt the fury drain from my veins, leaving behind only a hollow ache.

Because in his silence, I finally saw it: He wasn’t trying to hurt me. He was already hurt. Deeply. Quietly. For far too long.

My voice cracked. “Is this because I… never really chose you?”

His eyes welled up, but he didn’t nod. He didn’t need to.

It all came crashing down in that moment. All the nights he waited for a reply. All the times he watched me chase people who didn’t care. All the love he gave so effortlessly, expecting nothing in return.

He had hoped. And I had let him.

And now… he was done hoping.

I took a shaky breath, stepping closer. “You really want this?” I whispered. “A kiss... goodbye?”

He nodded once. Just once. The bravest act I’d ever seen.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and leaned in. Our foreheads touched, and I felt him exhale—a long, trembling sigh like he was finally letting me go.

Our lips met—soft, slow, and devastating.

Source: Pinterest

And in that kiss, I saw it all. His love. His pain. The version of us that could’ve been, if only I had seen him sooner.

When I pulled away, tears blurred everything. I held his face in my hands, my heart splitting.

“Goodbye…,” I whispered. “Happy birthday to me, huh?”

He smiled, bittersweet.

And just like that, he walked away.

I wanted to scream I love you. But I didn’t. Some truths, once spoken, change everything. Some are meant to ache in silence.

He disappeared down the hallway, and the door clicked shut. Just like that… he was gone.

I stood there for a moment, numb. Frozen. Like my body hadn't registered that he'd actually left.

Then, I sat down. Right where we’d laughed an hour ago. In front of the cheesecake he brought. My favorite. Still untouched.

The candles had melted down to stubs. The room smelled faintly of sugar and loss.

I was still in my birthday dress—soft lavender, flowy, pretty. I’d curled my hair, worn my best heels, even dabbed a little perfume behind my ears. 

I wanted to feel special tonight. Now, all I felt was hollow.

My makeup was ruined. Mascara streaks painted my cheeks like ink bleeding down pages of a story that should’ve gone another way. I touched my face and stared at my fingers, black with kohl. The same way his shirts used to be, back when he’d hug me while I cried over someone else.

And that’s what broke me.

Not that he left. But that he had waited. Waited for so long, loving me in silence. Hoping I’d look back and finally see him standing there.

I never really did. And when I did—it was too late.

The sobs came hard and fast. The kind you can’t control, the kind that scratch your throat and burn your chest. I curled into myself, arms around my knees, and cried until I could barely breathe.

I cried for the missed calls I never returned. For the half-hearted replies. For every time I made him feel small while he gave me everything.

I cried because he loved me in ways I never deserved. And I never once told him how much it meant. I took him for granted.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered into the silence. But it was too late for sorry.

The room felt colder somehow. Or maybe that was just the emptiness he left behind.

The birthday messages kept buzzing on my phone. Notifications. Emojis. Wishes from people who didn’t really know me. And yet the one person who did—the one who mattered—was gone.

Gone, not angry. Not bitter.

Just… finished.

I wiped my face with trembling hands and looked at the tiny cheesecake again.

There were two forks. He always brought two forks.

I picked one up, took a bite, and let the sweetness melt on my tongue, mingling with the salt of my tears.

It tasted like goodbye.

Source: Pinterest

I kept eating it in tiny bites. It was as if chewing would somehow distract me from the ache inside. But every bite reminded me of him. Of how he always remembered the little things.

How he’d ask for extra whipped cream because “You always complain there’s never enough.”

The guilt crept in like a storm. Not because he left… but because he had every right to.

How many times had he shown up for me without being asked?

How many times did he pick up the pieces I shattered in my own chaos?

And I…

I’d made him wait in the rain.

I’d offered breadcrumbs when he gave me feasts.

I thought he'd always be there. Silly, selfish me.

I sat there, in my birthday dress, eating the last of the cheesecake and mourning the love I never truly learned how to receive.