The next day at university, everyone was unusually relaxed.
Phones in hand.Feet stretched out.Laughs drifting lazily through the classroom.
It felt… normal.
Amara suddenly looked up from her screen.
"Hey—my birthday is coming soon. Everyone has to come."
Adam straightened.
"Well when is it? Gotta give me time to buy you a better gift."
Amara laughed.
"August nineteenth."
Adam blinked.
"Oh—day after tomorrow? Perfect. I'll be there."
The group instantly lit up.
Decorations.Cake flavors.Venue ideas.
Everyone started talking at once.
Nyx stayed quiet.
Her eyes were fixed on the pages of her book, but she wasn't reading.
Something inside her had gone still.
Then Amara turned toward them.
"Well… Adam, Lyra, Nyx—tell your birthdays too. We'll plan everything in advance."
Adam grinned.
"Mine's December eighth. Can't wait for surprises. I'll treat you all."
Amara beamed.
"We always give the best surprises."
She turned to Lyra.
"Yours?"
Lyra smiled softly.
"June fourteenth."
Amara nodded and finally looked at Nyx.
"And you, Nyx?"
Nyx lifted her eyes.
Every single face was on her.
She answered flatly.
"Not necessary."
Amara frowned gently.
"Come on, Nyx."
Nyx closed her book.
"It's just a normal day. I don't like celebrating."
There was something in her voice—sharp, final.
An uncomfortable silence settled.
She stood up.
"Amara, I'll show up for your birthday. But for now… I'm taking my leave."
Lucien looked at her.
He didn't stop her.
He already knew.
She needed space.
Nyx walked out.
Behind her, Amara whispered to Lyra,
"She never told me her birthday either."
Lyra sighed.
"I tried once. Even checked her old school ID… she'd covered the date with a sticker. It's like she never wants to be seen."
Adam stared at Nyx's retreating back.
So did Lucien.
Neither said a word.
Nyx didn't go to the library.
She walked past it.
Past the main building.
Straight to the quiet backyard of the university.
She sat beneath a tree, pulled out her phone.
August 17.
Tomorrow.
Her birthday.
She exhaled slowly.
So it's here again.
Her fingers tightened around the phone.
She leaned her head back.
The sky looked painfully ordinary.
Her parents were killed on her birthday.
She had been nine.
Nine years old.
She hadn't even understood what death meant.
People told her later.
She didn't remember crying.
She didn't remember screaming.
She barely remembered them.
And that hurt more than anything.
How strange was it?
Everyone celebrated being born.
She marked the day her world ended.
She had never wanted happiness on that date.
It felt disrespectful.
Wrong.
Her parents died that day.
How could she smile?
How could she cut cake?
How could she accept wishes?
She didn't want midnight surprises.
Didn't want candles.
Didn't want people treating her like she was special.
She was just a girl.
Antisocial.
Quiet.
With one real friend.
And even that friend had many others.
If I disappear, she thought, she'll be fine.
The thought hollowed her chest.
Her throat tightened.
Memories surfaced in fragments.
Tiny wrapped gifts.Her mother brushing her hair.Her father lifting her onto his shoulders.
After that?
Nothing.
She had no childhood.
No photos.
No laughter stored away in her mind.
Just training.Pain.Silence.
How sad was that?
Her hands trembled.
She pressed them together.
She wouldn't cry.
She hadn't cried in ten years.
But her chest hurt.
Badly.
She closed her eyes.
Tomorrow would come.
And she would survive it.
Like she always did.