Rhea had fallen asleep without meaning to.
She lay curled on her bed, one leg bent, the other stretched out, bare legs exposed beneath an oversized shirt that had slipped off one shoulder. Her phone lay facedown near her pillow, silent for hours now. The room was dim, curtains half-drawn, the clock on her nightstand ticking steadily toward midnight.
12:00 AM.
The knock came sharp and sudden.
Rhea stirred, blinking groggily. For a split second, her heart jumped—stupidly, instinctively.
Ling.
She pushed herself up, hair messy, still half-asleep, and padded to the door.
When she opened it—
Her mother stood there.
Kane Nior, perfectly composed, dressed neatly even at midnight.
And beside her—
Roin.
He held a small cake box, smiling like this was something warm. Planned. Allowed.
"Happy birthday," Kane said calmly.
Rhea's eyes widened.
For a moment, everything else vanished.
"They remembered," she thought.
Her face lit up instantly—unguarded, soft, almost childlike.
"You…?" Rhea said, surprised. "Now?"
Kane's lips curved faintly. "I didn't want the day to start without acknowledging it."
Roin lifted the box slightly. "Thought we'd surprise you."
Rhea stepped back quickly, letting them in. "Come—come inside."
They entered her room.
The light was turned on. The ordinary room swallowed the moment—no balloons, no candles beyond the single one stuck into the cake, no city lights, no grandeur.
But Rhea didn't notice.
She was smiling.
Roin set the cake on the desk and lit the candle. The tiny flame flickered weakly.
"Make a wish," he said.
Rhea clasped her hands instinctively.
She closed her eyes.
For just a second, an image flashed through her mind—dark eyes, quiet intensity, red roses, a voice saying lock your window.
Her chest tightened.
She blew out the candle anyway.
Kane watched her closely. "You seem distracted."
Rhea shook her head quickly. "No. Just tired."
Roin cut the cake, handing her the first slice. Their fingers brushed briefly.
Rhea didn't react—but she noticed.
And somewhere deep inside, something twisted.
Because she hadn't expected this.
And worse—
She had expected someone else.
She took the plate, smiling politely, trying to convince herself that this was enough. That this counted. That this was normal.
But as she sat on the edge of her bed, cake untouched in her hands, the room felt strangely quiet.
Too quiet.
And far away—high above the city—an apartment full of light, flowers, and obsession waited.
Unseen.
Unanswered.
And ticking past midnight.
Kane's voice cut gently through Rhea's thoughts.
"We've got more."
Rhea looked up, confused. "More?"
Kane tilted her head toward the door. "The hall."
Rhea hesitated only a second before standing. She followed them out, bare feet soft against the floor, oversized shirt brushing her thighs. The house was quiet, lights dimmed low.
As they reached the hall, Kane flicked the switch.
Warm light flooded the space.
It wasn't extravagant—but it was deliberate.
The hall had been decorated neatly: soft ribbons draped along the railing, a modest spread of balloons clustered near the walls, fairy lights strung cleanly across the ceiling. At the center stood a large cake—carefully made, layered, decorated with her name written in neat script.
Rhea's breath caught.
"Oh," she said softly.
Then she smiled.
It wasn't the sharp, defensive smile she wore at university.
It was real.
She laughed lightly, a sound that surprised even her. "You actually did all this?"
Kane watched her closely. "Of course. You thought I'd forget?"
Rhea shook her head, still smiling. "No… I just didn't expect—this."
Roin stepped closer, grinning. "You should've seen her face," he teased. "Worth every second."
He reached behind the table and picked up a wrapped box. Simple, tasteful wrapping. Nothing excessive.
"For the birthday girl," he said, handing it to her.
Rhea took it. "You didn't have to."
"But I wanted to," Roin replied easily.
She opened it slowly.
Inside was a bracelet—delicate, understated, silver with a small charm. Nothing loud. Nothing claiming.
Rhea smiled again. "It's pretty."
Roin leaned against the table. "Didn't think you'd like anything flashy."
She slipped it onto her wrist. It fit perfectly.
"Sit," Kane said. "You look exhausted."
Rhea did as she was told, sitting on the couch.
The lights reflected softly in her eyes as she laughed again at something Roin said—something silly, unimportant. The kind of teasing that didn't demand anything back.
Yet even as she smiled, her fingers brushed the empty pocket of her shirt instinctively.
Her phone wasn't there.
She hadn't checked it since earlier.
A strange tightness settled in her chest.
Just… absence.
She shook it off quickly, forcing herself to stay present.
Kane observed everything—the smile, the pauses, the way Rhea's gaze drifted for half a second too long toward the staircase.
Kane said calmly. "It's your birthday."
Rhea nodded. "Yeah."
Laughed again.
And told herself this was enough.
That warmth didn't have to be overwhelming to count.
But somewhere, unspoken and unacknowledged, a quieter truth lingered—
Some lights were brighter than others.
And once you'd seen them, even a gentle glow could feel like it was missing something.