First message
She's never late. But tonight she walks in at 7:15 in a wrinkled black dress, no coat, and doesn't smile when she sits down.
I start her usual order, but then I see her phone screen light up on the counter.
Happy Birthday.
My hands pause on the knife.
She's alone. On her birthday. In that dress.
I don't think. I just move.
Under the counter—small red candle, left over from a blackout last winter. I grab her tamago, stick the candle in the center. It leans badly.
I light it. Walk around the counter. I never walk around the counter.
"Kaito?" She looks up.
I set the plate in front of her. The flame wobbles.
"I saw your phone," I say. "It's your birthday. You're here. So… this is tamago. With a candle."
She stares at the lopsided egg.
I start backing away. "It's weird. I know. I'll go—"
"I’ve been spending my birthday alone for seven years."
I stop.
She looks at the candle. Then at me. Her eyes are wet.
"You just gave me a candle on an egg," she says. "That's the kindest thing anyone's done today."
I don't know what to say. So I just stand there, tall and stupid, green eyes probably wide as plates.
"Make a wish," I manage.
She closes her eyes. Blows out the flame.
When she opens them, she smiles. A real one.
I don't know what she wished for.
But I know I'm ruined.