The apartment was too quiet.
Not peaceful.
Empty.
Nyx stood in the kitchen, staring at a small cupcake she had tried to decorate.
Chocolate.
The cream was uneven.
The edges messy.
She wiped her hands on her hoodie and let out a tiny breath.
She wasn't a chef.
Her mother used to bake perfect cakes.
She checked the time.
11:45 PM.
She carried the cupcake to the table.
Placed a single candle beside it.
Then slowly put down a photo frame.
Her parents.
Her.
She stared.
Her fingers hovered over the glass before finally touching it.
"I miss you," she whispered.
Her siblings were abroad.
They had called earlier.
Not to remember.
Just to talk.
They didn't mention Mom.
Didn't mention Dad.
Didn't mention the day.
They said they were busy.
Nyx didn't argue.
She had stopped expecting people to care.
She moved to light the candle—
Ding dong.
Her body went rigid.
She looked at the clock.
11:55 PM.
Her heartbeat rose instantly.
She grabbed her gun and walked quietly to the door.
Through the peephole—
A tall figure.
Masked.
Her finger tightened on the trigger.
She opened the door slowly.
"You don't plan on killing someone just before your birthday… do you?"
Her voice was sharp.
"Who are you? How do you know I live here? And how do you know it's my birthday?"
The person removed the mask.
Lucien.
Her breath left her lungs.
He gave a soft smile.
"Well. That reaction feels personal."
He lifted a cake box and flowers.
"That's a lot of questions. I kinda need to sit while answering. Can I come in?"
She stepped aside.
He walked in.
She closed the door.
She stared at the cake.
The chocolates.
The bouquet.
"You know I don't celebrate," she said quietly."What is all this?"
Lucien followed her gaze.
Then he saw the cupcake.
The candle.
The photo.
His smile faded.
"Oh…"
Her voice dropped.
"It's my parents' death anniversary."
He walked to her.
Slowly.
Carefully.
He took her hands.
"I didn't know," he said.
His grip was warm.
"I'm sorry."
She shook her head.
"It's not your fault."
He sat down.
Placed everything beside her small cupcake.
She stayed standing.
Lucien suddenly pulled her down beside him.
"Nyx."
She looked at him.
"Do you think your parents would want you sitting alone on the floor of grief every year?"
Her throat tightened.
"They loved your birthday."
Her chest hurt.
She remembered tiny ribbons in her hair.
Her dad lifting her so she could reach balloons.
Her mom kissing her forehead.
Eight years ago.
Nine years old.
Gunshots.
Blood.
Sirens.
Silence.
She swallowed hard.
"I stopped celebrating because they died that day."
Her voice cracked.
Lucien leaned closer.
"But they didn't die so you could erase yourself."
Her eyes burned.
"Think about it."
Her lips trembled.
"If they're watching you right now… what do you think hurts them more?"
She couldn't breathe.
Tears slid silently down her cheeks.
She folded her hands toward the photo.
"I'm sorry, Mom… Dad…"
Lucien whispered,
"Blow the candle for them."
She leaned forward.
Her breath shook.
She blew it out.
He opened the cake.
Her favorite flavor.
She stared.
"How did you know?"
He smiled faintly.
"I researched you. Found your birthday. Then called your sister pretending to be your friend."
Her voice broke.
"You didn't have to do all this."
He looked at her.
"Yes. I did."
Her eyes filled completely.
"I'm not special."
Lucien shook his head.
"You don't get to decide that."
He checked the clock.
11:59 PM.
"Ready?"
She nodded.
The second hand moved.
12:00.
They closed their eyes.
She blew the candle.
For the first time in eight years—
she wished for something.
They cut the cake.
She fed him a bite.
He fed her back.
Quiet.
Then he pulled out a small box.
She opened it.
Black dahlia.
Spider lily.
Her hands trembled.
"These are my favorites…"
He nodded.
"So is the bouquet."
She finally looked.
The same flowers.
Her voice was barely sound.
"Thank you."
He handed them to her.
"Smile."
She tried.
Failed.
He sighed.
"Okay. Let's take a photo."
They leaned together.
Click.
She whispered,
"When's your birthday?"
"January twenty-third."
She nodded.
"Long way."
He smirked.
"I'm older. Born 2007."
She raised an eyebrow.
"I know."
He froze.
"How?"
She gave a tiny smile.
"You're not the only stalker."
He laughed.
She watched him.
Then asked softly,
"What's your last wish?"
He answered without thinking.
"To see you smile."
Her voice broke.
"I forgot how."
He leaned closer.
"Then learn again."
She scoffed " I will smile when I am dying ".
so you want to prove that quote "die with a smile ".
he laughed while saying that.
she closed her eyes and
For the first time since she was nine—
she didn't feel alone.