YOU SWAN , HE FROG !

6

James stood on the balcony for a good half hour. When he finally returned to the living room, coldness radiating off him, his face had darkened even further. He stared at his phone for a few seconds before throwing it onto the couch in frustration. 

With long strides, he made his way to the fridge and pulled out a frozen apple pie—one I had made and saved for later. Expressionless, he defrosted it, baked it, and then sat at the dining table, quietly eating slice after slice, head down, focused. 

The greyish smoke from his cigarette hovered around his brows, making his features appear even more distant and cold. 

Watching him quietly eat the pie, a thought suddenly flashed through my mind: maybe James did care about me, after all. 

I was both surprised and enlightened. 

Technically speaking, today wasn't even James' real birthday. His true birthday was a week ago. But five years ago, on that day, his grandmother passed away, and Emma left him. Ever since, James no longer wanted to celebrate his birthday. 

It was my idea to move his birthday back by a week. And every year, I would be the one making a big fuss, insisting on celebrating for him. 

As an orphan, my birthday had always been the happiest time of the year for me in the orphanage. I just wanted him to experience a little of that joy too. 

The first time I celebrated his birthday, I secretly spent months learning how to play his favorite game, planning to stay up all night finishing it with him. But by 2 a.m., I had fallen asleep on his lap. When I woke up, I looked up to see James, arms crossed, his cool expression softened by a faint smile. "All-nighter?" he teased. 

The second time, I cooked an entire feast, but the only thing that turned out right was the apple pie. He ate everything though, and even complimented me—something rare for the normally quiet James. I puffed out my chest proudly, "It's good for your heart. Apple pie's healthy, so I learned how to make it just for you." 

He had stared at me for a long time then. "Annie, why are you so good to me?" 

I smiled. "Because I like you! I really, really like you." 

Before I could say anything more, James had cupped my face and kissed me. 

James was always one to hide his emotions, but that night was the first time I felt something raw and intense from him. And then, things moved to the bed. 

We were both so inexperienced, carefully exploring each other. But later, it was as if he instinctively knew what to do, gripping my waist, his dark eyes reflecting my tear-streaked face. 

He was silent but relentless, all through the night. 

Turns out, persistence does pay off. By the third and fourth birthdays, James had quietly accepted my efforts to celebrate. 

Looking back, these five years of being by his side every day—giving him my all—must have left some kind of mark on him.