One Day [PRN]

Two

I spent my 20th birthday alone. It wasn't how I'd imagined it. For weeks, I had thought about celebrating—maybe a night out with friends, maybe something quiet but special, something that marked the end of my teenage years and the start of something new. But as the day drew closer, I felt myself pulling away from all of that. I wasn't feeling well—nothing serious, just a lingering tiredness that settled deep in my bones, and the idea of going out, of putting on a smile for everyone, felt like too much.

So, I stayed in.

My small apartment felt quieter than usual, the hum of the TV the only sound as I flipped through streaming options, finally settling on a comfort movie. It wasn't much of a birthday plan, but at least it was familiar. I curled up on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, a mug of tea growing cold on the coffee table beside me.

As the movie played, my phone buzzed with the occasional text—well wishes from friends and family, a few messages from people I hadn't spoken to in months. I responded to each one with a brief thanks, not wanting to get into long conversations. The apartment was dimly lit, and the gray September sky outside matched my mood perfectly—muted, quiet, reflective.

And then, sometime in the late afternoon, a delivery arrived.

I almost didn't hear the knock on the door over the sound of the movie, and when I did, it took me a moment to pull myself off the couch and make my way over. When I opened the door, a delivery person stood there, holding a sleek black box with a small card attached. My heart skipped a beat before I even reached for it. I knew who it was from.

I signed for the package, thanked the delivery person, and then closed the door behind me, the box feeling heavier in my hands than it should have. I carried it to the couch, setting it down carefully on the coffee table, staring at it for a moment before finally sitting down and opening the card.

His handwriting was unmistakable, elegant and precise.

"For your new decade. I hope it's everything you dreamed of and more. —P"

Just that. Simple. But my chest tightened as I read it, my mind immediately going to him, the last conversation we'd had, the way we had tried to untangle whatever was between us and then decided to leave it behind.

I set the card down, my hands trembling slightly, and opened the box. Inside, nestled in soft fabric, was a delicate silver bracelet. The design was simple but elegant, thin strands of silver twisted together in a way that felt almost ethereal, like something from another world. It was beautiful. It was thoughtful. It was... him.

I traced my fingers over the bracelet, my thoughts drifting back to the countless hours we'd spent together, not just as teacher and student, but as something more. Something undefined.

I slipped the bracelet onto my wrist, the cool metal a stark contrast to the warmth of my skin. For a moment, I sat there, staring at it, feeling the weight of everything that had happened between us. The gift was beautiful, and yet, it felt like a reminder—a reminder of what could never be.

I leaned back on the couch, pulling the blanket tighter around me, the movie still playing in the background, but I wasn't really watching anymore. My mind was too full, too tangled with thoughts of him, of what this day was supposed to mean.

It wasn't a birthday like I'd imagined, but in some way, it felt right—quiet, reflective, tinged with a sadness that I couldn't quite shake.

And yet, as I glanced at the bracelet on my wrist, I couldn't help but smile, just a little, knowing that despite everything, he hadn't forgotten.