A Promise Across Time [Completed]

A Quiet Birthday Revelation

February 1966
Sweden

***FRIDA

It's been three years since Raven appeared in our lives, and though the mystery of her past—and her future—still lingers, she has become like family to me and Grandma Arntine. Yet, there's one thing she never told us: her birthday. For someone who knew so much about time, she seemed to treat it as if it didn't matter. But it did to me. How could I let another year pass without properly celebrating her?

That's why today, I'm planning a small family get-together on the anniversary of her arrival—the day I found her lying unconscious on my doorstep, like something out of a dream or perhaps a different time entirely. I still remember how strange she seemed then, like someone who didn't quite belong in this world. And yet, she became a part of ours. Raven never spoke much about where—or when—she truly came from. She gave us glimpses of her story, enough for me to believe her, but not enough to truly understand.

The thought of that day, three years ago, is still vivid. I was rushing to a meeting and found her there, curled up, shivering in the cold. I had no idea what kind of strange journey had brought her to my doorstep, but something about her presence felt... significant. Now, after all this time, I want to give her something she rarely asked for—a moment that's hers.

"I hope she doesn't suspect anything," I murmured to myself, setting up the final touches for the evening's surprise. The table was adorned with simple decorations, just the way Raven liked things—nothing too flashy. A small cake sat in the center, surrounded by a few carefully chosen gifts. There weren't any balloons or extravagant banners; it was all quiet, understated, and intimate. Raven wasn't the type to enjoy grand gestures.

"Frida, you're fussing too much over the flowers," Grandma Arntine's voice called from behind me, her laugh soft and amused. "They look fine."

I turned and saw her walking slowly into the room, her hands clasped behind her back. Even at her age, Grandma had a sharpness about her. She always knew what I was thinking before I said a word, which was both comforting and unnerving at times. "It's not just the flowers," I replied, stepping back to look at everything. "I want this to be perfect. Raven's been through so much, and I don't even know when her actual birthday is. This is the least I can do for her."

Grandma smiled knowingly. "She's lucky to have you, Frida. We both are."

I smiled back, though a small part of me wondered if I could ever really repay Raven for the strange and wonderful changes she'd brought into our lives.

The door creaked open, and Raven appeared, her dark hair tumbling in waves over her shoulders, wearing her usual easy smile. She didn't seem to notice the extra care I'd taken with the room, or the way Grandma and I exchanged knowing glances.

"Hey," she said, glancing between us suspiciously. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," I said quickly, trying to hide my smile. "Just thought we'd have a nice family dinner tonight. It's been a while."

Raven raised an eyebrow. She always had a way of seeing through me, but she didn't press. "Sounds good," she said, her voice soft. "I could use a little normal after this week."

As we sat down at the table, the room felt warm and full of quiet anticipation. Raven seemed relaxed, but I could see the curiosity flickering in her eyes. I hadn't told her about the significance of today—not yet, at least.

The conversation started easily enough, with Grandma regaling us with stories from her younger days and Raven chiming in with her dry humor. It felt good, normal, even though we were all thinking about the unspoken things between us—the past, the future, and everything Raven had shared, but also left unsaid.

When dinner was over, I stood up, clearing my throat. "There's something I want to do before we finish tonight." I reached for the small cake and placed it on the table, lighting the single candle in the center.

Raven blinked, confused. "What's this for?"

I took a deep breath. "Three years ago today, you came into our lives. And since you never told us your birthday, I thought we could celebrate this instead—it was a cold February morning when you arrived and I think we should celebrate tonight. I know it's not the same, but I didn't want another year to pass without celebrating you in some way."

Raven's eyes softened, and for a moment, she looked almost surprised. "Frida..." she began, her voice trailing off. She didn't know what to say, and that alone spoke volumes. She was never one to expect anything from us. In fact, she often went out of her way to avoid being the center of attention.

Grandma reached over and gently patted Raven's hand. "You deserve this, child. Whether you realize it or not, you've brought a lot of joy into this house."

Raven's lips curved into a small, grateful smile. "Thank you," she whispered, her eyes glistening slightly. "I never expected this."

"Make a wish," I said, gesturing to the candle.

Raven hesitated, as if she didn't quite believe in wishes. But then, after a moment, she closed her eyes, breathed in deeply, and blew out the candle. The small flame flickered out, and the room was filled with a quiet kind of peace.

We ate cake and exchanged stories, and for the first time in a long while, Raven seemed fully present, not lost in thoughts of other times or places. It was a moment where everything felt right—like this was exactly where we were all meant to be.

Later, after the plates were cleared and the gifts unwrapped, Raven pulled me aside. "You didn't have to do all this," she said softly, her eyes searching mine.

"I wanted to," I replied. "You always surprise me on my birthday, and I don't even know yours. It's only fair I return the favor."

Raven smiled, a hint of sadness lingering in her gaze. "You did more than enough, Frida. I'm just glad to be here... for however long that is."

"Stop talking like that," I said, shaking my head. "You're here, now, and that's all that matters."

Raven didn't reply, but her smile remained, and for the rest of the night, we held onto the warmth of the moment, knowing that tomorrow might bring new uncertainties—but today, we were a family.

****