Hey, love, Ive got to tell you about the evening I had yesterday it was one of those odd, quiet November nights that just makes you think.
I was trudging home down a dim lane in Manchester, the puddles halfhidden under a carpet of dry leaves, glinting in the weak glow of the occasional streetlamp. Late autumn here isnt exactly a time for wandering out; the chill wind cut right to the bone and the houses seemed even farther away, as if they didnt even care. I walked a little faster, like I was trying to shake off something thats been hanging over me since this morning. Tomorrows my birthday a date Ive learned to pretend doesnt exist.
Inside, that familiar tight feeling was building again not the happy kind of anticipation, more like a heavy knot in my chest. Every year its the same routine: the formal emails, the brief calls from colleagues, the polite smiles. It all feels like a staged play where Im forced to be the celebrant, even though I havent felt that way for ages.
I used to be different. As a kid, Id get up early on the day, heart pounding, waiting for the scent of Mums homemade cake, the rustle of the wrapping paper, her warm voice, and the noisy crowd around the table. Back then people really celebrated genuine laughs, the bustle, the whole shebang. Now those memories flicker up only now and then, leaving a faint ache behind.
I shoved the flatdoor open and a cold gust hit my face even harder. The hallway was the usual mess: a damp umbrella propped against the wall, jackets hanging haphazardly on the hooks. I slipped off my shoes, paused at the mirror, and saw the fatigue of the past weeks staring back, plus something else a lingering melancholy for the kind of joy I used to know.
Are you home? shouted my wife, Evelyn, from the kitchen before I could answer.
Yeah I managed.
Weve long got used to these oneword exchanges in the evenings; each of us does our own thing, only meeting over dinner or a cup of tea before bed. Our family runs on routine reliable, a bit bland.
I changed into my pyjamas and headed to the kitchen, where the smell of fresh bread filled the air and Evelyn was chopping veg for a salad.
Will there be a lot of guests tomorrow? I asked, more out of habit than curiosity.
As always, you hate noisy parties maybe well just have the three of us? Invite Tom, your mate, if you want. She gave me a halfsmile.
I nodded, poured myself some tea, and let my thoughts swirl. I understood her logic why bother throwing a big party just for the sake of it? Yet something inside resisted this grownup pennypinching of feelings.
The night crawled on. I scrolled through the news on my phone, trying to dodge the nagging thoughts about tomorrow. Still, the same question kept looping: why has a birthday turned into a formality? Where did the joy go?
Morning came with a barrage of workchat notifications. Colleagues sent the usual birthday stickers and gifs. A few people tried to be a tad warmer, but their words all blended together until they were almost transparent.
I replied with a mechanical Thanks! or a quick smiley. The emptiness only grew; I caught myself wanting to shove the phone away and pretend my birthday didnt exist until next year.
Evelyn cranked the kettle a little louder, trying to drown the silence at the table.
Happy birthday, love How about we order a pizza or some sushi tonight? I dont feel like being stuck at the stove all day.
Sure, whatever you like. My tone betrayed a flicker of irritation, and I instantly regretted it, but I didnt say more. Inside, frustration bubbled at myself, at the world, at the whole expectation.
Around midday Tom rang.
Hey! Happy birthday! See you later?
Yeah swing by after work.
Great! Ill bring something for tea.
The call hung up as quickly as it started, leaving me with a strange tiredness from those bitesize chats as if they existed more for tradition than for me.
The whole day felt like a halfsleep. The flat smelled of coffee mixed with the damp from the entryway, rain still drizzling outside. I tried to work from home, but my mind kept drifting back to childhood, when any celebration felt like the event of the year. Now its just another tick in the calendar.
By evening my mood was downright heavy. I finally realized I wasnt willing to drown in this emptiness just to keep everyone comfortable. I didnt want to put on a show for Evelyn or Tom even if it felt awkward or funny to speak my truth out loud.
When we all gathered around the kitchen table under the soft glow of the lamp, the rain drummed on the windows a little louder, as if emphasizing how closedoff our little world was in this November weather.
I sat there, tea cooling in my mug, words stuck in my throat. I looked first at Evelyn she gave me a tired smile across the table then at Tom, who was halfengaged with his phone, nodding faintly to some music from the next room.
And then it all boiled down to this:
Listen Ive got something to say.
Evelyn set her spoon down, and Tom finally looked up.
I always thought celebrating just for the sake of it was silly but today Ive realised something else. The room fell so quiet you could hear the rain louder than ever.
I miss a real celebration the kind from childhood when you wait a whole year for a day and everything feels possible. My voice trembled a bit.
Evelyn met my eyes. You want to try bringing that back?
I gave a barelythere nod.
Tom cracked a warm grin. Ah, now I get why youve been moody all year!
A lightness settled over me.
So, whats the plan? Tom said, rubbing his hands together. You once told me about that cake with the frosting
Evelyn, without asking, headed to the fridge. We didnt have a cake or frosting, just a packet of plain biscuits and a jar of jam. I couldnt help but smile it was a silly, very human gesture. We quickly set out biscuits, a mug of jam and a small bowl of condensed milk. Tom, playing the cheeky host, asked, Anything for candles?
Evelyn dug into the spice drawer and pulled out the last bit of a paraffin candle, trimmed it down, and stuck it on a little mound of biscuits. It was crooked, but it was ours.
Music? Tom asked.
Not the radio something mum and dad used to play, I replied.
Tom fiddled with his phone while Evelyn cueed an old playlist on the laptop. Classic 80s tracks spilled out, mixing with the rains patter, and it felt oddly nostalgic. Seeing grownups put on a tiny homemade show for me made the whole thing feel genuine. No forced congratulations, just each of us doing what we knew best: Evelyn pouring tea into sturdy mugs, Tom clapping offbeat, and me finally smiling without it being a politeness.
The flat grew cozier. The fogged windows reflected the lamps glow and the wet street outside, still drizzling. I started seeing the rain differently it was happening far away, while we created our own little weather inside.
Remember the game Crocodile? Evelyn asked suddenly.
Of course! I always lost
Not because you were bad, just because we laughed too long.
We gave it a go at the table. At first it was awkward an adult trying to act like a kangaroo in front of two other adults but after a minute the laughter turned real. Tom flailed his arms so wildly he almost knocked my mug over, Evelyn giggled softly, and I finally let go of the tightness on my face.
We swapped stories of childhood parties who hid a slice of cake under a napkin for a second serving, the time we broke Mums china but nobody scolded us. Each memory peeled away that heavy cloud of formality, replacing it with something warm and snug. Time stopped feeling like an enemy.
For a moment I felt that childhood magic again the belief that anything could happen, even if just for one evening. I looked at Evelyn with gratitude for her simple care, and at Tom with an understanding that needed no jokes.
The music ended abruptly. Outside, the occasional car headlights skimmed the wet pavement. Our apartment felt like a little island of light in the damp autumn.
Evelyn poured another cup of tea. I ended up doing it a bit differently but isnt the point the feeling, not the script?
I nodded, speechless.
I thought back to the panic Id felt this morning, as if a birthday had to disappoint or pass me by. Now it seemed a distant mixup. No one expected perfect reactions or grand gestures; nobody pushed for a party just to tick a box on the family calendar.
Tom pulled out an old board game from the cupboard. Now were really going back in time!
We played until it was late, arguing over rules and laughing at each others silly moves. The rain outside turned into a soothing lullaby.
Later, the three of us sat in the soft lamp light, the table littered with biscuit crumbs and an empty jam mug the remnants of our makeshift feast.
I realised I didnt need to prove anything to anyone, not even to myself. The celebration came back not because someone bought the perfect cake, but because the people around me were ready to hear me, truly.
I turned to Evelyn. Thank you.
She smiled with her eyes.
Inside, there was calm no fireworks, no forced joy. Just the feeling of being exactly where I should be, with the right people. Outside, the rainy city went on its way; inside, it was warm and bright.
I got up, walked to the window, and watched the puddles mirror the streetlights. The rain fell slowly, as if tired of arguing with November. I thought of that childhood wonder it was always a simple thing, made possible by the hands of those who love you.
That night I fell asleep easily, without any urge to rush past my birthday.
