A Love Restored

Sunlight, streamed in single rays, through the blinds, tickling my cheek and rousing me from a dream I had been having about a monster with a huge beard who was going to kill me with the beard hals, I squinted at the sun in my eyes. Nevertheless, it was time to be up and about

I reached for my phone, squinting at the screen, still blurry with sleep. Then, the digits blinked into focus, and a folt of excitement ran through me like a shot of vodka. It was August 31st–Telix’s birthday.

The realization sent a wave of memories crashing over me, Bithilays past, celebrations etched in love and laughter. Sharing picnics on the beach, the salty tang of the ocean alt mingling with the sweetness of my strawberry shortcake. Dinners ruler star lusted skies, his eyes reflecting the lickering flames of a bonfire as we toasted marshmallows to gooey perfection. Each year, a unique theme, the joy in his eyes at my stupid plans, I thought of the last birthday we had spent together, the party with our fiends, the kiss we had shared.

This year, though, held a different kind of light, Summer’s fiery breath was cooling, leaves whispering the arrival of approaching autumn. The end of an era hung in the air, a feeling both bittersweet and exciting. And the beginning of something new. At least, a flicker of it. And what better way to mark this turning point than by celebrating the man who, for so many years, had been my summer sun?

I got out of bed with a jolt. There was so much to do! Excitedly, I run to the bathroom, meanwhile thinking of what I could do. Of course, like any other year, I’d bake him a cake. Not just any cake, the legendary mango and coconut masterpiece, the one that evoked childhood memories of one summer I had baked in on his birthday and he had almost eaten all of it. My fingers itched to knead the dough, to whisk the batter, to pour my love into every swirl of cinnamon and every burst of mango sweetness,

Beyond that, I couldn’t wait to see the look on his face when he ate it.

Humming a tune to an old song, I slipped into the kitchen. I began setting about ingredients from the pantry. Fresh mangoes, coconut flakes and coconut cream. Flour, sugar, Eggs, I looked at the ingredients I had fished out, mentally going through the recipe and recounting all the steps. And just as I reached for the bowl, a voice startled me.

“You’re up early, Flora.“

“Linda!” I gasped, clutching the spatula, “You scared inc.”Content provided by NôvelDrama.Org.

Linda, her smile as bright as the copper pots hanging over the stove, lit by the streaming sun, leaned against the doorway.

“Good morning.” I said, flour slusting my checks like blush. “It’s Mr. Corsino’s birthday. I thought I’d bake him a cake.”

Linda’s smile faltered for a flicker, then, a pitiful look overtook her expression. “You know he doesn’t like all that fuss, Flora Birthdays, celebrations… he never cared much for them. I’ve never seen him celebrate a birthday in all the time I’ve been with him.”

That was news to me. He used to love his birthday. We would always do something fun on all his birthdays. He’d even throw parties. Two. One with friends and one with family, I wondered what plans he had today. Maybe something with his friends. Or maybe a quiet family dinner.

“That’s okay.” I whispered, my voice firming. “He might like it. I’m just trying to be nice.”

Linda, her eyes searching mine, nodded slowly. A smile, hesitant at first, bloomed on her face. “Sure. If you think so, Flora. What cake are you baking?” “Mango and coconut,” I told her, “Um…I’ll get hi

hins his breakfast as well. The cake is just an added task. I won’t slack off on anything else.”

She nodded. “I know that. Well, he’s not home. I just saw him leave a while ago.”

Oh! I guess he had….early morning plans. Nevertheless, he’d back at night, for sure. That left me enough time to bake the cake.

And so, with newfound determination, I plunged my hands into the dough, its softness yielding to my t again. I’d make him a nice dinner, too. Once he was back. Unless he wasn’t eating at home.

touch. Maybe tonight we could eat together.

the

The day stretched itself thin, minutes puzing into hours while I waited and waited. The cake, a golden sun on th untouched perfection. Every chime of the grandfather clock echoed the hollowness in my chest. Where was Felix?

dining table, mocked me with its

The cake was ready and decorated. The candles were on the table. I’d even decorated around it with some flowers for the garden. Linda had given me a sad look before leaving, and asked me to go sleep. But I’d just stayed there. I was sitting on the floor in the leaving room, reading a book on my phone, while I ate eggs for dinner.

Finally, at a very late hour, the front door creaked open. I hurried to the doorway, my heart a hummingbird trapped in a cage of ribs. Felix stood there, the porch light throwing his face into stark relief. His eyes, usually warm pools of green, were distant, his shoulders slumped under the weight of tiredness. Guess he’d had a wild night. I looked at the time on my phone. It was a little past 2 AM

“Felix,” I said, my voice barely a whisper.

He grunted, a hollow sound that resonated in the empty hallway. “Had dinner. You can go to sleep,”

He brushed past me, his touch ghosting over my arm, a cold wind blowing out the flame of my hope. I watched him ascend the stairs, each step a heavy thod against my heart. The cake, abandoned on the table, mirrored the desolation that had invaded the house.

But I couldn’t let the day succumb to this unspoken darkness. I took the cake and followed him, each step a prayer on the wooden staircase.

His door was ajar, a sliver of light bleeding into the hallway. I stood there, a hesitant melody hovering on my lips. “Felix?”

He looked up, startled, and for a fleeting moment, I saw the boy beneath the man, the one who hid his hurt behind a mask of gruffness. “What is it?”

“Happy birthday.” I whispered, offering him the cake, a beacon in the dim room. I pushed the door open, and stood in the doorway, staring at him

expectantly.

His eyes widened, a flicker of surprise chasing away the shadows. He hesitated, then reached out, his fingers brushing mine as he took the plate. The Lamiliar scent of mangoes filled the air, a bridge between our silences.

He set the cake on his desk, his gaze lingering on it for a moment before meeting mine. “You… you made this?”

I nodded, a small I smile playing on my lips. “Happy Birthday, Felix.” I repeated.

He stared at the cake, and then back at me. “Thank you…I didn’t expect it.”

I shrugged, “I figured, it’s been so long. You deserve to eat one of my marvelous creations.” He cracked a smile at that. “Were you waiting for me?”

I nodded, “But its fine. I mean, it’s not your birthday, anymore. But still. We can pretend it’s before midnight.”

He smiled.

“And…you were born at 4:05, anyway.” My cheeks warmed at the shared information. I was like some obsessed woman who knew everything about him.

He didn’t seem to mind. “Have you eaten? Dinner?”

I nodded. I didn’t want to tell him I’d just had two boiled eggs, because then he’d worry about it.

“Anyway, you want to cut the cake?”

He took a seat on his bed, and picked up the knife.

He cut a slice, the c

cream inside the cake spilled a little. I sang happy birthday in a rush, while he carefully made symmetrical cuts.

I watched him take a bite, his eyes closing as the flavors danced on his tongue. A ghost of a smile touched his lips.

“It… good,” he mumbled, his voice rough with an emotion I couldn’t decipher. “Tastes exactly like… his eyes widened as he recognized the taste, “Mango and coconut? You’ve made this before.”

I nodded in excitement. “You remember it! I’m really glad.”

“Of course I do.”

He looked at me, his eyes searching mine, and for a moment, he squeezed my hand, a silent thank you, a flicker of the sunrise pushing back the shadows.

“You wanna eat now?” He gave me his spoon, and I took a bite of the cake. It was really good, actually. I was proud of myself. I sat beside him on his bed, and we both shared the cake, eating almost a quarter of it, just the two of us. He ate with the knife, I ate with the spoon. I loved watching him eat. The soft smile on his face was worth all the effort I had put into the cake.

His Little Flower