Forgotten

The anticipation had been building for weeks. My birthday, a day I'd always looked forward to, was finally here. I'd envisioned a day filled with laughter, surprises, and of course, him. My boyfriend, Alex, had always been the king of grand gestures. His forgetfulness was as foreign to me as snow in the Sahara.

Morning arrived, bright and promising.

The house was filled with the sweet scent of from my family, a birthday tradition. I waited, a mix of excitement and impatience bubbling within me.

I checked my phone, hoping for a sparkling message, a voice note filled with his infectious laughter, or even a simple "I'm coming, birthday girl." But the screen remained stubbornly blank.

As the day wore on, the initial excitement transformed into a gnawing sense of disappointment. Friends called, wished me a happy birthday, and made plans for the evening.

Their enthusiasm was a stark contrast to the emptiness I felt inside. I tried to mask the disappointment with forced smiles and cheerful replies, but the ache in my heart grew with each passing hour.

Evening arrived, and with it, a sense of finality. I'd given up hope of any surprise. The phone remained silent. As I drifted off to sleep that night, tears traced silent paths down my cheeks. It wasn't the gifts or grand celebrations I craved;

It was the simple acknowledgment, the feeling of being remembered and cherished.