If anyone asked what I thought about birthdays, I'd say: "Pointless. Balloons are for babies. Cake is just sugar in disguise."
But secretly, I knew Shabd's birthday.
October 19th.
I found it written on the school's Top Achievers' board—right beside his glowing photo. It was the only time I ever smiled at a notice board like it had whispered me a secret.
And so, the Hitler of 6-D turned into a secret softie with a mission.
I decided to write him a letter.
Not a love letter—because ew, cringe (okay, maybe just a little love). More like a birthday wish wrapped in my personality: chaotic, loud, and a bit sarcastic. I spent three days writing it, crossing out lines, adding F1 metaphors, and signing it at the bottom:
"From the future greatest F1 racer you don't know… but should."
I didn't put my name.
But I drew a tiny helmet in the corner. He'd never guess it was me… but maybe one day he'd see it again.
On the morning of his birthday, I marched into school like a general going into battle. I threatened the junior librarian to give me a free envelope. I shouted at the photocopy guy to stay quiet while I wrote "Happy Birthday" in my cleanest handwriting. Then I stalked him—yes, full-blown secret agent mode—until he left his locker area for exactly six seconds.
That's all I needed.
I slipped the letter in with ninja precision.
Then ran away like I'd just stolen the school trophy.
All day, I waited. I paced, fidgeted, barked at classmates who got on my nerves (more than usual). My eyes kept drifting toward the corridor where his locker was.
Nothing happened.
No reaction. No mystery search for the girl behind the helmet sketch. No dramatic scene where he read it, turned around, and realized I was the girl of his dreams.
He probably didn't even open it.
Maybe he tossed it, thinking it was some prank.
Maybe he never saw it at all.
And that night, when I opened my secret scrapbook, I wrote:
"He didn't read my wish. But I still wished it anyway."
Because that's what love is, right?
You give. You scream. You fight.
And sometimes… you lose without anyone knowing you were playing.
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