s excitement as I carefully placed it in a box, tied with a bright red ribbon. I imagined his surprise, his rare, genuine smile when he saw me

campus in warm hues. I sat on a bench outside, clutching the cake, my phone cl

iery oranges and purples. Then the sky turned inky blac

mach. The cake, once perfectly shaped, began to sag under its own weight, the frosting me

t if he was hurt? I even considered calling campus secur

pped up. It was Kelsey

, a smear of cake frosting on his nose, a wide, unrestrained laugh on his face. The caption read: "H

lways claimed he hated the texture of frosting, citing "sensory issues" when I' d tried to pl

nths. The kind of adoration that had once been reserved for me. My own birthday, a few months ago, had bee

n. He' s being polite. He' s obligated! The Comments t

rst open, and the once perfect chocolate fudge collapsed into a messy, dark puddle. A bit

stinging my cheeks. I wanted to scream, to smash something, but

e sharp, scrutinizing the ruined cake, then my tear-streaked face. "

re you?" I choked

ok of disgust flashing across his face. "In the

y, into his face. "Working? What about this, Colten? 'Most brilliant mind and kindest soul?' You said you hated cake

itude, Ila? It was a simple lab celebration. Ar

composure shattered. The image of the fallen cake, a dark, sw

e. "What about your attitude? What about her? What abo

skin. A button, a small, polished pearl, popped off his shirt and bounced onto the ground. It was the same button I' d se

ou're being hysterical, Ila," he said, his voice clipped, disgusted. "It's my birthday, and you're assaulting me. She's just a colleague. Can't you just be