Not smiling. Just… soft.
“Thanks.”
We sat at the small table together. I handed him a plastic knife. He turned it over in his hand like he was thinking.
“No candles?” I asked gently.
He shrugged. “Fourteen feels too old for candles.”
“Fair enough.”
He cut the first slice himself. Slow and precise, like he didn’t want to ruin the design. He ate carefully, chewing like he was trying to stretch the moment.
He started talking about a new rail route his geography tutor showed him. Something about maglev systems and how Japan was testing faster lines. His voice picked up, getting animated in that quiet, passionate way he had when trains came up.
I laughed when he started explaining speed ratios using the edge of his fork like a pointer.
For twenty minutes, it almost felt normal.
Then he set his fork down.
“It’s not the same without Zariah.”
The words settled heavy between us.
My chest tightened. “I know.”
“She would’ve brought pizza,” he said.
“She definitely would’ve.”
“And she would’ve sang off-key.”
I smiled faintly. “Very off-key.”
He stared at the cake for a long moment.
“I miss our old place,” he said quietly. “The table was wobbly… but it was ours.”
My throat burned. “I miss it too.”
Silence stretched.
Later, he asked the question I had been avoiding since we moved into Cal’s house.
“Why doesn’t he ever talk to me? He’s literally in the same house.”
My hand froze halfway to my mouth.
“He’s… busy,” I said carefully. “With work. The band.”
Eli looked at me with an expression far too sharp for fourteen.
“He talks to Syd. And the other girls. He laughs with them. He’s not busy.”
I swallowed.
“It’s not you,” I said softly. “He just… struggles with people sometimes.”
