The Birthday

From the moment she opened her eyes, her parents’ cheerful voices rang out: “Happy Birthday, sweetheart!”

Her eighth birthday was perfect—pancakes piled high, berries glistening, and juice in three flavors. Friends arrived, gifts were torn open, and laughter filled the house. “The birthday girl gets what the birthday girl wants!” her parents beamed.

When it came time to make a wish, she squeezed her eyes shut: “I wish it was my birthday… forever.”

She blew out all eight candles.

The next morning, she awoke to the same joyful chorus: “Happy Birthday, sweetheart!”

Everything felt familiar—pancakes, berries… déjà vu? But the cake at her party had nine candles this time. A shiver ran down her spine, but she brushed it off. “Maybe they miscounted.”

Her wish had come true… or so she thought.

Day after day, her birthday repeated. Her friends’ faces became unfamiliar, their smiles strained, their laughter hollow. The cake now had ten candles… then twelve… then fifteen.

One morning, she caught her reflection in a mirror. A teenager stared back. Her heart pounded. “This isn’t what I wanted…”

By the next week, she was 25. The house felt colder, emptier. Her parents’ voices cracked when they wished her “Happy Birthday.” They were growing older… fast.

“Please, make it stop,” she begged the candles that night, but the wish never came true.

Years blurred like a twisted film in fast-forward. She turned 30… 40… 50… The house creaked under the weight of forgotten memories. Her parents were gone.

“Happy Birthday…” strangers she couldn’t remember whispered with hollow eyes. Were they her children… her grandchildren?

One morning, frail and tired, she barely opened her eyes. “Did it end?” she wondered.

Then, the dreaded words echoed again:

“Happy Birthday, Grandma!”

Her heart turned cold. It would never stop.

Her eternal birthday… had only just begun.