I helped Mama prepare everything for my birthday.
We set the table together — the special one in the middle of the room, near the piano.
I placed Shiba-inu on the chair beside mine.
Tama-chan, who I had gently carried in from the garden, was already curled up near the table leg, her tail wrapped tight like a sleeping comma.
Mama brought out my cupcake — the one with the little swirl and candle on top.
But… something was missing.
I looked at the table.
Only one plate.
Only one cupcake.
Not two like last time.
I tilted my head, confused.
"Mama…" I asked, softly.
"Where's Yui's plate? And her cupcake?"
Mama paused.
Her hands stopped moving.
She stood still for a second — so still, I thought maybe she didn't hear me.
Then… she smiled.
Not a big smile.
Not a birthday smile.
Just a quiet one, a little tired around the eyes.
Without a word, she turned and walked back to the kitchen.
When she returned, she was holding another plate —
and on it was a strawberry cupcake, just like Yui's favorite.
She placed it gently on the table beside mine.
I smiled wide.
Now it was right.
Now everything was ready.
I sat down at the table, Shiba beside me, Tama-chan asleep at my feet.
And I waited.
The clock ticked softly.
Tick…
Tick…
Tick…
One minute passed.
Then more.
Ten… twenty… thirty.
I didn't move.
I kept looking at the front door.
Still waiting for Yui to come.
Then Mama knelt beside me.
She placed a hand on my back, soft and warm.
"Sweetheart," she said gently.
"Do you want to blow the candle first? Maybe make a wish before Yui comes?"
I shook my head.
"Hideki wants to blow it with Yui," I whispered.
"Like before…"
Mama didn't say anything else.
She just kept rubbing my back.
An hour passed.
Still no knock.
Still no Yui.
Papa, who had been sitting nearby with his coffee mug, stood up and walked over.
He smiled — a little crooked, like he was holding something back.
"Buddy," he said softly,
"What do you think? Should we play the piano for a bit? That way, when Yui comes, she'll see you're already playing — like a real surprise."
My eyes lit up.
That sounded like a wonderful idea.
A perfect surprise.
I didn't know, back then…
That Papa was lying.
He didn't say it out loud,
but in his heart…
he already knew Yui wouldn't be coming.
Still —
I followed him to the piano.
Mama held my hand as we walked.
Her fingers trembled a little, but she never let go.
Papa sat on the bench first, then lifted me onto his lap like always.
I placed my hands on the keys, my feet dangling.
Then he started to play.
A happy tune — bouncy, light, like a music box.
But somewhere inside the melody…
there was something else.
A feeling.
It sounded happy.
But also… a little lonely.
I didn't understand it.
Not really.
But I felt it.
Then Papa played the Happy Birthday song —
and sang.
Mama joined in, clapping her hands softly, singing too.
I sang along with them — me, Mama, and Papa.
Just the three of us.
The room felt warm.
The notes echoed gently.
And I smiled.
For a little while…
I forgot the clock.
I forgot the door.
I was just singing.
With my family.
And even though another hour passed…
It didn't feel that long.
Because inside that song…
I was still waiting.
Still hoping.
Still believing…
that maybe Yui would come.
After the music faded, and the candles were quiet again, I started to ask the question that had been poking at my heart.
"Mama…
Why isn't Yui here yet?"
Mama looked at me.
Just for a moment.
Then she turned away, as if searching for an answer in the quiet air.
"Maybe she's stuck in traffic," she said softly.
I nodded right away.
That made sense.
"Yeah… that's why Yui is late," I said, still holding onto that hope like a warm blanket.
To pass the time, I played with Shiba-inu —
making him hop on my lap, pretending he was flying through the clouds.
Tama-chan circled around us lazily, her tail swaying like a slow song.
Another half hour passed.
The clock kept ticking.
The door stayed still.
I looked at it again.
Yui's house wasn't that far.
She should be here by now… right?
Then Mama spoke again — her voice extra soft, like it was trying not to scare something fragile.
"Sweetheart…
You're not tired, baby?
Why don't you wait in your room for a while? Maybe lie down and rest?"
I shook my head quickly.
"Mmm-mmm. I can't," I said.
"I want to see Yui come through the front door."
And so I laid down on the floor instead.
Right by the table.
Still in my birthday clothes.
Still waiting.
I hugged Shiba-inu tight against my chest.
Tama-chan curled up near my legs, her little body pressed gently against mine.
I giggled.
"You're waiting for Yui too, right, Tama-chan?"
She didn't answer, but I liked to think she nodded with her tail.
Outside, the sky had changed again.
The Tokyo sun had gone to sleep.
She dipped behind the buildings without saying goodbye.
And Mr. Moon slowly rose, stretching his light across the city like a silver sheet.
I was still lying there —
watching the door.
Waiting.
But my eyes started to feel heavy.
So heavy.
I tried to keep them open.
Tried to stretch them wide, like windows.
But the sleep came anyway.
Slowly.
Softly.
And I slipped into dreams —
still holding Shiba close,
still whispering a name through my sleepy lips.
"Yuiii…"
That's what I said.
Mama and Papa were still there.
Watching me.
They hadn't moved from my side all day.
Not once.
Mama's eyes shimmered with wetness.
She brought her hand to her mouth, trying to stop a sound from escaping.
But her shoulders shook.
She reached for Papa —
and he wrapped his arms around her.
No words.
Just that quiet hug.
His hand moving gently across her back.
Because sometimes…
when sadness is too big for words,
gestures speak louder.
Later, Papa picked me up from the floor.
I didn't wake.
I was still whispering in my sleep.
Still dreaming.
Still waiting.
He carried me to my bed.
Tucked me in with the soft blanket Mama had made last winter.
Shiba was placed right beside me.
Tama-chan followed behind, hopping onto the rug.
Papa reached for the light switch.
Mama stood just behind him.
As he turned off the light and gently closed the door, I didn't hear what he said.
But the room did.
"Forgive me, buddy," he whispered.
"I'm not brave enough to tell you the truth…
The truth that might break your little heart.
Blame me, your father, for choosing silence.
Resent me one day if you must.
I'll carry that."
Mama leaned her head against his shoulder, her hand rubbing his back.
Then —
the door closed.
And that…
was the end of my birthday.
But I didn't know it then.
I didn't know what they were hiding.
I didn't understand what they were feeling.
Because I was only five.
And five-year-olds don't always see pain the way grown-ups do.
They only see love.
And to me,
Mama and Papa…
were just doing what parents do.
They stayed.
They smiled.
They held me close.
And maybe that's what parental love is, after all.
A quiet pain.
Hidden.
So a child can keep dreaming
— just a little longer.