By daily 
I wake up with a flutter of anticipation—today is my birthday. There’s always a certain magic to it, that feeling of waking up knowing the day is yours, like a secret joy waiting to unfold. I glance at my phone, expecting to see a string of messages—warm wishes from family, friends, maybe even some surprise notifications. But the screen is blank, save for the time blinking back at me.
Shrugging it off, I get ready for the day. “It’s still early,” I tell myself. People will remember, they always do. I go through my routine, checking my phone now and then, but still nothing. Hours pass, and the silence begins to feel heavier. The absence of messages and calls feels strange, like I’ve stepped into an alternate version of my life where today is just another ordinary day.
By midday, my optimism is waning. A quiet sadness creeps in, sitting in the space between my expectations and reality. I try to brush it off—people get busy, they have their own lives. But still, the thought lingers: Did everyone forget?