#kos au

        “We met on your twenty-first birthday.”

        “Wrong. It was the day after my birthday.”

        Zoya in the video gaped at the phone in his hand, “That’s the same thing! You were born at 10 pm, I met you at 10 am the next morning, that’s within twenty four hours of your birth.” 

        “Funny, I didn’t know birthday’s worked like that,” Nikolai jested, tugging playfully at a coil of her hair as she scowled at him. “You glided into my life like a stormy angel, but you were a miracle that was just a day late. Promise me no more missing my birthday.”

        “You’re such a child,” Zoya huffed, “I didn’t even know you then.”

        “Promise me Zoya, you know how important birthdays are.” She recognized the hesitation in video-Zoya’s eyes, she had been afraid of promises like that, no matter how silly they were. She didn’t want to promise him forever when she knew she wouldn’t be able to deliver it. But then she’d thought, ‘he’s not trying to marry you, just do it, it’s a stupid promise he’ll forget about in the morning. It means nothing.’ And so Zoya rolled her eyes and said, “fine. I promise I won’t miss your birthday,” smiling when Nikolai did.

        ‘There was only one problem with that,’ future Zoya thought, the only problem was that she’d broken her promise, like she’d known she would. Nikolai’s 21st birthday had led her to years of slowly letting down her walls, helping him let down his. They had been good years, she knew that, but she had also known it wouldn't last, it wouldn’t last. And that’s why she ended it. Now three years later, two weeks after she’d called it off her finger hovered over the phone m, debating whether she should call him or not. It was his birthday, it meant so much to him but at the same time he probably hated her, and didn’t want to hear from her. ‘What do you want me to do, Nikolai?’ She switched apps quickly to Instagram, shaking out her head, her pride, her fear, whatever name she gave it today wouldn't let her do it. 

        Instantly she regretted opening her social media. She usually had a girls night with her friends on Fridays, but today that wasn't the case. All her friends were his friends too-- and so the first photo that popped up on her feed was Genya’s, a picture of the birthday boy looking carefree and goofy, a drunken smile plastered onto his face.  ‘He looks happy, ‘ she thought, the blow of seeing his face stinging behind her eyes. His messy hair and loose tie reminded her of the nights they’d spent on the roof of his apartment building, talking for hours, neither of them wanting to be the one who ended the night.  The thoughts, ‘maybe I should’ve sent him a happy birthday text,’ and ‘he’s celebrating without me, that smile isn’t for me, he left me,’  jumbled together in Zoya’s head. He wouldn’t want to hear from her of all people, and why would he want her by his side? They were broken up, because of her, as they should be. Everyone else had accepted it,  she had accepted it. So why did the rest of her body betray her, longing even when her mind denied any more attachment?