"I am so sorry. How silly of me! Well, the name is Ryan. Ryan Grayson. Nice to meet you… uh?" Ryan extended his hand out to greet Myra, pretending that he did not know her name because that would otherwise pose him as a creepy-looking hungover dude. And he did not want that. His face held a somewhat confused look to support and back his question, which somehow made Myra smile.
Well, until five minutes earlier, he honestly didn't know her name. He knew nothing about her life. But after going through her very personal diary and being absolutely irritated by it, he now knew more than most of her acquaintances, and that's something Myra wasn't aware of. She was totally clueless, to say the least, innocently unaware of the dangers that lurked in her 30cms vicinity.
"I am Myra," she said, a little too slowly. She hesitated for a second to two before carefully wiping her hand on her jeans and extending it to grab his. His hand felt relatively warm against her cold palms. And if it hadn't been for the fact that there was almost a pin-drop kind of silence around them, you would have slipped out on that whisper. To her, the whisper felt like yelling and choking in her own words. She really had to work on her confidence.
"Well, Myra, it's a pleasure to meet you. Trust me, it really is. Since I am pretty sure you're too shy to even say something, let me tell you that it's my birthday today. Would you please be kind enough to join me on a cake?" Ryan always had a way with his words. He just knew what to say when. And more often than not, he could almost see through people. He could always figure when somebody was trying to fool him or lying to him, just about everything.
And that's something that made Ryan Grayson feel almost like a God. Of course, in his own head, he was a God. And people were just living in his world.
"Oh! That's nice. Happy birthday! How old do you turn today?" She took 10 seconds before addressing his following plea. "Do you want me to truly celebrate your birthday with you? I mean, it's such an important occasion for you. Cakes and all! Don't you want to celebrate with your friends and family? Are they not waiting?"
The idea of birthdays almost meant being with your loved ones being pampered throughout the day. The idea of a birthday is to celebrate your existence. Birthdays are meant to be happy. They are meant to provide you with an excuse to spend time with your family. They are meant to make you happy. She couldn't remember the last time she spoke to her family. But this one aspect she honestly didn't care about.
"The answer to your first question: I am now 20." That meant he is two years older, calculated Myra. The age difference bothered her in some sick, twisted way, even though they weren't really too far away from each other. Ryan was two years older than Myra. He continued, "and to answer your next question, and it never hurts to sometimes take the plunge and trying something out of the blue. Friends and family? Nah! I could do that with them any day of the year. I don't need a reason to celebrate with them. So, yes, I do want you to be here when I order myself a cake and cut it. That would somehow feel less lonely."
He looked at Dahlia, who, at this moment, looked like the least bothered kid in this whole wide world. This whole strange encounter hadn't bothered her one bit. Scratch that — she didn't even look up from her dolls unless urged to. "Hey, little girl, do you like cakes?" He asked Dahlia, who, for the third time in the entire conversation, looked up.
"I love cakessssss. Cakessss are sweet, and I like sweet," declared Dahlia with innocence radiating off her eyes.
Honestly, who the hell does not like cakes, she wondered.
"See, now we are a team of three." This almost sounded like he was trying to reassure her. But about what, wondered Myra. But maybe this is how people communicate in general?
It is no doubt that man is a social animal. Once his primary needs, such as food, shelter, and clothing, are met, it becomes necessary for him to fulfill the social need of communication. The early man expressed himself through gestures with his hands and face. This was the first mode of communication available to him. They could also simultaneously produce mutually unconnected grunts and groans to express his basic emotions like anger and satisfaction. This Was another mode of communication for him.
A couple of thousand years later, here we are. We are blessed with the ultimate form of communication — Languages. Human beings live on communication. They thrive on communication.
And it was no surprise that Myra often felt too out of the place because her necessities weren't being fulfilled. So she must communicate with other human beings not only to seek and impart information but also to share with them her experiences- her joys and sorrows.
"What's your favorite flavor?" Ryan asked Myra in a hurry. Then, deciding he had had enough of this slow-motioned conversation, it was time to take matters into his own hands.
"Huh? Why?" If there's one thing that Ryan Grayson disliked, it'd be being questioned. He cannot stand being questioned about his motives. For the eternity of his life, his good looks helped him get away with everything. But those weren't working here, and neither was the conversation. "Just tell me!" Although he was starting to get impatient, he just made it appear like a facade for excitement.
"Uhm, I guess blueberry?"
To her utter disbelief, he got out of his chair, made his war to the counter, and ordered a blueberry cheesecake that was too big for two people. He told his situation to Mary, who was kind enough to put on the candles complimentary.
"The start of this decade doesn't look bad at all. What a surprise! I am looking forward to seeing what other surprises I have my way," saying this, he blew out the candles while the three other people sang him a sweet little happy birthday song. Then, he cut his cake with a broad smile plastered across his face, scooped out a bite, and offered it to Myra. Myra, out of obligation, did the same for him.
The next bite went to Dahlia and then also to Mary, who had joined the little celebration they were having there.
"So, where's my gift?"
"I am sorry, I don't have anything to give you," the question had made her feel genuinely embarrassed, but she also knew it wasn't her fault. But, of course, she didn't come prepared for this sort of celebration.
"Well, come on. It doesn't have to be anything special. Anything would work. I really like gifts."
Thinking for a minute, she went to grab her diary, tore out a paper, and quickly scribbled a message.
'Dear Ryan,
Happy birthday! At this point, I really don't have much to offer you except my words. I genuinely wish for you to do oh-so-well in your life. And I know for a fact that you will. I hope that you never have to carry the weight of the world alone and that you never feel small while having to face the world alone.
With love,
Myra'
She added a little paper origami touch to the note and shyly gave it to him as a gift. Even she was too embarrassed of her own antics but there wasn't much she could have done to save the day.
Receiving a note on birthday sounds like the last birthday gift anybody would want but here we are.
Myra often dreamt of becoming a writer, and frankly, that seemed like a far-fetched dream in this quaint tiny hometown, nestling behind the walls of mountains. She missed the fresh air and nature, to be honest. About time to take matters into her own hands, right? How much longer can you let people dictate your life? Only a short while before you grab your life in your fists and mold it in the way you want. She stared outside at the sky from the window in the corner. She is tired.
She wanted to offer him her words and he gladly accepted it. Her handwriting wasn't neat at all, Ryan figured as he assessed it, but he managed to read it through. If you think receiving a note is bad, try receiving one with poor handwriting. She wanted the ground to open up and swallow her down at that very instant.
But to say that Ryan was surprised would be an understatement. He was beyond thrilled and happy to have received that. He felt happy. His 20th birthday was going better than expected. He reread it, and again. And again. He muttered a thank you. He thanked her at least a dozen times while he felt lightheaded.
"I am sad that you did not add your phone number next to it but we'll get there. For now, how about I show you around the city through my eyes? Why don't you and I spend the day together?" he folded the paper neatly and put it in his phone cover.
All her wild, running thoughts spiraled in front of her eyes. But for a second, she thought, 'why the hell not?'
So against her better judgment, that's what she said.
"Yes. I'd like that."