Aravella Celestine Dwayne's Point of View
Night wore on, filled with the sound of laughter curling through the cool breeze. Rafael and Dania were some of the guests that came bearing gifts and infectious energy. Rafael grinned teasingly as he handed me a small box wrapped in crumpled paper. "I was going to get you something more expensive," he joked, "but then I remembered we're all broke students."
"Thanks, Rafa. I'm sure it's perfect," I answered, putting on a false smile.
Dania hugged me close. "Nineteen, huh? Welcome to the club!" She winked. "We are officially grown-ups. And by grown-ups, I mean we can no longer make excuses for anything."
I smiled, but my thoughts returned to the swelling crowd inside. More people were pouring into the space. Friends from Caspian's high school, distant relatives, and neighbors circulated among themselves-without talking to me, it seems. All seemed to know each other.
Then came Madeline, fashionably late. Her coming felt like the air shifted. Dressed in a sleek designer outfit that wore no bones about her status, she kissed everyone in the air with a charming smile. Catching my eye, she smiled brightly.
 
 "Happy birthday, Ara!" she cooed as she drew me to a quick but polite hug. "I wouldn't miss your special day, you know."
"Thanks, Madeline," I said, though the words felt heavy on my tongue.
It wasn't long before Madeline's attention shifted. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her seek out Clementine and slip into his space as if she belonged there. They exchanged soft words, and her hand brushed against his arm with an ease that made my stomach twist.
I looked away. The ache in my chest was growing. It was a cruel reminder that, despite everything, I was nothing but a shadow in Clementine's world—a spectator, not participant.
Suddenly, Apollo appeared on the scene, greeting my parents with excitement. My mother's face lit up when she saw him, as if the universe somehow needed to make this moment happen. "Apollo! It's great to see you," she gushed, embracing him warmly.
Apollo laughed innocently, quite used to her warmth. "It is great to be here, Mrs. Dwayne. I wouldn't miss Ara's birthday for anything."
That was the moment the bomb dropped.
"Why don't you dance with Ara tonight?" my mom proposed brightly, clasping her hands together. "It would be such a lovely way to end the evening."
"Mom—" I began, but that look, that silencing mother-look ensued. You know the one; I-do-whatever's-best-for-you-so-just-go-with-it.
Apollo grinned and leaned his head toward me in invitation. "Shall we?" he asked, his hand offered to me.
I stood there for a moment, gazing across at Clementine, who was now completely entangled in conversation with Madeline. He had not noticed me at all, so far as he would reveal.
I nodded down at my feet, swallowing the knot of emotion that had come suddenly up in my throat, and slipped my hand into Apollo's. "Yeah," I said, my voice barely above a whisper, my heart certainly not being there.
As Apollo dragged me to the make-shift dance floor, people started to clap and make a little circle around us. The music quietened into a soft, gentle love song. Apollo's grip didn't waver. His warm smile was kind, but my thoughts were elsewhere, locked up in a place where they don't belong.
We danced to the beat, and all I could think of was Clementine. How I wished, deep down, that it was he standing here with me. How I wished he'd pull me close, look into my eyes, and make me feel like I wasn't just invisible.
But wishes are just that—wishes. They flicker briefly before reality snuffs them out, leaving nothing but disappointment in their wake.
And when the dance was finally over, everybody applauded. I pasted a smile at Apollo for the dance, but my heart was the heaviest that it had ever been.
After the dancing, it was now the birthday candles. My mom then set up a cake before me, whose candles were beautifully decorated on top of it. Everyone gathered around, saying in unison "Happy Birthday.".
My mother half-jogged to keep with me as the song faded into the distance. She nudged me, a smile breaking across her face. "Make a wish, darling."
I closed my eyes, feeling the familiar ache settle in. I knew what I wanted, no matter how foolish it was.
I wish Clementine could feel for him what I do. Even just for a moment.
I blew out the candles, and the room was applauding. But somehow, instead of feeling joyous, this wretched feeling germinated inside of me. I understood that nothing was going to change. Wishes like mine were born not to be satisfied.
The rest of the night is a blur. I thanked the guests, accepted gifts, and even throughout all this, I plastered a smile on my face that didn't quite reach my eyes. But at this moment, this weight in my chest stayed with me, dragging me down deeper with each passing moment.
The last guest had departed, and the house was growing quiet as I slipped away to my room, exhaustion and heartache pressing in from all sides. I sat on my bed, took out my diary, and started writing, pouring out the thoughts that could not be expressed.
Dear Diary,
Today was my 19th birthday. It could have been one of the best days ever, but it wasn't. Clementine was here, and of course he was: I knew it would happen. But he didn't come for me. He never will, for as much as I might want it.
Madeline has him, and perhaps that is how things were meant to be. She's beautiful and smart, and all of this I'll never be. Me? Just some stranger in his world, a silent spectator on the sidelines.
 
Dancing with Apollo was kind of nice, I guess. But the thing is, nothing mattered. Nothing does when your heart belongs to someone who doesn't even know it.
 
Love isn't made for everyone. Not for people like me, certainly.
I wish things were different, but wishes don't come true. Not for girls like me.
I closed the diary and stared at the ceiling. The ache in my chest wouldn't go away. For the first time in a long time, my birthday felt unfulfilled—empty, like a dream that crumbled before it could begin.
And in the darkness of the night, with nothing but the quiet hum of the cars outside my window, I let myself succumb to the weight of it all. Nineteen years old, and already I knew—some things were never meant to be.