I Only Needed Your Face

Alban did not come home for several days. Instead, Davina checked in from time to time with messages, photos, and short videos.

Some showed Alban from behind as he cooked in her kitchen. Others captured him at the piano, playing for her alone. A few clips showed him tidying her apartment, sleeves rolled up, movements patient and familiar.

Davina sent them for one reason only: to ensure Eliza understood how deeply he loved her and how completely he indulged her.

On ordinary days, the images stirred nothing in Eliza. She felt no anger, no jealousy. They barely caused a ripple.

But on Kyran's birthday, the photos struck differently.

When Kyran was alive, he had treated her the same way, gently and attentively, as if she were something precious he needed to protect.

After he died, no one ever loved her like that again.

She baked a cake and set it on the table. Then she opened Davina's posts once more.

Memories rose unbidden. Kyran stood beside her, smiling, teasing, holding her hand. When her gaze shifted to Alban's identical face on the screen, her sadness deepened.

She lowered her head onto the table and closed her eyes. Tears soaked the sleeve beneath her cheek.

When Alban came home, that was the scene that greeted him.

Eliza had fallen asleep, her phone loosely clutched in her hand, tear tracks still fresh on her face.

He paused before walking closer. Only then did he notice the cake on the table.

She had remembered his birthday. She even knew he liked matcha.

In childhood, he had always shared his birthday with Kyran. Their parents favored the older twin, and no one prepared a cake just for him. After Kyran died, he stopped celebrating altogether. No one remembered. He had not marked his birthday in years.

He was rarely home on that day. Had she been quietly celebrating for him every year?

He sat beside her. His hand brushed her phone by accident, and he caught a glimpse of the screen from the corner of his eye.

He picked it up. The photo album was open. Thousands of photos filled the screen, all of him. There were images of his back, his profile, his smile. Some showed him with his eyes closed in thought.

He scrolled to the bottom. The earliest photos dated back eight years. The most recent were from three years ago.

For a moment, he could not name what he felt. Shock came first. Then a flicker of emotion that moved him. Beneath it all lay a faint, undeniable satisfaction.

'So Eliza has been secretly in love with me for that long,' he thought.

Eliza stirred and woke. When she saw him holding her phone, she panicked and reached out to snatch it back.

Alban assumed she felt embarrassed that her secret had been exposed. His voice hardened. "Who told you to celebrate my birthday? Don't you know I never celebrate it?"

She froze. Only then did she realize he had misunderstood again.

He did not notice her expression. He pulled the cake closer.

"Just this once," he said. "There won't be a next time. Go on. Light the candles for me."

There was no room to correct him now, so Eliza let the misunderstanding stand.

She lit the candles, sang the birthday song, and cut the cake for him. When she looked at him, her eyes brimmed with tenderness.

His face was exactly the same as Kyran's.

She told herself, 'It's fine. I will simply pretend I'm celebrating Kyran's birthday instead.'