Mrs. Pauline had taken Celine out shopping for her upcoming birthday party, determined to make it the most memorable celebration yet. The hotel hall had already been booked well in advance, and the event planner was working closely with them to bring Celine's dream party to life—complete with fairy lights, floral installations, and a gold-and-white theme fit for a princess.
That afternoon, they had just left the catering store, where the two had spent nearly an hour tasting cakes and choosing flavors. After much deliberation and a good deal of frosting on their fingers, they finally settled on a delicate two-layer vanilla and strawberry cake, topped with edible gold accents and sugar roses. Celine had been positively glowing ever since—her cheeks a soft pink, her eyes sparkling with the kind of joy that had long been absent from her life.
She was smiling so wide her cheeks hurt, the curve of her mouth practically reaching her ears. It was the kind of happiness that didn't come from things, but from finally being seen. For years, Celine had struggled in school, buried under poor grades, low expectations, and a quiet feeling of being invisible—especially in the eyes of her own parents. But something had shifted. Whether it was her recent creative breakthroughs in design or just her parents finally realizing she had her own light to shine, Celine didn't care. All she knew was that this birthday was going to be different.
"Let's try on some dresses," Mrs. Pauline said suddenly, tugging her gently toward a boutique with glass doors and glittering mannequins in the window.
Celine gave a small laugh, holding back. "But I don't need any clothes," she said coquettishly, tilting her head.
Her mother didn't stop walking. "They're never too many," she replied with a smirk. "And if they are, we'll just send the old ones to the orphanage. Your father and I will be visiting there soon anyway."
Celine paused, slightly touched by the thought. The orphanage. A place she'd heard about often but never visited herself. The idea of her old clothes possibly making someone else smile warmed her heart.
"Ah! Okay then," she said with a soft chuckle, giving in.
They walked into the boutique hand in hand, the warm chime of the entrance bell greeting them. Rows of shimmering gowns and casual chic outfits lined the walls, the place scented with a soft mix of vanilla and lavender. For the first time in a long time, Celine felt like a girl stepping into her own story—a story no longer shadowed by failure or neglect, but full of color, possibility, and love.
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It was finally the day of the long-awaited celebration — Celine's 18th birthday.
The house was buzzing with activity from the early hours of the morning. The caterers had arrived by 8 a.m., the decorators shortly after, and the sweet, rich scent of freshly baked pastries drifted through the air. White and gold balloons danced gently in the soft breeze, garlands of paper roses curled around the bannisters, and a graceful arch of flowers framed the entrance to the living room, where the small but elegant party would be held. The atmosphere was refined, warm, and full of personality — just like Celine.
But the birthday girl herself?
Still fast asleep.
It wasn't her fault. The excitement had hit her like a wave the previous night, Celine had tossed and turned in bed, her thoughts caught between nervousness and joy. Images of her dress, the compliments she might receive, the guests who'd be attending — and of course, the butterflies that swirled in her stomach at the thought of Mr. Andrew being there — had robbed her of sleep. She had at some point wished that it wasn't Mr Andrew who will be present but her crush.
She hadn't drifted off until nearly sunrise, her sketchbook resting by her side like a trusted friend.
Knowing this, her parents had decided to let her sleep in. The party wasn't starting until noon and was set to end by four — a compromise they gladly accepted when Celine firmly stated she didn't want a large, noisy celebration. She'd never liked crowds or being in the spotlight for too long. A small, curated guest list, a tasteful setup, and music soft enough to converse over — that was her ideal.
In her room upstairs, the sunlight filtered through sheer curtains, casting gentle patterns on the wooden floor. Celine stirred beneath her pale pink duvet, her lashes fluttering before she slowly opened her eyes. A drowsy yawn escaped her lips as she blinked away the sleep and sat up. The silence of her room was a stark contrast to the mild commotion downstairs, but she could faintly hear music and laughter.
Then it hit her — today was the day.
Her birthday.