Pollen's P.O.V.
The gravel crunched under my flats as I walked through the wrought-iron gates of the Timeless Garden. It was surprisingly busy for a random Wednesday afternoon. Everywhere I looked, people were winding down the narrow paths, clutching small bundles of chrysanthemums or just standing quietly over the headstones. For once, I was grateful for the blue pill.
The neuro-stabilizer had completely kicked in by now, wrapping everything in a thick, heavy fog that kept everyone else's chaotic thoughts from spilling into my own head. There was no sudden wave of dizziness this time. No roaring static.
But my chest was the exact opposite.
The more stable my mind became, the heavier my heart felt.
With every step I took down the familiar, tree-lined path toward the eastern slope, a suffocating pressure tightened around my ribs. The physical world was quiet, but the emotional silence was deafening.
When I finally reached her resting place, I took a deep breath, trying to steady my hands. I carefully unfolded a small, dark plaid blanket, smoothing the edges onto the manicured grass directly facing her tombstone. I sat down, crossing my legs, and pulled the items from my tote bag with a slow, deliberate rhythm.
I arranged a small bundle of fresh flowers, laying them gently against the cold, gray marble, and struck my lighter to set a small glass candle at the base.
Finally, I pulled out a small, circular chocolate-strawberry cake, resting it precariously on my lap. She had absolutely loved this combination when she was alive. So did I.
I carefully pushed two wax numbers into the frosting—a six and a five—and flicked the lighter once more, watching the twin flames catch and dance against the afternoon breeze.
I stared at the little glowing numbers, the weight of the quadruple anniversary pressing down on my throat. Her sixty-fifth birthday. Her six-year death anniversary. The sixth anniversary of my college graduation. And my own birthday. It was a beautiful, devastating accumulation of years, and I was entirely alone with it.
I took a shaky breath, parting my lips to softly sing a quiet tribute to the stone, when a sudden, firm pressure touched my shoulder.
Someone tapped me.
I flinched, my head snapping around so quickly my neck popped. Standing right behind me, silhouetted against the filtered sunlight, was Zachy.
My mind had been buried so deep in the past, so locked behind the chemical fog of the blue pill, that I hadn't even heard the grass rustle. I hadn't noticed their presence at all. I blinked, my gaze shifting slightly to the left, and realized he wasn't alone. Leo was standing a step behind him, his hands folded loosely in front of his long coat, his expression characteristically calm and patient.
"..."
The words died in my throat. I sat there completely speechless, my hands still hovering over the chocolate-strawberry cake. But it wasn't the sheer shock of their sudden arrival that stole my breath.
It was what Zachy was holding in his right hand. He was gripping a bouquet of pristine, white lilies—the specific, delicate arrangement that instantly dragged up a violent wave of memory, reminding me of my mother more than anything else in the world.
"How did you know?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper as I stared unblinkingly at the white petals.
"How could I not know?" Zachy replied softly.
A simple, incredibly warm smile touched his lips as he stepped onto the blanket, bending his tall frame down to carefully place his bouquet right beside the one I had laid down just minutes prior.
My chest tightened.
We had brought the exact same flowers. A perfect, identical match of white lilies.
I frantically searched my memory, my brow furrowing as I tried to pinpoint a time I might have shared that detail with him. Had I mentioned it during that summer after graduation? Had I offhandedly talked about her favorite church arrangements over coffee at Lotus Town? Nothing came to my mind. The memory was just a blank space, so I simply shook my head to clear the fog, turning my gaze back to the two men as they settled onto the grass beside me.
"What are you doing here?" I asked, trying to find my footing and force a normal conversation through the thick grief.
"I thought we were meeting at CherryBlossom Town."
Zachy chuckled softly, adjusting his jacket as he sat close enough for his arm to brush against mine—a steady, solid reminder that I wasn't an orphan in a graveyard anymore.
"I couldn't help it," he said, his eyes crinkling at the edges as he looked at the little cake on my lap.
"You texted me and told me you'd be here first. Did you really think we'd let you sit here by yourself?"
I looked away for a second, my throat tight as I realized how quickly they must have moved.
I had only sent that text right after leaving the Matrix building, yet here they were. They hadn't even waited for me to make the trip down to 17th Street alone; they had dropped everything the moment they saw my message.
Leo, who had remained quiet ever since they arrived, finally spoke up.
"Yeah, Zach told me that it's better to come here and accompany you."
His voice was calm and strong, cutting through the quiet afternoon air with a steady certainty. He turned his gaze toward Zachy, nodding slightly.
"Happy Birthday, Pol," Zachy added. He reached over and gently patted my head, his warm smile still firmly in place.
I stared at them, my chest aching. I didn't want this moment to be ruined by my own dark emotions. They had dropped everything to be here, and the very least I could do was try to reciprocate the effort and the soft smiles they were giving me.
"Thank you, Zachy," I said, forcing my lips to curve upward.
It felt tight and unnatural against my cheeks, but I prayed they didn't notice the strain behind it.
"Happy Birthday, Pollen," Leo said next. He reached into the deep pocket of his coat and handed me a small, neatly wrapped chocolate bar.
"Thank you, Leo," I murmured, taking the chocolate bar from his hand.
I smiled at him—not forced this time, but it still wasn't a genuinely happy smile. My heart was just too heavy, too anchored to the gray marble tombstone in front of us, to let any real joy break through.
I dropped Leo's chocolate bar into my bag and held the cake steady on my lap. The wind was picking up a bit, making the flames on the wax numbers flicker and dance. I cupped my left hand around the candles to block the breeze, took a quick breath, and blew them out.
Carefully, I reached forward and set the chocolate-strawberry cake right on the flat base of the tombstone, placing it nicely right next to the flowers.
"Happy 65th Birthday, Mom," I whispered under my breath. My throat felt tight, but I swallowed hard, doing everything I could to keep from breaking down in tears right there.
Zachary's P.O.V.
I watched her profile as she stared at the cold stone. It hit me then: this was the very first time she had ever forgotten her mom's birthday, her death anniversary, and her own birthday. All of it.
Completely wiped from her head.
It felt completely backward. Usually, the moment August rolled around, she'd get so excited and run to me first to plan how we'd celebrate.
Why did she forget the most important day of her life? Did she actually go into her phone and remove it from her calendar?
But why would she do that?
"I was so annoyed when you actually forgot your own birthday," I blurted out, the words escaping before I could filter them.
"But I understand."
It was true.
I had spent the whole morning sitting by my phone, waiting for her to call me or give me a heads-up on what she wanted to do today. I'd been holding my breath until she finally texted.
I looked at her, noting the pale skin and the exhaustion in her posture. Was it because of her visual telepathic ability? Was the stress and the constant mental anxiety finally short-circuiting her brain?
"A lot has happened to you," I continued, letting out a deep, heavy sigh that felt like it carried the weight of the last few months.
"And I couldn't even check in on you as much as I should have."
"I actually don't know," she said softly, keeping her eyes fixed on the grass.
"I wonder if I accidentally removed it from my calendar."
I closed my mouth, forcing back the urge to question her further.
I didn't want to scold her. It was her day, after all, and we were standing right at her mom's grave. There was no point in making her feel worse.
I shifted my gaze down to the clean engravings on the marble:
Mira Anderson
August 27, 1960 - August 27, 2020
"But let's talk about that later," I said, putting a reassuring hand on her shoulder.
"Right now, I want you to clear your head. Forget everything else on your mind and let's just celebrate your birthday together with your mom."
"You're right, Zachy," she murmured.
"Thank you."
She offered a small smile, but it didn't reach her eyes. It was that heavy, protective mask she always wore when she was trying to convince me she was fine.