Year 1
He stood before her with all the possible gifts, unsure about what she wanted.
Greeting card ✅
Chocolates ✅
Showpieces ✅
“Nice.” was her response. “Damn! Should have gone for the soft toy.” He thought.
Year 2
A PPT on her life that she could watch at one go on the click of a button was presumably his idea of a good birthday gift. She agreed. So did her parents. The catch? It was good. Not grand.
Year 3
He poured his emotions to construct a metaphorical story that encapsulated their journey till date. The story was but a mere figment of his imagination while at the same time being an expanse in which his dreams were bound. She was impressed, sure. She praised the use of language, definitely. Just not in the way he hoped for.
Year 4
He stood empty handed before her and exclaimed, “It’s me! I am your gift! Happy birthday!”
It began to drizzle. She moved towards him and mock punched him on his arm. “You are the worst.” He was bewildered.
She took his hand in hers and said softly “You outdo yourself every single year. But that is not a possibility next year. No one, not even you, can ever get me a better gift than this.”
As they walked away into the drizzle, arms firmly entwined and her head on his shoulder, the sense of accomplishment he felt at the time was insurmountable.
Words on a canvas 