Maria woke up smiling.
It took her a few seconds to remember why those soft, half-dream seconds where the world hadn’t fully settled yet. Then it clicked, warm and bright in her chest.
Seventeen.
Today was her seventeenth birthday.
She stayed curled beneath her blanket, staring at the pale morning light slipping through the curtains. The room felt quieter than usual, almost like it was holding its breath with her. Maria hugged her pillow and whispered, “Happy birthday to me,” her voice barely louder than a thought.
Seventeen sounded grown. Almost dangerous. Old enough to feel things deeply, to want things she didn’t always know how to name.
She stretched, finally rolling out of bed, her bare feet brushing against the cool floor. The mirror caught her reflection as she passed sleep-tousled hair, bare face, eyes bright with the kind of excitement she tried not to show too easily. She smiled at herself again, smaller this time, then turned toward the bathroom.
The familiar routine grounded her. Brushing her teeth. Splashing water on her face. Pulling her hair back loosely. Everything felt the same, yet different—like the day had already shifted, just a little, to make space for something special.
When she stepped into the hallway, the house was strangely quiet. No voices. No clatter from the kitchen. Maria paused, listening. Usually by this time her mother would be humming, or her brother James would be stomping down the stairs like the house owed him money.
Today nothing.
She shrugged it off and started down the staircase, one hand trailing along the banister. She was halfway down when it happened.
A loud thud.
Maria barely had time to gasp before something burst over her petals, color, soft fragrance. Flowers rained down in a bright, messy cascade, bouncing off her shoulders, tangling in her hair, scattering across the steps.
“Ah—!”
Before she could even recover, voices exploded around her.
Happy birthday to you
Maria froze.
Her heart stuttered, then took off running as she reached the bottom of the stairs. The living room was suddenly full—too full—and every single face was turned toward her.
Her parents stood front and center, her mother clasping her hands together, eyes shining, her father grinning proudly. Beside them was James, her elder brother, pretending not to smile but failing completely.
And then she saw them.
Their neighbors.
Mr. and Mrs. Carter stood near the couch, smiling warmly, and beside them were their sons—Vicks and Manson.
Vicks caught her eye immediately, his familiar grin wide and teasing, the same grin that had been part of her life for as long as she could remember. Best friends since scraped knees and shared lunches, since secrets whispered across classroom desks.
And just beside him
Manson.
Taller. Quieter. His hands tucked casually into his pockets, a small smile playing at his lips, eyes steady as they rested on her. Something in Maria’s chest tightened before she could stop it.
Happy birthday dear miiiiiria
Flowers still clung to her clothes as the song ended in laughter and cheers. Maria laughed too, breathless, overwhelmed, her cheeks aching from smiling so hard.
“You guys” she started, then shook her head, words failing her completely.
Her mother stepped forward first, pulling her into a tight embrace. “Happy birthday, my love.”
Her father followed, kissing the top of her head. James ruffled her hair, muttering, “Don’t cry, birthday girl,” even though his own eyes were suspiciously soft.
Then Maria moved without thinking.
She rushed toward them—the people who had watched her grow, who felt like home in a different way—and wrapped her arms around Vicks and the Carter's in one joyful, clumsy hug, laughter spilling out of her as she held on.
Yes today was my birthday.
Seventeen, Mirabel thought, the word echoing softly inside her as the laughter in the room slowly settled. Eleven years. That was how long it had been since her family packed up their old life and moved into this house. Eleven years since the first wave from across the fence. Eleven years since neighbors became something closer almost family.
The Carters had always been kind. The kind of neighbors who remembered birthdays, who showed up unannounced with food, who treated her home like theirs and theirs like home. Somewhere along the way, the two families had blended into one rhythm shared dinners, shared worries, shared joys.
And the children?
They had grown up together.
Same street. Same school. Same classrooms.
Mirabel smiled to herself as memories drifted in. The first time she spoke to Vicks—how he’d offered her his seat on the first day of school when she was too shy to ask. How quickly he’d become her constant, her laughter in class, her defender whenever anyone teased her. They were the same age, inseparable in a way only childhood friendships could be.
And then there was Mason.
Vicks’ elder brother. James’ age mate. Two years older than her, always just out of reach.
Mason.
She remembered the very first day she saw him how small she’d been, how big he’d seemed. She hadn’t known the word crush back then, but she’d known the feeling. That quiet flutter. That sudden awareness. The way her eyes always seemed to follow him without her meaning to.
He had grown into everything girls whispered about—tall, handsome, effortlessly distant. A little nonchalant. The kind of boy who didn’t try to impress anyone, yet somehow impressed everyone.
My best friend’s brother, she reminded herself gently, as she always did.
Still, even now, she didn’t know if he liked her at all. Sometimes he was kind in a way that made her hope. Other times, he was simply… Mason. Calm. Unreadable.
I wish he did, she admitted silently.
Seventeen years old, standing at the edge of something she couldn’t quite name yet. She didn’t know what this new age would bring, but she felt it change hovering just ahead, like summer heat before it fully settled in.
After the last hugs and birthday wishes, the room buzzed with cheerful chatter. It was tradition in both families: birthdays were properly celebrated at night. That meant cake, exchanged gifts, shared stories, and laughter that lasted longer than it should.
Thankfully, her birthday always fell in summer. That alone made it feel magical.
“Go get ready,” Vicks said with a grin, slinging an arm over her shoulder briefly. “We’re stealing you for the day.”
Mirabel laughed. The boys Vicks and Mason were taking her around the city. Exploring. Wandering. Making memories.
She nodded, excitement sparking fresh inside her, and turned toward the stairs. As she climbed, she felt it again that strange, hopeful flutter.
Seventeen had just begun.
Mirabel closed her bedroom door behind her and leaned against it for a second, letting out a quiet breath. Her heart still felt light, buoyant, like it had been lifted by all the love downstairs.
She headed straight for the bathroom.
The shower water was warm and comforting as it ran over her shoulders, washing away the last traces of sleep. She hummed softly, smiling to herself as she replayed the morning the flowers, the singing, the way everyone’s faces had lit up when they saw her. Most of all, the way Mason had looked at her. Or maybe how she thought he’d looked. She wasn’t sure anymore.
Back in her room, wrapped in a towel, she walked over to her wardrobe. Her fingers hovered for a moment before she picked out a short flared skirt and a simple crop top. She’d always loved short dresses and skirts loved how free they felt, how confident they made her, even when she tried to pretend she wasn’t thinking about how she looked.
As she reached for a hanger, another outfit caught her eye.
Her birthday outfit.
It was neatly arranged, waiting patiently for the night. Mirabel smiled, touching the fabric gently.
I can’t wait to wear this tonight, she thought, excitement bubbling quietly inside her.
She dressed quickly, packed her hair into a neat ponytail, and applied a light touch of makeup just enough to make her feel like herself, only brighter. When she looked in the mirror, she liked what she saw. Not perfect. Not trying too hard. Just… seventeen.
Downstairs, the sound of an engine told her she was late.
She hurried outside and found the boys already in the car. As always, Vicks slid into the back seat beside her, grinning like it was the most natural thing in the world. James was in the front passenger seat, scrolling through his phone, while Mason sat behind the wheel.
Mason was driving.
That alone made her stomach flutter.
As the car pulled away, Vicks turned to her immediately. “You look really good, birthday girl,” he said easily, bumping her shoulder with his.
“Thank you,” she laughed, nudging him back.
She glanced forward without meaning to and caught it.
In the rearview mirror, Mason’s eyes flicked briefly toward her. Just a second. Just enough. Then he looked back at the road, his expression unreadable.
Mirabel looked away quickly, her heart beating a little faster.
What was that? she wondered, unable to explain the strange mix of hope and confusion it stirred inside her.
The park was alive with sound when they arrived—children laughing, music playing from somewhere nearby, the smell of food drifting through the air. Summer had settled in fully, and everything felt warm and bright and endless.
They started with food, because no one was ever patient enough to wait. They bought snacks from different stalls fries they shared straight from the carton, cold drinks that fogged up in their hands, and sweet treats that melted faster than they could eat them. Vicks kept stealing bites off Mirabel’s plate, insisting it was “birthday tax,” while James complained loudly but still reached for food whenever it passed his way.
After eating, they wandered deeper into the park, playing games that brought out everyone’s competitive side. They tried their luck at small arcade booths, laughing when they lost and celebrating far too loudly when someone won something trivial. Mirabel found herself laughing so hard her sides hurt, her worries slipping away with every moment.
They sat on the grass later, talking about school, old memories, and plans that felt big and blurry and exciting. Vicks told embarrassing childhood stories. James exaggerated everything. Mason listened more than he spoke, smiling quietly, occasionally adding a comment that made them all laugh harder than expected.
As the sun dipped lower, the sky turning shades of orange and pink, Mirabel felt something settle gently in her chest. Happiness. The kind that didn’t need explanation.
They didn’t realize how late it had gotten until the park lights flickered on.
By the time they drove home, dawn was beginning to hint at the edges of the sky. The city felt softer, quieter, like it was finally exhaling. Mirabel leaned back in her seat, tired but content, already thinking of the night ahead of cake, gifts, and the birthday outfit waiting upstairs.
Seventeen wasn’t just a number anymore.
It had begun.
