Lana coursed through the park, her bicycle swerving expertly with each turn in the familiar territory. She loved parks; being one with nature was second nature to the botanist’s daughter.
As she neared the park’s centre, her eyes fell on an intriguing structure.
A fountain.
Jetstreaming —
CHOCOLATE.
That would make Hershey’s spin.
It smelled…divine. Surely one sip wouldn’t hurt.
No one knew who emplaced it. There was only a sign that bore a caveat:
Drink as much as you wish.
Each sip postpones your birthday by a day.
But you will continue to age.
Lana took a sip. A joke? She’d play along.
So she did.
Her phone calendar did digital calisthenics, moving her birthday from the upcoming Saturday to Sunday.
Lana grew edgier as her birthday approached.
She detested birthdays.
She wasn’t afraid of ageing…everyone grew older.
She wanted to be REMEMBERED.
Her phone had remained stubbornly silent.
Last year, she had scrolled through her text messages. She had received a few automated ones. Her closest friends did remember —
A few days later.
Last year’s chocolate cake had been meant for three people.
But she finished it —
Alone.
She wondered whether anyone would bother —
At all.
She had an idea.
If her birthday never arrived, no one could forget it.
She returned to the fountain.
Sipped.
Another day.
She sipped again.
She dropped by the fountain every day after work.
Her birthday retreated across the calendar —
While others’ arrived in perfect time, with candles flaring.
It postponed her birthday by a week, at first.
Then it pushed the date back by another week.
And another.
Soon, it was months away.
But life continued —
With everyone’s birthdays.
Someone received a birthday cake at work.
A child celebrated his beneath a banner that marked the occasion.
People complained as they aged, but blew candles out anyway.
Lana told herself that she didn’t care.
But noticed.
Every time.
And kept drinking.
She approached the fountain one afternoon.
“Lana!” The call was insistent.
It was her friend, Mabel.
With a small chocolate cake on a table, enough for two.
Her name in icing that was obviously too sweet.
Nothing elaborate.
Just the cake.
Mabel explained that she didn’t want to forget this year.
“I thought I’d catch you ahead.”
She froze.
Someone actually remembered.
Then glanced at the phone. Her birthday wasn’t next week.
It was months away.
SHE had made it impossible to reach.
She passed the park the next morning.
The fountain still jet streamed chocolate, burbling a tantalising invitation.
It kept flowing.
She slowed her steps —
And reached for her thermos.
Then kept moving forward.
Her birthday remained on a much later month because of all the chocolate she had drunk. But she could stop pushing it away.
For once in a long time, the date moved to her.
It finally arrived.
Without fanfare.
Just Mabel.
Two friends.
And two forks.
She had allowed someone to make tea for two.
Mirrors of the Mind by Michelle Liew is a collection of psychological and supernatural short stories that explore the quiet unease beneath ordinary moments. These are not tales of spectacle, but of subtle fracture — where memory distorts, silence speaks, and the self is not always singular. In these stories, what is unseen often carries the greatest weight, and what lingers is not what is shown, but what is felt
