They fit together so easily, as though they were two puzzle pieces that had been waiting for each other all along. It was strange, watching them. They had this way of communicating—silent, subtle. A nod, a glance, a shift in expression. They understood each other in a way I never understood my father. In a way I wasn’t sure I wanted to.

Surprisingly, I wasn’t jealous. At first, my life didn’t change drastically—it just had someone else in it. Someone who woke up in the room next to mine, someone who sat beside me at dinner, who walked beside me wherever I went. I had no reason to be jealous, bitter, or feel left out. In some strange way, it almost felt like I had known him all along, even though I hadn’t.

Then came the realization that we’d never know Blake’s real birthday. We didn’t even know if he knew. His files listed one, but Dad said it was just a system guess—about as accurate as those horoscopes in the back of a magazine.

So Mom picked a day—October 17th. It wasn’t too close to the start of school, and it wasn’t so far from Christmas that it would be overshadowed. It fell right in the heart of autumn, when the air smelled of crisp leaves and the nights were just cold enough to pull out extra blankets.

At first, Blake was unimpressed. “It’s just another day,” he said when Mom first brought it up and suggested we celebrate it. But to us, it wasn’t just another day. For us, it was about giving him something no one else had ever given him—a day that was his.

We kept it small. He would’ve hated a big party, so it was just us; Mom, Dad, me, and him. Mom made his favorite dinner (he didn’t say what it was, so Mom just made everything he’d ever asked for). There were decorations, but not too many, because Dad said the last thing he wanted was to make Blake feel like he had to perform some role or live up to some expectation.

And there was cake, of course. A big chocolate one, covered in blue frosting because I swore blue was his favorite color (even though he never said so).

Blake looked confused when Mom brought the cake out. And when we all started singing, his face went blank.

He blinked. Looked at me. Looked at Dad.

I nudged him under the table. “Blow out the candle.”

For a second, I thought he wasn’t going to. Then, with a slow breath, he leaned forward and whoosh—the candle flickered out.

Mom clapped. Dad chuckled. I smiled.

But Blake just sat there, looking lost.

“Did I do it wrong?” he asked.

My smile faltered.