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Yellowed Paper
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This day had always been extravagant.
People had always filled the halls, giving their well-wishes to the boy, offering lavish gifts and prizes.
"Thanks." he'd grudgingly say, taking the present and tossing it into some linen closet.
He had never wanted those frivolous pleasantries, offered by his father's allies.
He had always loathed this day.
But then she would come, with her long, curled silver hair that looked so much like his own, the warm grey eyes that seemed to light up whenever she saw him. And then they would sit together at the piano near the window, with the windows' curtains drawn and would just play and talk together.
His soft, small fingers could barely span five keys, while her gentle ones could span an octave, spinning and dancing over the notes effortlessly.
She had come on that day for three years without fail, always bringing a small gift with her. Her gifts were not as expensive as the others, the boy noted, but were instead handmade. She had brought him a drawing that she had found in the market one day in a cheap plastic frame, a soft, knitted red scarf and a small teddy bear with black buttons for eyes.
She'd only spend an hour before she'd be rushed from the room by a maid, but she'd always bid her farewells. "Goodbye, my child." she'd say, before pressing her lips to his forehead, smiling at him. "Oh, I love you so much."
And he'd be confused, because she was simply the piano lady and why would she love him? but he would tell her the same.
He never noticed the tears that would fill her eyes as he said so.
And when he turned four years old, waiting patiently in the sitting room at the piano, his feet too far from the pedals to reach so they swung, the woman never came.
He had waited the entire day for her, refusing his own father's calls to dinner.
And when the sun sank down over the horizon, his heart did as well, and he realized that she was not coming that day.
And the next year bared only the same results.
As did the next year.
And so on.
Until Gokudera Hayato turned eight years old, he never learned the reason behind her disappearance.
But ever since she left him, he has kept that drawing in the same cheap plastic frame hung on his wall, the soft knitted scarf hanging on a hook and the small teddy bear with black buttons for eyes greeted him each day from his bed.
They were his precious mementos.
Even to this day, when he has long since outgrown the soft knitted scarf and the paper of the drawing has yellowed, and the small teddy bear with black buttons for eyes no longer waits for him on his bed, he has sat in his sitting room at the piano, the windows' curtains pulled open.
His feet can now reach the pedals, the years of swinging passed.
His father no longer calls him to dinner, as he now lives separate from him.
His fingers can span nine keys, in comparison to the five he had once been so proud of.
But as he sits at the piano, gentling handling each key, he can still hear her gentle laughter, long fingers spinning and dancing over each chord and note. He can still see her long silvery hair falling over her shoulders and the light from the window glinting off her grey eyes.
A yellowed drawing in a cheap plastic frame hung above his piano in all of its glory.
A soft knitted scarf made for a child drapes elegantly over the piano's top.
And a small teddy bear with black buttons for eyes sits beside him on the seat, as if watching over him.
This was how he spent his birthday.
With her.
Happy birthday, Gokudera Hayato.