“...Happy birthday to you!”

The song ended on at least four different keys, but the lopsided grins on her friends’ faces made Stella smile despite her nervousness. As busy as they were, they’d planned and thrown a surprise party in the school courtyard—a joyous mess of ribbons, balloons, and a home-baked cake—and she loved every second of it.

But the relief didn’t last long. On her shoulders was the pressure of 17 years of hope, expectation, and hard work—for today was November 1st, and today was the due date for all early college applications.

The celebration wasn’t what really mattered.

~~~~~

When Stella got home, she could barely remember what the party looked like. Her mind was filled with one thing: her application to Northwestern University. She’d been researching their programs, attending their info sessions, chatting with their alumni for years. Both of her parents graduated from there. And, as the favorite of several teachers and the unofficial “tutor” of her friends, Stella knew she had many eyes watching her future.

“Don’t waste any time today! Make sure you double check everything and submit on time!” Her mother called from the kitchen.

Of course, that was a given. Stella darted up the stairs, shutting off her phone as soon as she reached her room. Just before the screen went dark, she saw a stack of birthday wishes from her friends.

Well, they would have to wait.

With a slice of leftover cake in hand, she turned her laptop on, mindlessly savoring the sweet frosting as she scanned over the all-too-familiar essay. Grammar? Check. Word count? Check. Chances to make a reader cry? Hopefully check.

She read, re-read, re-re-read. Another two hours ticked around the clock, a miniscule addition to the supposed eternity that she’d spent perfecting every word.

“At this point, I’ve tried my best,” Stella whispered.

Her cat—a lovely black creature with a patch of brown on her nose—nestled herself into her hand as she hovered restlessly over the submit button. With warm purrs urging her on, Stella clicked the button, feeling as if her fate had been sealed.

And it was over. Just like that.

Silence hung like a solemn blanket over the room. It was just Stella, her cat, and the old lamp that kept her company on lonely nights: a far cry from the cheerful chaos of the surprise party several hours ago. But Stella knew that her application was no longer in her hands—it was with the admission officers now, and it will remain there as they try to piece together her entire identity in less than 650 words.

Stella slid back on her chair, groaning from the creaks in her stiff bones. Above all else, she wanted to sleep. She didn’t even eat dinner yet, only hoping that the birthday cake would suffice.

But there was still one thing left to do.

Stella pulled open her drawers, rummaging through the stationery until she found an old envelope. One edge was already crumpled and faded, but the familiar, excited handwriting on it was unmistakable.

Happy birthday, older me!

She brushed a finger along the smooth surface, peeling off the tape, carefully, so that it wouldn’t tear.

Hey future Stella!

How have you been?

I’m doing great. I just came back from that new noodle place down the street, and it was SO GOOD. It’s the same one I went to after escaping Homecoming. I hope you’ll do the same thing this year! Invite some friends and ditch it together, but wear dresses anyway and do a photoshoot at the local park. It’d be cool if you recreated some of our pics!

Also, I have 3 packs of KitKats on my desk from Halloween right now and I’m planning to eat them all the WRONG way in front of Aria. Do you still bite them like I do now? I still can’t believe Aria’s taking a gap year after we graduate… I’m gonna make sure my best friend remembers our KitKat memories!

But speaking of college, you must be so stressed now since it’s probably application season. I’ll study hard for the SAT coming up so you can have an easier time. Did you do well on it? Also, how did the Girl Scouts Gold Award go? And did you become FBLA president? No pressure of course, but I’m dying to know since I’ve been working so hard! I’ll be visiting Northwestern over the summer, so fingers crossed.

I’m sure you’ll do great! Good luck!

Sincerely,

Past Stella

Stella folded the letter back, smiling. It was a warm feeling—the sweet kind that lingered in the mouth, like the chocolates she’d always shared with her old friend. Her past self had so much enthusiasm, so much positivity for the days ahead. What a hopeful tone her old self had used. What a wild handwriting she had written with. For a moment, Stella closed her eyes and simply let the nostalgia overwhelm her worries.

Her cat seemed to agree, as it padded over to the empty envelope and sat down, peering at her with satisfaction.

Stella nodded.

She uncapped her favorite pen, and let her thoughts unravel one by one. Yes, she skipped Homecoming again and retook the photos—the old and new ones both sat side by side in silver frames on her desk. Yes, she hasn’t changed, and she still bites her KitKats like she used to. No, she hasn’t contacted Aria—her senior moved away last year and hasn’t answered a single text since. Stella added earnestly: but don’t worry, friends come and go.

As for the last paragraph… she hesitated.

It reminded her of the stress that had nagged her all week long, and surprisingly, Stella felt rather protective, wanting to keep her old self from the pressure. The innocent, genuine excitement radiating from the letter seemed like the fragile light of a candle—so warm and bright, yet so easily extinguishable.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

As gently as she could, Stella wrote about how her hard work finally paid off, and how she was now adorned with all the medals and leadership titles she’d hoped and worked for. But at the same time, she noted down the problems and disputes that she had to manage as a leader, and how those titles were far more complicated than they looked. Stella also added, with no small amount of condolence, that she’d argued with her parents several times, bitterly split on the issue of responsibility and adulthood.

And finally, she wrote yes. Yes, she was still trying her best to get into her dream school.

When Stella read over both letters, she laughed softly. It was like reading the eager scrawl of a child, then the comforting letter of a mother. Even her handwriting looked a little more mature—her y’s and g’s were more narrow and the rest of her letters were more tame, more upright than before.

She slipped the new letter with the old one into their envelope, this time opting for a melted wax seal instead of tape. After securing them, Stella pulled out a worn leather box from under her bed and placed them inside.

Inside were all of her birthday letters, from the first frayed envelope scribbled with unrestrained markers, to her latest, most sophisticated addition. Nine of them sat neatly in a pile. Each one contained a conversation from a younger self to an older self, across the boundaries of identity, through the limits of time.

Stella returned to her desk, exhausted.

There was still half of the task left to finish.

Hey future Stella!

Stella’s pen came to a halt. Nothing else came to mind.

Her eyes flickered to her cat, but the lovely creature was already curled up by the lamp with her tail over her nose, fast asleep. She looked around her room—closet, bookshelf, reading chair—nothing particularly inspiring. Even the empty plate, that had held her birthday cake a few hours ago, seemed like a distant memory. Stella could recall the feeling of surprise, but was there anything else? Was there anything specific she could remember from the party? Was there anything she could remember from this year at all?

In the end, Stella decided to write truthfully.

I’m sorry. I really can’t think of anything right now.

And…

Did I get into Northwestern like I’ve always hoped?

Stella sealed the letter as quickly as she could, an unpleasant heat spreading in her chest. She tossed it into her drawer and slammed it shut—startling her cat in the process. Offended, her furry companion shot her a glare before darting over to the leather box on the floor.

A long sigh.

Maybe she would reopen the letter tomorrow and add to it. The stress she’d felt earlier as she submitted her early decision to her dream school was too heavy to bear. Truly, there was nothing else on her mind—nothing had been on her mind—besides the submit button this entire week. Or perhaps, this entire year. Stella wasn’t sure if it was just her sleep deprivation, but her memories of the year felt muddled and unclear. As she tried to imagine the faces of her friends, the desks in her classrooms, all she got was a blur.

She should sleep earlier today, Stella decided.

She trudged over to the box, gently shoo-ing aside her cat as she grabbed the edges to push it back under her bed.

That’s when she saw it.

A tenth envelope.

There was no way it’d been there before.

Including the one she added today, there were nine—she was sure of it.

She rubbed her eyes.

Still ten in the box.

Stella peered closer, and her eyes weren’t deceiving her: a fresh envelope, enclosed with a stamp that she was certain she didn’t have, tucked just behind the one she’d put in today.

She gingerly picked it up and brought it to her desk.

It was fully sealed, exactly like all the other completed sets.

Stella yanked her drawer, and—

The letter—no, the short note—that she’d written mere moments ago was nowhere to be seen. She sorted through her stationery. Nothing.

Still half-dazed, Stella turned to the strange envelope. There was only one possible explanation.

It was her reply from the future, exactly one year from now.

Which means…

…she’d have the answer to the one question she asked.

Trembling, Stella opened it.

Hey past Stella.

Sorry.

The rest of the page was blank.

Stella stood there staring at the letter for a long, long time.

Then she flipped it over, stunned, dumbfounded, and half expecting a conclusion.

I know. Considering all the work you put in, the pain must be unbearable.

I wish I could reach into the past and give you a hug, but I can’t. The one thing I can say is: just let it go. Forget about it. You’ve already spent a whole year in anxiety and fear, and I don’t want you to waste anymore of your life.

Leave your desk. Go out into the backyard and pick an apple. Remember how it tastes. Remember how the breeze feels, if there is one. You probably didn’t know our apples ripened at this time of the year, right?

It’s okay. You’ve done enough. Your future is going to be fine, even with a few hiccups. You might not understand now, but in a year, you’ll be telling yourself the same thing.

Sincerely,

Future Stella

Stella slumped to the ground.

She wanted to cry, but the tears wouldn’t come.

For a moment, she considered the possibility of the letter being a cruel prank, but no one knew about her birthday tradition. Then, she felt an unexplainable rage burning at the back of her throat, although there was nothing she could be angry at. Stella wanted to turn back time, to return to the days where her dream school was still a beautiful dream—but she knew, with the solidness of the paper in her hand, that it was nothing but wishful thinking.

And she cried.

~~~~~

People say grief comes from the heart, and not the brain. But for Stella, they came from everywhere. From the posters, newspaper clippings, booklets of her favorite university that she’d been adding to her wall since the first day of high school. From the good luck wishes that pinged her phone as the deadline passed. From the warm congratulations that her parents told her as they revealed a table full of her most-beloved food.

From all the expectations and hopes, since she knew she failed them all. Watching all of her friends and family look with bright eyes towards the future, she didn’t have the heart to tell them it was all an illusion.

But she did see their faces more clearly.

As her future self told her, Stella stumbled into the backyard as soon as she drained the last of her tears and picked an apple, biting into it as if it was her last meal. It was the sourest thing she’d ever tasted. Yet at the same time, it was cold, juicy, and strangely refreshing. There was also a breeze—well, more of a merciless gust than a breeze—that sent Stella gasping and darting back inside to the warmth.

And she felt more awake now.

She thanked her parents for the wonderful meal, and when they told her that she did a great job, and that it didn’t matter what school she got into, she smiled and nodded. It was a painful reminder nonetheless, but she believed them. After all, the delicious aroma of the tomato fried egg and the rich sauce of the sweet and sour pork told her that her parents weren’t cooking for a Northwestern student, but Stella, their daughter. She cherished the dinner, memorizing every clink of the chopsticks, every laugh of her mother and father.

When she did the dishes and returned to her room, Stella sat in silence for a while.

She listened to the sound of silence, realizing for the first time how full it was. There were whispers of wind outside the window, and the occasional car that drove by played Taylor Swift’s You’re On Your Own, Kid. She’d never noticed those little details before.

Before she went to bed, Stella messaged every one of her friends individually, thanking them for their surprise and the thoughtful gifts they’d given her. And for good measure, she asked them to an arts and crafts hangout over the weekend.

They agreed heartily.

Her cat leapt into her blankets as she turned off the lights. With the warm ball of fur and purrs, Stella drifted to sleep.

She was starting to see what really mattered.