"Happy birthday!!" The loud boisterous cheer of voices erupted in from a particular booth at McLaren's, our favourite bar. All of my friends raised their mugs of beers up in unison for a group toast as the glasses clinked.
The vibe was revitalising after a long day. Warm and electric—one of the only thrills in my daily routine.
As the mugs of beer raised for a messy toast, glass rims clinking together, the golden-brown liquid and chatter spilled over the table. I laughed heartily, full of warmth. It felt nice.
Glancing at the faces of my best friends, these little bursts of chaos were probably the only respite I got from my mundane weeks.
Hi, my name is Aiden Walters, and every other Friday night, I went out drinking with my friends. But this night was different. It was my birthday.
The table was strewn with food, snacks, and drinks of all types, and sitting right in front of me was a cake.
"Happy 27th birthday, Aiden. Love, the gang," it read in strawberry frosting, written in stylish cursive.
I was turning twenty-seven today.
"Oh. Lean over, birthday boy," Emily, one of my friends beside me, said. She nudged me playfully in the ribs before strutting a party hat onto my head.
"Oh, come on guys..." I laughed with genuine appreciation, the exhaustion from work starting to wane.
"So, dude, how does it feel to be one year closer to the big thirty?" This time, Bright said. He was a handsome blond in a tailored suit—perfectly out of place at 9 p.m. in a bar—his eyes flickering with mischief as he raised a shot to me.
Bright meant well, but his words sank in.
'The big thirty, huh...' I blinked. The thought felt colder. Three years away from middle age. Twenty-seven years gone just like that.
I wasn't sure what to say. I could only laugh, hiding behind a dry chuckle.
"Bright, you're the one who's the oldest among us. We should be asking you."
Across from me, Ed and Zoe sat curled together as always. They were the only engaged couple in our group, bound together since college like peas in a pod. My gaze lingered on the glittering rings on their fingers.
'Marriage, huh.' The thought slipped through. I didn't even have a girlfriend, much less a fiancée.
Shaking my head with a dismissive smile, I took a swig of beer.
Okay… let's do this one more time.
My name is Aiden Walters. And right now, I was sitting in our usual bar with my best friends, celebrating my birthday. I was turning twenty-seven, single but hopeful, and had a stable job.
I worked nine-to-five in corporate compliance. A desk job that paid the bills, kept me comfortable, and sucked the soul out of me in equal measure. I even had some savings built up. Enough for a two-bedroom apartment and to cover my bills without debts or loans.
All in all… a decent life.
But that was it. Every day felt the same, time ticking away endlessly. I couldn't even remember the last time I was in a relationship or took a vacation. Workdays blurred into each other, and Friday nights meant drinking with friends.
It was stable, quiet, sustainable. Plenty of people would envy that. I knew it. I wasn't sad, or depressed, or ungrateful. I built this life brick by brick.
So what was there not to be proud of?
But I wasn't proud. And while I wasn't miserable… I wasn't fulfilled either.
It all just felt weary.
Kind of boring and drab. Like something was missing.
'Maybe a girlfriend…' I mused mockingly and turned back to the gang.
Ed and Zoe were engaged—I'd known them since college. They were the dependable pair, always full of stories, excitement, and now wedding plans.
Emily, our resident local celebrity, was a hot, black-haired beauty working as a news reporter for a fast-rising media company. She was constantly on the move, covering everything from local scandals to global events. That meant she was often traveling across the country—or the world—which made her life sound a lot more exciting than mine.
And then there was Bright. Our self-appointed aristocrat. Always overdressed for bars and strip clubs, always dripping confidence. Come to think of it… i had no idea what he did.
I blinked mid-drink, realizing I had no idea how he could afford those lavish suits. Frowning, I glanced at him.
"What exactly do you do, Bright?"
The whole booth went quiet for a beat, everyone turning to him like they'd been waiting for someone to finally ask.Even Zoe stopped mid-bite, staring at him like she'd been waiting years for this exact question.
Bright, the dashingly dressed blond, just raised his neat Scotch, smirked, and laughed dismissively.
"Please…" he shrugged it off just like every other time.
I hung out with the guys a little longer, until it was deep into the night. Slowly, one by one, everyone started to leave—Ed and Zoe first, then Emily, called away for a late-night assignment. Sometimes I wondered if she was even busier than I was. Finally, it was just me and Bright.
Even he didn't last long.
Before I knew it, I was the only one left at our favorite booth, a cool bottle of beer in hand.
As the night wore on, the bar grew quieter, emptier, until a familiar voice called out from behind me.
"Hey, Aiden. Last call in thirty minutes, but it's your birthday tonight, so I'll let you have maybe one or two more shots until then."
It was Carl—the slightly stocky bartender with a round face and a buzz cut, wearing a black round-neck shirt.
I turned with a smile, tipping my beer toward him.
"Thanks, Carl."
Carl, the bartender, was also one of my friends. As regulars at his bar, we were part of his core group of customers. It was mostly always this way—every other Friday night, I came out drinking with my friends like this, and I was usually the last one left, closing McLaren's with Carl.
I spent the quiet time lost in my thoughts, dreading the afternoon shift waiting for me tomorrow.
Before too long, I finally stood up from the booth to leave. In the end, I never took that extra free drink Carl offered me. Perhaps if I had… maybe I'd have avoided what was about to happen.