Chapter 1: The Gift No One Wanted

It was my girlfriend’s birthday, so I booked a Mercedes C-Class for her well in advance, hoping to pull off the kind of surprise you see in car commercials during the Super Bowl.

I could already picture her face lighting up as she saw it—maybe she’d toss her hair back and flash me that surprised grin she only gave when she was truly happy. To make it perfect, I planned every detail down to the minute: the car would be parked out front, polished until you could see your reflection, all ready for her to discover.

To set up the reveal, I hid the car key inside a mason jar—the kind you’d use for sweet tea or homemade jam—stuffed with hundreds of tiny, folded origami stars.

My fingers cramped from folding strip after strip of pastel paper, the faint scent of takeout pizza lingering in the air. Every evening, I hunched over the kitchen counter, the jar slowly filling with color. Each star felt like a silent wish or a memory. I could hear my mom’s voice in my head: “Mike, you’ve never been one for half-measures, huh?” I smiled, hoping Rachel would see it that way too.

I never expected that as soon as I brought it out at the dinner table, Rachel’s face would drop like I’d pulled the fire alarm.

Her lips pressed into a thin, pale line. She fiddled with her napkin, fingers shaking just enough for me to notice. The festive chatter faded, and suddenly the restaurant’s noise turned into a dull blur. The mood shifted fast, like someone had just yanked the plug on a jukebox.

The place was packed—brick walls, Edison bulbs, and the kind of hipster menu where you can’t pronounce half the appetizers. Her group of girlfriends was even more dramatic—each one shouting and making a scene.

They leaned in like sharks circling chum, voices rising so loud even the bartender paused mid-shake. Jessica, to Rachel’s left, jabbed her finger at the jar, her disbelief written all over her face. “Dude, is this for real? You show up with a jar of paper for Rachel’s birthday?”

Melissa, always ready with the side-eye, flipped her hair and rolled her eyes so hard it was almost impressive. “Even middle schoolers don’t play with this stuff anymore…”

Brittany, never one to miss a chance, snapped her gum and smirked, shaking her head. The whole table seemed to close in, their judgment thick in the air.

Rachel’s friends are always loud and love to stir things up. Every time they see me, it’s like open season—trivia nights, sneakers, whatever. Usually, I let it slide, but tonight, with Rachel’s eyes on me, it felt like I was on the hot seat for real.

So I tried not to take it too seriously. I faked a laugh and glanced at Rachel, searching for backup she didn’t give. With a crooked smile, I shrugged and tried to keep it light: “I know this might seem a little childish, but I folded every single one myself. Isn’t that kind of romantic?”

I gave my best sheepish grin, hoping sincerity would outshine the awkwardness. My voice cracked a little as I joked, “Figured it was time I put my arts and crafts badge to use.”

I’m usually swamped at work. Folding those stars took me nearly two weeks of late nights.

Every night, after clocking out at the tech startup and tossing my tie over the chair, I’d sit in the dim kitchen, folding until my fingers ached. If anyone understood how tight my free time was, it should’ve been Rachel.

Even if there wasn’t a car key inside, I figured my sincerity would be obvious.

That’s what I kept telling myself. The jar caught the light under those Edison bulbs, sitting hopefully between plates of risotto and melting ice in cocktail glasses. To me, it meant something. To them, apparently, it meant nothing at all.