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It started with loud knocking and brighter-than-usual grins.
“Rise and shine, birthday girl!” Mina practically tackled Jirou as she opened her dorm room door. “Today, we’re stealing you.”
“What?” Jirou rubbed her eyes. “It’s not even seven. Can’t I at least brush my teeth before the kidnapping?”
“Five minutes, then you’re ours,” Ochako grinned from behind Mina. “Seriously, don’t ask questions.”
By 9 a.m., the Class 1-A girls had completely taken over the mall like a well-dressed whirlwind of chaos and charm. Momo led the charge in a soft blush-pink blouse tucked into a cream pleated skirt, ever elegant as she swiped her card for everyone’s breakfast without a hint of hesitation. The café they chose looked like it had been ripped straight out of a shoujo manga—lace curtains, watercolor wall art, and delicate pastries arranged like jewels behind glass. Tsuyu, in a forest green hoodie and denim overalls, surprised everyone by insisting they all pick out matching frog keychains from a tiny pop-up stand—“So we don’t forget today,” she said with a rare, soft smile.
Toru wore glittery leggings and an oversized lavender sweater that shimmered whenever she moved, her giggles audible even though she was invisible. She kept leaning in close to Mina, whispering secrets that made Mina—dressed in a hot pink crop top and checkered skirt—snort-laugh every few minutes. Jirou, in her usual black denim and band tee (the one with the cracked logo she’d worn to almost every concert), just watched them all with an amused smirk. She felt out of place at first—birthday attention never sat easily with her—but it was hard not to get swept up in their warmth.
Ochako, in a soft orange sundress and white sneakers, tried to play it cool, laughing along with the others, but she kept sneaking glances at her phone, nervously checking the time every few minutes. Her smile was a little too tight, her eyes flicking between Jirou and Mina like she was waiting for a signal. The air buzzed with anticipation and unspoken plans, but Jirou, lost in the glow of good company and the scent of caramel coffee, didn’t notice. Not yet.
They tried on clothes they couldn't afford (except Momo of course, but Momo could probably afford the whole mall with one swip ), took silly photo booth strips, and listened to Jirou’s critiques of every music store they passed. She even let Mina put a sparkly clip in her hair—“ only for today, ” she warned, already half-smiling.
By the time the sun began to drop, the girls started whispering again.
“I’m not going to ask,” Jirou said flatly, arms crossed as she watched them avoid her eyes.
“No, no, no, it's fine!” Mina grabbed her wrist. “One last stop! There’s a tiny park nearby—we wanna end the day with something lowkey and peaceful , promise!”
The park was quiet.
It was one of those places tucked into the city like a forgotten breath—benches, a tiny pond, the smell of grass in the evening air.
The girls walked with her along the cobblestone path until they reached a clearing.
“Alright!” Mina clapped her hands. “We’re just gonna—uh—check on something real quick.”
“We’ll be right back!” Ochako added, waving.
“Wait, what?” Jirou blinked, confused. “You’re just gonna—?”
But they were gone.
She stood there, staring down the path they'd disappeared into, heart thudding with the sudden emptiness that followed their laughter.
“Guys?”
She turned to look around.
And that’s when she saw it.
At the far end of the clearing, nestled in a quiet corner of the park where the trees grew tall and close, a single oak stood proudly—its thick, weathered branches outstretched like protective arms over a carefully crafted scene. Golden fairylights were draped lovingly from limb to limb, casting a warm, magical glow over everything beneath them. The soft rustle of leaves above mixed with the distant chirp of crickets and the faint hum of the city far beyond the trees, creating a secluded world just for her.
Beneath the tree, a thick picnic blanket was spread neatly over the grass —woven in deep plum and cream tones, with cushions tossed around it in a way that looked effortless, but had clearly been planned. Flickering candles surrounded it like tiny watchful sentries: some nestled safely in old mason jars, others floating gently in shallow glass bowls filled with water and rose petals, catching the light with every subtle movement of the breeze. The air smelled faintly of vanilla and cedarwood.
A small wireless speaker, half-hidden behind a stack of books used as makeshift decor, played a quiet acoustic melody. It was unfamiliar, yet something about the rhythm—the soft strum of guitar strings and the echo of a humming voice—felt tailored just for her. Like someone had listened to her soul more than her playlist. The entire scene glowed beneath the night sky, wrapped in a kind of quiet romance that made her breath catch in her throat.
And standing in the centre of it all, nervously gripping a bouquet of sunflowers with one hand and a lighter (that he clearly didn't know how to use) with the other, was none of than Kaminari Denki.
He looked up. “Oh! Uh—Happy Birthday, Jirou!”
She stared at him, completely still.
He scratched the back of his neck. “I… was gonna light these one by one before you got here but they kept going out and I think I stepped in the hummus. But—y’know. Surprise.”
Jirou finally spoke. “You made this?”
“Well, me and Yaomomo—she helped with the fancy stuff. And Sero helped me sneak the speaker out. And I think Aoyama might’ve sprinkled glitter on that tree because he said it needed ‘drama.’”
“…You had all of 1-A helping you, huh?” she said, but her voice had softened.
“Only because I wanted it to be perfect, ” Kaminari said quickly. “You always do so much for us—even when you're tired, you still help everyone. You help me. So I wanted you to have something just for you.”
Jirou walked up slowly, heart in her throat. “You do know we’re out really late, right?”
Kaminari laughed, holding up a piece of paper like it was sacred. “Boom. Written permission from Aizawa-sensei. He said, and I quote, ‘If you get her back in one piece, I don’t care what tree you sit under.’”
She finally cracked a grin.
“Now that’s romantic.”
They nestled close beneath the golden canopy of fairylights, the soft rustle of leaves above them blending with the quiet hum of her music. A thick blanket cocooned them from the night’s chill, but it was Kaminari’s arm around her shoulders—gentle, steady—that warmed her the most. Jirou exhaled slowly, the kind of breath you only take when you feel completely safe. She leaned into him, resting her head against the curve of his shoulder like it belonged there. The candlelight danced around them, casting a warm, flickering glow over their intertwined fingers—his thumb brushing softly against her knuckles in a quiet rhythm that matched her heartbeat.
Above them, stars began to appear—quiet witnesses to this moment, to this soft kind of love.
Kaminari fiddled with the speaker until it started playing one of her original tracks—just her guitar and a hum.
“You recorded this?” she whispered, surprised.
“From the last time you practiced in the common room. I kinda… never deleted it.”
“You cheeseball.”
“I’m your cheeseball, though.”
She rolled her eyes, smiling wide .
And under the fairylights, with the music she made and the boy she loved beside her, Jirou decided:
This was exactly the kind of song her birthday deserved.