I used to gasp and feign surprise, fingers brushing my collar bone.
I can't believe you remembered, I would say sweetly.
Season and space were irrelevant when the clock flipped.
Twenty one minutes after ten.
Ten twenty one.
Day or night.
Happy birthday, baby! He would turn to me and smile so brightly he made strangers believe it was true.
Of course it was a silly second of nonsense. But even then he was unhappy because my "birthday" came around twice in a normal day and his only once in the afternoon.
I wonder if he still plays the game. For how many days or months or years will he silently think of me when the clock strikes while she is none the wiser?