On every birthday, I ask my wife, 'What would you like this

Host: The restaurant was half-lit and half-empty, the kind of place where time felt slower — candles flickered in crystal holders, silverware gleamed, and the soft murmur of other couples filled the space with a low hum of love and laughter. Outside, the city lights shimmered like jewels scattered across the night.

Jack sat across from Jeeny at a corner table, tie loosened, eyes amused, watching her study the dessert menu like it was a sacred text. His smile was the kind that comes easily but hides a hundred small sighs beneath it.

Jeeny looked up, catching his gaze.

Jeeny: “What?”

Jack: “Nothing. Just admiring how seriously you take chocolate.”

Jeeny: “Chocolate is a commitment, not a craving.”

Jack: “You sound like you’re giving a TED Talk.”

Jeeny: “Someone has to educate you.”

Host: Their laughter filled the quiet, like wine poured into the air. The waiter passed by, his steps soft, the music swelling faintly — a romantic instrumental of some old Hindi melody.

On the nearby TV above the bar, a celebrity interview played silently with subtitles. The caption read:
"On every birthday, I ask my wife, 'What would you like this year?' and her instant reply is, 'Diamonds! Diamonds! Diamonds!' I'm always living in hope that one day she'll say she just wants me!" — Akshay Kumar

Jeeny noticed it first. She laughed, pointing at the screen.

Jeeny: “Now that sounds familiar.”

Jack: “Familiar?”

Jeeny: “Yes. The eternal cry of the underappreciated husband.”

Jack: “Underappreciated? Try misunderstood.”

Jeeny: “Oh, poor you. Must be hard being the guy who always thinks love can replace jewelry.”

Jack: “Love is the jewel.”

Jeeny: “That’s something a man says when he’s avoiding the diamond district.”

Host: The waiter stifled a grin as he set down their drinks. The air between them sparkled — not with tension, but with the warmth of familiarity, the ease of two people who had argued and laughed their way through years of birthdays and apologies.

Jack: “You know, I used to think gifts were just... proof. Like, the bigger the gift, the more love it showed. Now I think it’s the other way around.”

Jeeny: “You mean the smaller the gift, the more meaningful?”

Jack: “No. The truer the gift, the less it needs to shine.”

Jeeny: “That’s beautiful.”

Jack: “And cheap.”

Jeeny: “Exactly.”

Host: They laughed again, that rare kind of laughter born from deep affection — the kind that leaves no scars.

Jeeny: “You know, Kumar’s quote isn’t really about diamonds.”

Jack: “No?”

Jeeny: “No. It’s about hope. About that ridiculous, endearing hope every partner has — that one day, love will be enough on its own.”

Jack: “You make it sound tragic.”

Jeeny: “No. Just human.”

Host: The candlelight flickered across her face, illuminating the soft lines near her smile — lines that spoke of laughter, of living, of being loved in ordinary ways.

Jack: “You ever think we expect too much from love?”

Jeeny: “No. We just forget it changes. Early love shines; later love warms. One blinds, the other heals.”

Jack: “And you prefer which?”

Jeeny: “Depends on the day. Today? I’ll take warmth. Tomorrow, maybe the diamond.”

Jack: “You’re honest.”

Jeeny: “Always. That’s my real gift to you.”

Host: He nodded, smiling quietly. The orchestra in the corner began to play something slow — the kind of tune that made time loosen its grip.

Jack: “You know, I’ve bought you all kinds of things over the years — necklaces, perfume, those shoes you never wear—”

Jeeny: “They’re art, Jack. You don’t wear art.”

Jack: “See? That’s my point. You’ve kept every gift, but the one thing I can never seem to give you is enough time.”

Jeeny: “You’re giving it now.”

Jack: “Not enough.”

Jeeny: “It’s never enough when you love someone properly. That’s the ache and the gift of it.”

Host: Her words fell like soft chords in the dimness. Jack looked down at their hands resting on the table — hers small, steady, his rough from work. Without speaking, he turned his palm up, inviting hers.

She placed it there, effortlessly.

Jeeny: “You know, diamonds don’t matter. They’re just how we measure devotion when we don’t know how to say it.”

Jack: “So what do you want this year?”

Jeeny: “The same thing I want every year.”

Jack: “And what’s that?”

Jeeny: “Presence. Not presents.”

Host: Outside, the rain began to fall lightly, drops tapping against the window like applause from the night itself. The waiter came to refill their glasses, but neither noticed.

Jack: “You know, I think Akshay’s line has it backwards.”

Jeeny: “How so?”

Jack: “He’s hoping she’ll say she wants him. But the truth is — if she keeps saying diamonds, it’s because she already has him. The gifts are just the ritual.”

Jeeny: “That’s... strangely poetic for a man who once wrapped my birthday present in newspaper.”

Jack: “It was avant-garde.”

Jeeny: “It was lazy.”

Jack: “But you smiled.”

Jeeny: “Because it was you. Not the paper.”

Host: The candle between them flickered lower, the wax melting in slow rivulets. The city beyond the glass blurred into soft halos of gold and red — streetlights and taillights dancing together.

Jeeny: “You ever notice how every birthday, every anniversary, every ordinary day — it’s all just a way of saying one thing over and over again?”

Jack: “What?”

Jeeny: “Stay.”

Jack: “I’m not going anywhere.”

Jeeny: “Good.”

Host: She lifted her glass, eyes glinting with humor and something deeper.

Jeeny: “To staying. And to diamonds, in moderation.”

Jack: “And to the fool who keeps hoping love will one day be enough.”

Jeeny: “It already is, Jack. You just haven’t realized it.”

Host: Their glasses met with a soft chime — crystal against crystal, promise against time.

Because Akshay Kumar’s words, though wrapped in humor, carried the truth of every long love story — that beneath the laughter, beneath the gifts and rituals, what we really want is to be chosen again, quietly, continuously.

Host: As the music swelled and the rain fell harder,
Jack reached across the table, brushing a strand of hair from Jeeny’s cheek,
and she smiled — that small, perfect smile of a woman who already has what she needs.

And in that soft, candlelit silence,
love glittered brighter than any diamond could.