Alma entered forty-two instead of forty-nine in her profile. She told herself it was only a way around other people's filters and she would tell the truth before anything became serious. Then she met Pavle, forty-six, who laughed at the same wrong moments in films. At the first coffee it was too early. At the third it was too lovely. Later every suitable moment had a reason to pass.
She did not lie about her daughter, work, or divorce. That was precisely her comfort. Seven years seemed small beside everything else she had told him. Yet whenever she mentioned a school friend or an old trip, she had to recalculate dates. The love meant to make life easier acquired invisible arithmetic.
For her birthday Pavle ordered a cake bearing forty-three. Alma saw it when the courier delivered the box while he showered. For a moment she considered removing the number and claiming it had broken. Then she sat on a kitchen chair. Her daughter and several friends were due in two hours. She could no longer leave the truth to them as an awkward surprise.
She told him as soon as he emerged. Today she was fifty. Pavle looked at the cake, then at her. Initially he thought she was joking. Once he understood, he asked why she had not trusted him to decide whether he wanted to be with her. Alma began explaining how people viewed women her age. He stopped her: he believed that hurt, but he was not every man who had ever rejected her.
They told guests the celebration would happen another day. Alma told her daughter without asking her to defend her. Pavle went home and contacted her only several days later. Fifty did not trouble him. What troubled him was that in every conversation she had known something important about a lie he could not even recognize.
They continued seeing each other more cautiously. Alma deleted the old profile without presenting that as sufficient repair. She had to endure questions and his uncertainty without saying he exaggerated over one number. Meanwhile she had a small celebration with friends. There was no number on the cake, which was no new secret. Her daughter had simply bought flower-shaped candles.
Several months later Pavle invited her to a concert by a band she had loved as a student. She asked how he knew them. He said he listened when she spoke, now without changing dates. Alma took the ticket and felt relief for the first time about all the years she no longer had to carry separately from herself.