Everything was all set up. The table was laid with a silver cloth, which was decorated with little black musical notes. Birthday balloons were littered across the floor, and my favourite songs were playing in the background. In the centre of the table, of course, was the cake. It was covered in a plain black fondant, and on it was the number ten - how old I was that day. The '1' was created from another piece of fondant in the shape of a microphone, cut by my mother. I sat there, in my chair at the head of the table, in my favourite party dress - and I had a multicoloured party hat on my head. It would have been the most amazing, memorable tenth birthday ever; well, if anyone had shown up apart from my family and my only best friend.

She sat over there, a few seats along from me at the table, despite none of the other seats being occupied. She smiled at me, but I could tell from her expression that it was forced.

"I would never have gone to that concert our class went to today if I was given a thousand pounds for it. Ugh, Arabelle Jones, I hate her. She always sings about the same things. Love, loss, heartbreak, soppiness. The same blonde, blue-eyed boys that she falls head-over-the-heels in love with in one song and then breaks up with them with a sorrowful ballad in the next. I'd rather listen to you sing here and enjoy this party. Want to do some karaoke after cake?"

I nodded, my sadness still lingering. My mother sliced me and my friend a piece of cake each, and I bit into mine, tasting the sweet jam and buttercream filling and the fluffy sponge. I also savoured the fondant from the top of my slice - sugary and smooth. It was delicious, but I was still devastated at the fact nobody had come to enjoy the moment with me.

After the cake, my friend walked me over to the centre of the living room.

"I love this song", I admitted while beginning to dance. Then my father walked in with a microphone - just like the one which was on the top of my birthday cake.

"This was mine back in the day. How about you and your friend try using it? Hopefully it still work-"

I took it out of his hand when he handed it to me, and it felt right. I held the microphone infront of us and began singing to the lyrics of the songs which played on the speaker set behind us, and now I was really happy. Who cared that nobody was here? This could be a good birthday after all.

My friend turned to me with a smile, this one not fake. "You know, I bet you could outsell Arabelle Jones in a few years if you can sing like this!"

I sit in the foyer of my glamorous mansion on my chaise lounge, as my personal chef approaches me. "I just wanted to ask you what kind of cake you wanted for your party. The one after your thirtieth birthday concert?" There is a pause.

"I was thinking we could do a Victoria Sponge tower - with german buttercream maybe? Or red velvet? Dark chocolate and champagne?" he asks.

"No, thanks. Would it be alright if I could just have a normal vanilla cake - nothing too complicated. Just jam and 𝘯𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘭 buttercream for the filling please, could I also have some black fondant on it? Nothing too expensive, just the kind you can get from a supermarket. If it's possible, could you make a number 30 from some more fondant and put that on top of the cake? Could you do that?"

He looked slightly taken aback by this request.

"Of course", he agreed while still seeming confused.

"And that reminds me. I'm going to have to find my manager and ask me if the party won't be public. As in, the paparazzi will only go to the concert. I'm planning on having the party with only my family and best friend Jenna. I'll see you around," I reply back to him as I walk off on my way to the vocal studio. I need to practice a bit more, since after I turn thirty my first world tour is going to be just around the corner.