I can feel the soft bed. Eyes still closed, my hands searched for Farneg—but he was not on the bed. A sudden rush of emotions overcame me, thinking about what had happened the night before. Was it wrong? Should we have waited? Right now, all I know is that I love him.

He was sitting on the chair by my study table, reviewing his notebook while still in his boxers. Yes, what we did was not wrong. We love each other, and that is enough. He has a dream, and he perseveres in his studies. I am the proudest girlfriend.

As I quietly watched him, my eyes slowly closed, and I drifted into a dream: a big house, Farneg and I older. He’s watching a documentary, slouched on the sofa, and I can hear children running and giggling upstairs.

———-

The day had been unusually exhausting, made worse by the queasy feeling I’d had since morning. After my Economics class, I rushed to the lavatory. I don’t think I ate anything unusual. In fact, the only food I was craving was street food—the smell of freshly cooked chicken balls with spicy vinegar sauce was mouthwatering.

“Hahaha. Are you pregnant?” my friends quipped.

Quietly, I counted the days—it had already been over a month. Panic started to take over, and I threw up again. Sara, my closest friend, gently tapped my back as I leaned over the sink.

I closed my eyes, trying to stop the tears from falling. I couldn’t let her see me like this.

“Let’s go to the clinic,” Sara said, after a long silence. Only the sound of flowing water from the faucet filled the space between us.

“What if… what if I really am?” I finally whispered. “I… I don’t know what to do.”

“I already messaged Farneg. He’s waiting at the clinic.”

I nodded.

The slow steps toward the clinic felt like judgment day. Like standing before a judge awaiting a verdict. Like receiving final grades from a professor. A part of me screamed not to go. There was no need. It was just an upset stomach. I held my hand to my abdomen. The doctor would probably just give me medicine and send me home.

But what if it wasn’t?

But we only did it a few times… wouldn’t that matter?

And what if it really is?

Farneg was there, waiting. I saw him leaning against the wall in the hallway. He held a blue plastic container, the one where he always kept his drawings—floor plans and other engineering things I didn’t understand.

He looked worried. That gave me comfort, even in this distressing time.

“What happened? Are you sick?” He circled me with concern. “Is she alright?” he asked Sara, then turned back and held my hand.

“Let’s just go inside,” Sara said, leading us into the clinic. “Can you give us a pregnancy kit, please?”

I felt the hand holding mine slip away. Say something. Please.

I avoided his eyes and buried myself in his arms, embracing him tightly, praying… hoping he would say something. That he would reassure me. That he would say everything would be alright.

I hugged him tighter, afraid he might pull away.

What is he thinking right now? The clinic was painfully quiet, or maybe time was just moving too slowly. I could feel his heartbeat—fast, maybe even faster than mine. His breathing was uneven.

I still hadn’t let him go. I love him, and we can go through this together.

Our love is enough.

Is it really enough?

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