Chapter 2- Lila sat on the bathroom floor, knees pulled to her chest, the pregnancy test lying face-down on the tile beside her. The cold from the porcelain seeped into her skin, but she barely noticed. Her eyes were fixed on the grout lines between the tiles, tracing them like they might lead her somewhere else—somewhere quieter, simpler, safer. The silence in the house was thick. Her father had left for work hours ago, and the only sound was the faint hum of the refrigerator downstairs, a low mechanical drone that made the quiet feel even louder. The morning light filtered through the frosted window, casting pale shadows across the floor. Dust floated in the air, slow and aimless. She hadn’t flipped the test over yet. Her hands trembled. Her heart thudded in her chest like it was trying to escape, like it knew something she didn’t want to admit. She could feel it in her bones, in the way her body had changed—subtle shifts that whispered truths she wasn’t ready to hear. She already knew. She didn’t need to see the result. Her body had been whispering it for weeks—nausea in the mornings, the strange metallic taste in her mouth, the way her jeans no longer buttoned without a struggle. Her moods had swung like pendulums, her sleep had turned restless, and her dreams had become strange and vivid. But knowing and seeing were two different things. She reached out, turned the test over. Two pink lines. Lila stared at them, her breath catching in her throat. The world didn’t explode. The walls didn’t cave in. But something inside her cracked—quietly, like a hairline fracture in glass. Invisible, but there. Permanent. She was sixteen. And she was pregnant. Her first instinct was to run. To grab her sketchbook, her backpack, and disappear into the woods behind the school, where no one could find her. But there was nowhere to go. No map for this. No escape hatch. So she did the next best thing—she called Ryan. He picked up on the second ring. “Hey, you okay?” Lila didn’t answer right away. Her voice felt stuck in her throat, thick and heavy like syrup. She swallowed hard. “Lila?” “I need to see you,” she said, barely above a whisper. “I’m on my way.” Ten minutes later, Ryan was climbing through her bedroom window like he always did when her dad was home. But today, the house was empty. Today, everything was different. He landed softly on the carpet, brushing dust from his hoodie. His eyes scanned the room, then locked onto hers. He took one look at her face and stopped cold. “What happened?” She didn’t speak. Just held out the test. Ryan stared at it. His mouth opened, then closed. He sat down slowly on the edge of her bed, the test still in his hand. The silence stretched between them, taut and fragile. Lila watched him, waiting for the panic, the excuses, the retreat. She braced herself for the moment he’d stand up and say he needed time, or space, or anything that meant he was leaving. But Ryan didn’t run. He looked up at her, eyes wide and scared—but steady. “Okay,” he said. She blinked. “Okay?” “We’re gonna figure this out.” “You’re not mad?” “No,” he said. “I’m terrified. But I’m not mad. And I’m not leaving.” Lila sat beside him, her hands still shaking. “You don’t have to say that.” “I’m not saying it because I have to.” He turned to her, his voice low and certain. “I love you, Lila. That doesn’t change.” Tears welled in her eyes. She hadn’t cried yet—not when she saw the test, not when she called him. But now, with Ryan beside her, the dam broke. The tears came fast and hot, spilling down her cheeks in silent waves. He pulled her into his arms, and she buried her face in his shoulder. His hoodie smelled like cinnamon and graphite, like sketchbooks and late-night walks. He held her like he meant it, like he’d hold her forever if she asked. They sat like that for a long time, the test forgotten on the floor, the future looming like a storm cloud on the horizon. The questions would come later—about school, about her father, about everything. But for now, they had each other. And that was something. That was everything.
