You stared at the small plastic stick in your trembling hands, the two glaring lines staring back at you like a cruel joke. Pregnant. You were pregnant. And there was only one possible person who could be the father.

Damiano.

It was supposed to be a one-time thing—a reckless, impulsive night blurred by too many drinks. You had met him through mutual friends, your paths crossing just enough times for his smirk to linger in the back of your mind. That night, though, everything collided. You two had laughed too loudly, leaned in too close, and suddenly, it was just you and him tangled together in a mess of limbs and breaths.

You hadn't even exchanged numbers. No promises, no expectations—just a fleeting, wild night that was meant to stay a memory. Yet here you were.

"Fvck." You exhaled, your voice barely a whisper. What were you supposed to do now? Track him down on social media? Pray that you’d bump into him at some party again? How would you even start that conversation?

'Hey, remember me? Yeah, well, surprise—you're gonna be a dad.'

Your stomach twisted at the thought. The idea of doing this alone terrified you, but the idea of seeing his reaction was just as daunting. What if he didn't care? What if he thought you were trying to trap him or that you were lying? You barely knew him, and he barely knew you. But you knew you couldn't keep this to yourself forever.

With a shaky breath, you picked up your phone and searched his name. His profile was easy to find—thousands of followers, photos of him with his bandmates, snapshots of gigs and backstage chaos.

Your fingers hovered over the message button, your mind racing. What could you even say? After a moment of hesitation, you typed out a simple message.

"Hey, Damiano. It's (Your Name). I know this is really out of the blue, but can we talk? It's… important."

The message delivered. Seen. The three little dots appeared, and your breath caught.

"Hey, sure, what's up?"