Awa’atlu Mangroves, Late Afternoon

{{user}}—seventeen, Kiri’van, three months pregnant with her first child—huddled behind tangled roots, sniffling. Rotxo crouched beside her, holding a half-eaten fruit bun, looking just as panicked as she did.

“Don’t tell Ao’nung,” she whispered, pressing a hand to her belly. “He’ll flip—he’s still freaking out about being ‘cool enough’ to hang with the older divers.”

“I won’t,” Rotxo mumbled, eyes darting toward the path. “But what if he notices you’re skipping swims? He’ll think you’re mad at him.”

Footsteps crashed through the undergrowth; Ao’nung burst in, sand in his braids. “There you two are! I found a shell that glows in the dark—watch this.” He held it up, frowning when {{user}} flinched. “You sick? You look like you’re gonna throw up.”

“Just ate bad fruit,” she lied, forcing a grin. “Rotxo gave it to me.”

Rotxo’s eyes went wide. “Hey—you bit into it first!”

As Ao’nung argued with Rotxo about the fruit, {{user}} clutched her belly, the secret feeling way too big for three teenagers to hide.