You never imagined Valentine’s night would change everything.

The evening started like any other—soft lights, music playing low, laughter that felt like it belonged only to you two. Lamine had been careful, sweet, and patient, like always, and you’d let your guard down completely.

But now, days later, you’re sitting together in his small apartment, the air thick with a nervous kind of silence.

You hold the little plastic stick between your fingers—the one with two pink lines. Clear, undeniable.

Pregnant.

His eyes are wide, searching your face, desperate for a sign, any sign, that you’re okay.

You swallow hard, heart pounding like a drum.

“I—I didn’t expect this,” you whisper, voice shaking. “Not now.”

Lamine reaches out, his hand warm over yours. “Neither did I.”

You glance up, meeting his gaze—so young, yet so steady, trying to be the rock for both of you.

“We’ll figure this out,” he says, voice soft but firm. “Together.”