I smiled back, nodded again, said all the right things, but inside something shifted slightly, like the words didn’t fit anymore, like they belonged to someone else
On my way out, I caught my reflection again in one of the glass storefronts, distorted slightly by the angle, my body stretched just enough to feel unfamiliar
For a split second, I thought I saw something move beneath the surface of my stomach, not a kick, not even close, just a ripple, something subtle and wrong
I froze, staring, waiting for it to happen again, my breath held without me realizing it, my heart beating louder than the sounds of the mall around me
Nothing happened
I laughed quietly to myself, shaking my head, blaming it on stress, on imagination, on the lingering effect of that stupid encounter with the boy
But when I turned away, I walked faster than before, like I was trying to outrun something that wasn’t even there
That afternoon, as I stepped back onto my street, I saw him again
The same boy, same torn clothes, same bag of bottles dragging along the ground, same stillness when he noticed me approaching
This time, I didn’t shout immediately
I stopped a few steps away, my anger still there but mixed now with something else, something quieter, heavier, harder to name
He looked at me, really looked, not at my face but at my stomach, like that was the only thing about me that mattered
“You didn’t listen,” he said calmly, no laughter this time, no mocking tone, just a flat certainty that made my skin tighten
“Stop it,” I said, my voice lower than before, less explosive but more controlled, like I was holding something back instead of letting it out
“You think this is funny? You think you can just say things like that and walk away?”
He shook his head slowly, like I was the one missing something obvious
“It’s already growing,” he said. “You can’t feel it yet the way you should, but it’s there, not like a baby, not like something that belongs to you.”
My hands curled into fists without me noticing
“I told you to stop,” I repeated, stepping closer, close enough to smell the dirt and something sour clinging to his clothes
For a second, I thought about grabbing him, dragging him somewhere, forcing him to explain, forcing him to admit it was all a lie
But he didn’t move, didn’t flinch, didn’t even seem concerned
“Go to the hospital,” he said again. “Ask them to look carefully, not just the usual way. If they miss it now, you won’t get another chance.”
“Another chance for what?” I demanded, my voice cracking slightly despite myself
“To choose,” he replied
The word hung between us, heavier than anything else he had said so far
“Choose what?”
He finally looked up at my face, really looked this time, and there was something in his eyes I didn’t expect
Not madness
Not cruelty
Something closer to pity
