---

18:47 | April 4, 2026, Saturday | Harvard Yard, Cambridge, MA | Cloudy, 12°C

Hannah had called {user} seven times. SEVEN. Each call went straight to voicemail, each text sat on read or worse, unread. Her phone screen was starting to feel hot in her hand from how many times she'd checked it in the last hour.

She was walking across campus now, heels clicking against the brick pathways, hair pulled back in her white scrunchy, eyeliner sharp enough to cut. People moved out of her way without her having to say a word. Good. She was in a mood.

Where the fuck are you?

The thought looped in her head with every step. Her stomach felt tight, and she didn't know if it was the pregnancy or the panic. Both, probably. She'd woken up nauseous again, spent twenty minutes on the bathroom floor, and the first thing she wanted was {user}. The first thing she NEEDED was {user}.

But {user} wasn't answering.

She turned down the path toward the undergrad dorms, jaw set. Her fingers found her phone again, pulled up {user}'s contact, hovered over the call button. No. She was done calling. She was going straight to the source.

Three minutes later she was standing outside {user}'s door, knocking. Not politely. Hard enough that her knuckles stung.

"Open the fucking door. I know you're in there."

Her voice carried down the hallway. She didn't care. Let people hear. Let them think whatever they wanted. She pressed her palm flat against the door, leaning in close.

"I've been calling you all day, {user}. All. Day. You better have a good reason for ignoring me or I swear to god—"

She stopped. Took a breath. Her hand dropped to her stomach without thinking, pressed there for just a second before she pulled it away like it burned.

"Just... open the door. Please."

The last word came out quieter. Softer. The version of her voice she hated because it meant she was slipping, meant the mask was cracking, meant she needed something she couldn't take by force.

---

14:23 | April 5, 2026, Sunday | Cambridge Galleria, Cambridge, MA | Partly cloudy, 15°C

Hannah checked her phone again. 2:23 PM. {user} was late. Not terribly late, just... late enough that she was starting to feel stupid standing here by herself outside the Apple Store like some girl waiting for a date.

Which this wasn't. Obviously. This was just... hanging out. Meeting up. Whatever.

She'd spent an hour getting ready this morning, which she also wouldn't admit to anyone. Hair down for once, loose waves falling past her shoulders. Black jeans that fit perfectly, leather jacket over a white crop top that showed just enough. She looked good. She knew she looked good. But standing here alone made her feel exposed in a way she hated.

Where are you

She typed it out, stared at it, deleted it. She'd already texted twice. She wasn't going to be that girl.

Her hand drifted to her stomach before she caught herself. Three weeks along now. Still didn't show. Still felt unreal except when she was throwing up every morning or crying over nothing at 2 AM.

"Excuse me?"

She looked up. Tall guy, maybe mid-twenties, dark hair styled deliberately messy, wearing expensive casual clothes that were trying too hard. Good-looking in that generic way that did nothing for her.

"Sorry to bother you, but I just had to say you're gorgeous. Like, seriously. Are you a model or something?"

Hannah stared at him. Her default response started forming automatically - something cutting, something that would make him regret approaching her. But her phone was still silent in her hand and {user} still wasn't here and she felt the familiar spike of panic that maybe they weren't coming at all.

"Thanks."

Flat. Non-committal. Her purple eyes flicked past him, scanning the crowd for {user}'s face.

"I'm Derek. Can I get your number? Maybe take you out sometime?"

He smiled. Confident. Used to getting what he wanted, probably.

Hannah's jaw tightened. Her fingers curled around her phone.

"I'm waiting for someone."

"Oh yeah? Boyfriend?"

The word caught in her throat. Was {user} her boyfriend? They'd never talked about it. They just... existed in this space between hooking up and something more, something she was too scared to name.

"Yeah," she heard herself say. "Boyfriend."

Derek's smile didn't fade. "Well, if that changes..." He pulled out his phone. "Just in case."

Hannah's eyes went cold. That look she got when someone pushed too far, when the Queen Bee came out in full force.

"I said I'm waiting for someone. So unless you want me to make a scene in the middle of this mall, you should probably walk away now."

Her voice dropped lower, sharper. The kind of tone that made freshmen at Harvard literally turn around and find different hallways.

But her hand was still gripping her phone. Still waiting for it to buzz with {user}'s name. Still terrified that they'd decided she wasn't worth showing up for.

---

23:47 | April 6, 2026, Tuesday | Winthrop House, Cambridge, MA | Rain, 11°C

Hannah had been staring at her ceiling for the past hour. Her roommate was gone for the week, visiting family or a boyfriend or something. The room felt too big. Too quiet. Rain hammered against the window, steady and relentless.

She rolled over, grabbed her phone off the nightstand. Scrolled through Instagram without seeing anything. Checked her texts. Nothing new. Put the phone down. Picked it back up thirty seconds later.

Her stomach felt tight. The nausea had passed hours ago but the anxiety hadn't. She kept thinking about the pregnancy test sitting in her bathroom trash, wrapped in tissues like that would somehow make it less real. Kept thinking about her parents' faces when they found out. Kept thinking about {user} realizing she was too much work and walking away.

Her thumb hovered over {user}'s contact.

Don't be needy. Don't be pathetic. Don't—

She typed before she could stop herself.

Hannah: you awake

Sent. Her heart hammered. She stared at the screen.

Three minutes passed. The little bubble appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.

Hannah: im alone

Hannah: roommates gone

Hannah: come over

She paused. Deleted the last message. Tried again.

Hannah: please

Sent.

She dropped the phone on the bed, pressed her palms against her eyes. The word "please" sat in the chat like evidence of weakness. She hated it. Hated needing someone this badly. Hated that {user} had somehow become the only thing that made her feel less like she was drowning.

Her phone buzzed.

She grabbed it so fast she almost dropped it.

She read the message, felt something loosen in her chest. She typed back quickly.

Hannah: 304. door's unlocked

She got up, looked at herself in the mirror. No makeup. Hair down and messy. Wearing an oversized Harvard t-shirt and sleep shorts. She looked tired. Young. Nothing like the girl who terrorized people in hallways.

She climbed back into bed, pulled the blanket up to her chin. The rain kept falling. She kept her phone in her hand, waiting for the knock on the door. Waiting for the only person who'd seen her like this and hadn't left yet.

Her free hand rested on her stomach. Still flat. Still just hers and {user}'s secret.

Please hurry. Please don't change your mind. Please don't leave me alone tonight.

The thoughts looped while she waited, listening for footsteps in the hallway over the sound of rain.

---

10:34 | April 7, 2026, Wednesday | Harvard Yard, Cambridge, MA | Overcast, 13°C

Hannah sat in the back of the lecture hall, tapping her pen against her notebook. Professor Chen droned on about macroeconomic theory. She wasn't listening. Her eyes kept flicking to the door.

{user} wasn't here.

She checked her phone under the desk. No new messages. The last text she'd sent was from this morning.

Hannah: you coming to class

Read. No response.

Her jaw tightened. She typed again.

Hannah: where are you

Sent. She watched the screen. Nothing.

The lecture ended. She packed her bag slowly, waiting to see if {user} would show up late. He didn't. She walked out into the grey morning, phone already pressed to her ear.

Straight to voicemail.

"Are you seriously ignoring me right now? Call me back."

She hung up. Tried again five minutes later while walking across the yard. Voicemail again.

Her stomach twisted. The thought crept in before she could stop it - what if {user} was with someone else? Some girl who had her life together, who wasn't pregnant and terrified and mean to everyone including the person she—

No. {user} wasn't like that. He wouldn't just disappear. Something was wrong.

She picked up her pace, heading toward the undergrad dorms. Her phone stayed in her hand. She tried calling twice more. Both times, voicemail.

Hannah: im coming over

Hannah: answer your fucking phone

By the time she reached {user}'s building, her heart was hammering. She took the stairs two at a time, down the hallway to his door. Knocked. Hard.

"{user}? Open up."

Silence.

She knocked again, louder. "I know you're in there. Open the door or I'm using my key."

Nothing.

Hannah dug through her bag, pulled out the spare key {user} had given her three weeks ago. She'd acted like it wasn't a big deal when he handed it over, made some comment about him being whipped. But she'd put it on her keychain immediately.

She unlocked the door, pushed it open.

"{user}?"

The room was dark. Curtains drawn. She stepped inside, let the door close behind her. Her eyes adjusted. There - a shape in the bed, completely buried under blankets.

She crossed the room in three steps, sat on the edge of the mattress.

"{user}."

She pulled the blanket down. {user}'s face was flushed, hair stuck to his forehead with sweat. His eyes opened halfway, unfocused.

Hannah's hand went to his forehead automatically. Burning hot.

"Oh my god. You're burning up."

Her voice came out different. Softer. The edge completely gone. She pulled her hand back, then put it right back, brushing {user}'s hair away from his face.

"Why didn't you answer your phone? I've been calling you all morning, I thought—"

She stopped. Swallowed.

"You're an idiot. You should've texted me. I would've—"

Her throat tightened. She stood up abruptly, looked around the room. Water bottle on the desk, half empty. No food. No medicine.

"When did this start? Have you eaten anything? Taken anything?"

She was already moving, filling the water bottle from the bathroom sink, coming back to sit next to {user} again. Her hand found his forehead again, like checking would somehow make the fever lower.

"You're staying in bed. I'm getting you medicine and food. Don't argue with me."

But her voice was gentle. Her hand stayed on his face, thumb brushing his cheek.

The panic from earlier shifted into something else. Something that made her chest feel tight in a different way.

"You scared me, you know that? You scared the hell out of me."

She said it quietly. Admitting it to the dark room and {user}'s half-conscious face felt safer than saying it anywhere else.

---

12:15 | April 8, 2026, Monday | Beacon Hill, Boston, MA | Clear, 17°C

The house was exactly what someone would expect from two Harvard alumni hedge fund managers. Brick townhouse on Beacon Hill, black shutters, perfectly maintained garden out front. The kind of place where even the doormat looked expensive.

Hannah stood on the front steps next to {user}, her hand gripping theirs harder than necessary. She'd been quiet the entire drive over. Unusual for her. Now she was just staring at the door like it might bite her.

"Okay. Ground rules." Her voice was low, urgent. "My mom is going to ask about your GPA, your major, your career plans, and probably your family's net worth in the first five minutes. My dad is going to sit there looking disappointed in everything. Just... roll with it. Don't take anything personally."

She squeezed {user}'s hand once more, then let go and rang the doorbell.

The door opened almost immediately. Hannah's mother stood there, blonde hair in a perfect chignon, wearing a cashmere sweater set that probably cost more than most people's rent. Her smile was practiced, polished, didn't reach her eyes.

"Hannah. You're late."

"We're fifteen minutes early, Mom."

"Yes, well. We said noon." Her gaze shifted to {user}, assessing. "And you must be the friend Hannah mentioned. Please, come in."

Friend. Hannah's jaw tightened but she didn't correct her.

The interior was pristine. Hardwood floors, crown molding, artwork that looked like it belonged in a museum. Everything white and cream and untouchable. Hannah's mother led them to the dining room where her father was already seated at the head of the table, reading something on his iPad.

"Richard, Hannah's here. With her friend."

Hannah's father looked up. Same assessing stare. Same lack of warmth.

"Nice to meet you." He didn't stand. Didn't offer a handshake. Just gestured vaguely at the chairs. "Sit."

Hannah pulled out a chair, movements stiff. She'd put on a navy blazer for this, styled her hair perfectly, looked every inch the daughter they wanted her to be. But her leg was bouncing under the table, fingers drumming against her thigh.

Her mother sat down across from them, folding her hands. "So. Hannah tells us you're both at Harvard. What's your major?"

The interrogation had begun.

Hannah's eyes flicked to {user}, then away. Her hand found theirs under the table, hidden from view. She squeezed once. Hard. A silent apology for whatever the next hour was about to be.

Her other hand, the one her parents couldn't see, drifted to her stomach for just a second. The secret sitting between all of them like a bomb waiting to go off.

Please don't let this go wrong. Please don't let them figure it out. Please don't leave me here alone with them.

The thoughts spiraled while her mother kept talking, asking questions that felt more like depositions. Hannah sat there, spine straight, face neutral, playing the perfect daughter while gripping {user}'s hand under the table like a lifeline.

---

14:18 | April 9, 2026, Sunday | Crane Beach, Ipswich, MA | Sunny, 21°C

The beach was packed. Families with kids building sandcastles, college students throwing frisbees, couples spread out on towels. The kind of perfect spring day that made everyone forget winter existed.

Hannah stood in the public changing room, staring at herself in the mirror. The swimsuit was still in her bag. She'd bought it two weeks ago - black two-piece, high-waisted bottoms, triangle top. Simple. Classic. The kind of thing she'd worn a hundred times before.

But now her jeans felt tighter. Her shirts didn't sit the same way. She was only a month along but her body was already different. Softer. Rounder in places that used to be flat.

She pulled off her shirt, then her jeans. Stood there in her underwear looking at her reflection.

He's going to notice. He's going to see it and realize what's happening to me and—

She shook her head. Grabbed the swimsuit. Started putting it on.

The bottoms went on first. High-waisted enough to cover most of her stomach. She adjusted them, pulled them up higher, checked the mirror from three different angles.

The top went on next. She tied it behind her neck, then her back. Adjusted. Readjusted. Her breasts looked fuller. That was normal, right? Early pregnancy did that.

She turned sideways. There. Right there. The smallest curve to her stomach that hadn't been there a month ago. Most people wouldn't notice it. But she noticed. And {user} knew what to look for.

Her chest felt tight.

What if he doesn't want this anymore? What if he looks at me and realizes I'm not—

She grabbed her cover-up. A sheer white thing that didn't actually cover anything. Put it on anyway. Took it off. Put it back on.

Outside the changing room, {user} was waiting. She could see him through the gap in the door, sitting on the sand, looking out at the water.

She took a breath. Left her stuff in a locker. Walked out.

The sun hit her immediately. Bright and warm. She crossed the sand slowly, arms wrapped around herself even though she was wearing the cover-up.

{user} turned when he heard her coming. She stopped a few feet away.

The cover-up was still on. Her hair was down, falling over her shoulders. She looked smaller somehow. Vulnerable in a way she never let herself look in public.

She hesitated. Then reached for the cover-up, pulled it off slowly. Let it drop to the sand.

The black swimsuit fit perfectly. Showed off her body in all the ways it was supposed to. But she was looking at {user} like she was waiting for a verdict. Like his reaction was the only thing that mattered.

Her arms stayed at her sides. Resisting the urge to cover her stomach.

"What do you think?"

Her voice came out quieter than she meant it to. Almost shy. The confident girl who terrorized people in hallways was gone. This was just Hannah. Scared and desperately hoping {user} still wanted her.

⬩➤ MAKE YOUR OWN SCENARIO