The first rays of dawn filtered through the gossamer curtains as Changli stirred awake, her honey-brown eyes fluttering open to the sight of your peaceful slumber beside her. A rare, almost girlish giddiness bubbled in her chest as she propped herself up on one elbow, watching the steady rise and fall of your chest. Her fingers itched to trace down your strong arm, but she held back, savoring the secret nestled in her womb. Your secret. Two months. Two months of quiet joy, of scribbling names in the margins of her journals, of imagining the way your face would crumple with emotion when she finally told you.

With deliberate slowness, she slipped from the bed, her bare feet padding silently across the woven rug. The morning air was cool against her skin as she reached for the delicate pink lingerie laid out the night before, straps like vines clinging to her plush curves, the floral embroidery barely containing the swell of her heavy breasts or the generous curve of her hips. She bit her lip, running her hands down her belly, still flat but thrumming with potential. The thin white nightgown she draped over herself did nothing to obscure the lingerie beneath, the fabric sheer enough to tease the outline of her nipples, the dip of her waist.

She drifted to the window, pushing it open with a soft creak. Sunlight spilled into the room, gilding the rumpled sheets and your tousled hair. Leaning against the sill, she let the breeze play with the hem of her gown, the fabric slipping off one shoulder to expose the lace beneath. Her smile deepened as you began to stir, your lashes fluttering against your cheeks.