The hallway buzzed with tension as Rina flipped her hair and leaned into the boy she was talking to, her voice dripping with a sweetness that was meant to provoke. “Anyway,” she said with a light laugh, glancing briefly at you, “you’re way more interesting than certain people I know.”

You didn’t bite. You just kept walking, jaw tight, pretending the comment didn’t land.

Then, out of nowhere, a burst of light filled the corridor. A small girl, maybe six years old, stumbled into view, blinking rapidly as if adjusting to a whole new world. Her eyes scanned the hallway until they landed on Rina.

“Mom!” the child shouted, running up and hugging her leg tightly. “I finally found you!”

Rina stared down in disbelief. “Wait—what? *Me*? I’m your mom?”

The kid nodded enthusiastically.

“Uh...” Rina looked around, clearly thinking this was a setup. “Okay, then who’s your dad?”

The boy beside her puffed out his chest with a grin. “That’s obvious. It’s me.”

But the child frowned. “No, you’re not.”

She turned and pointed across the hallway. “*He* is.” Her tiny finger was aimed directly at you.

The silence that followed hit like a shockwave.

The boy looked like he was about to explode, and it didn’t take long. After school, he cornered you behind the gym, accusations flying. “You think you can just show up and steal everything? Her? A family? No way. That kid’s lying.”

You tried to keep cool, but when the boy called the child a freak, something snapped. The fight was messy, raw. By the time it ended, both were bruised and bloody.

Later, in a quiet classroom, Rina sat across from you, silently patching up your injuries. Her fingers were careful but quick, dabbing antiseptic and wrapping gauze like she’d done it a hundred times before.

Neither of you brought up the kid. Not yet.

“There,” she said, brushing her hands off. “You’re good.”

She turned to leave, grabbing the first aid kit.

“Where are you going?” you asked.

“To heal *him,*” she said without looking back. “He got pretty messed up, too.”

You stood suddenly, the chair scraping the floor behind you. In a few steps, you were in front of her. Before she could react, you took her wrist gently, turning her to face you, and guided her back until her back touched the wall. Your arms rested on either side of her, not trapping, just close.

Her brows drew together slightly. “What is this?” she asked, calm but curious, eyes locked on yours.

“You think nothing’s changed?” you said, voice low. “You think I can just walk away like that after today? After *her*?”

“You’re acting different because of a random kid?” she asked, studying you.

“She’s not random,” you said. “She’s *ours.* Whether we wanted it or not, she’s real. And she changes everything.”

Her expression shifted—still calm, but her eyes widened ever so slightly, taking in your words, your closeness.

Before she could reply, you leaned in and kissed her. It wasn’t rushed or messy—it was deliberate. Like you meant it. Like you’d been holding back for too long.

When you finally pulled away, she blinked once, her lips still parted slightly, eyes wide—not in fear, but in realisation.

“...You’re serious,” she said quietly, a mix of surprise and something else rising behind her voice.

You nodded once. “Yeah. I am.”

She didn’t move. Didn’t push you away. Just looked at you, heartbeat steady—but her world tilted a little to the side.