MidReal Story

Boyce Davenport

Casy

Scenario:In a world where men can get pregnant, luca is a 19 year old korean boy who thinks he's pregnant, and his new last name is davenport also. Luca lives in America with his adopted single mom, Karina, whose last name is davenport, luca is a single parent. He's deciding to take a pregnancy test tomorrow

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In a world where men can get pregnant, luca is a 19 year old korean boy who thinks he's pregnant, and his new last name is davenport also. Luca lives in America with his adopted single mom, Karina, whose last name is davenport, luca is a single parent. He's deciding to take a pregnancy test tomorrow

Luca Davenport

He is a 19yearold high school student in America. He is quirky, humorous, and sensitive. Luca recently changed his last name to Davenport after adoption, and he finds it hilarious. He adopted a dog named Mochi and enjoys spending time with his mom, Karina. Luca is concerned about being pregnant, a joke he humorously believes he might be experiencing due to recent cravings for unusual foods like pickles and ice cream.

Karina Davenport

She is Luca's adoptive mother and a single parent working at a museum. She is caring, humorous, and supportive. Karina adopted Luca when he was seven, and she has been raising him alone. She shares a close bond with her son and often jokes with him about his potential pregnancy. She ensures that Luca feels comfortable sharing his thoughts and concerns with her, fostering a nurturing environment.

Mochi

She is Luca's adopted dog, a small black cat disguised as a puppy due to her appearance. She is playful, affectionate, and mischievous. Mochi enjoys causing chaos in the house by knocking over objects and barking loudly. She brings joy to Luca's life, and he considers her part of the family. Mochi often accompanies Luca and Karina on outings, integrating herself into their daily routines.

I am pregnant.

I know it.

I just feel it.

My stomach has been hurting for a few days, and I've been feeling rather...moody.

I mean, more than usual.

I think I might be showing, but I'm not sure.

I've definitely gained weight recently, but I attribute that to the ice cream and pickles I've been eating nonstop.

I mean, who doesn't love a good ol' fashioned pickle when they're feeling down?

Or when they're feeling up?

Or just when they're feeling...period?

Ha!

Get it?

Period?

Like when women have their monthly flow?

Okay, maybe that joke was a bit of a stretch.

Anyway, back to me being pregnant...

I've been Googling my symptoms, and everything points to pregnancy.

Well, except for that one article about how I might just be constipated...or have a stomach virus.

But I know I'm not constipated!

And I don't have a stomach virus!

I know what I'm feeling, and it's definitely a baby growing inside me!

It's the only explanation!

I mean, have you ever heard of someone craving pickles and ice cream?

It's totally a sign of pregnancy!

And don't even get me started on my mood swings!

I'm pretty sure I'm showing now, too.

My breasts are definitely bigger...and my belly button is definitely no longer concave.

Standing in the family restroom at the mall, I fumble with the box of pregnancy tests.

Mom leans against the sink, her arms crossed over her chest.

The fluorescent lights overhead make everything look harsh and clinical.

I turn the box over in my hands, squinting at the instructions that seem to be written in hieroglyphics.

"Do I pee on the stick or in a cup first?"

I ask, my voice echoing off the tiles.

Mom sighs and takes the box from my hands.

She opens it with practiced ease and pulls out a test stick.

"Son," she says, trying not to laugh, "you hold this end and aim. It's not rocket science."

She hands me the test stick and I stare at it in confusion.

I fumble with it, trying to figure out which end is up.

My hands are shaking and my mind is racing.

The restroom feels smaller by the minute, the walls closing in on me.

I glance at the mirror and see my own anxious face staring back.

I can't stop looking at my stomach, half-expecting to see a baby bump.

Mochi, my dog, scratches at the door outside, whining to be let in.

I nearly drop the test stick twice before I finally get it positioned correctly.

Mom watches me with an amused expression, biting her lip to hold back laughter.

I can feel her eyes on me, but I don't dare look up.

"Son," she says gently, "maybe we should actually take the test now."

I clutch the test stick to my chest and blurt out, "But will my baby love me as their appa?"

I pace back and forth in front of Claire's, clutching the positive pregnancy test in my sweaty palm while Mom trails behind me with Mochi's leash.

The two pink lines mock me through the clear plastic window.

My free hand keeps drifting to my stomach, pressing gently as if I could feel something already.

A group of teenagers passes by, laughing and carrying shopping bags, and I instinctively turn away to hide the test.

Mom catches up with me and tries to guide me toward the food court.

"Let's sit down," she says softly.

"We can get some food and talk about this."

But I can't stop moving.

My feet carry me past store after store, my mind racing with thoughts of cribs and baby names.

"Mom," I finally say, stopping abruptly, "what if I'm not ready for this?"

She places a reassuring hand on my shoulder and replies, "No one ever feels completely ready, but you'll have support."

I look at her, searching for certainty, and she adds, "We'll figure it out together, one step at a time."

I wander into the toy store, drawn to a display of stuffed animals in the baby section.

My hands drift over the soft plush toys while Mom trails behind me with an amused expression.

The pregnancy test is still clutched tightly in my other hand as I examine each item carefully.

A small white bunny catches my eye - it has floppy ears and a gentle face that reminds me of Mochi.

I pick it up, imagining my future baby cuddling with it at night.

When I check the price tag, my heart sinks at the $29.99 cost.

I put the bunny back on the shelf, realizing that the journey ahead is about more than just toys.

Moving deeper into the store, I spot a tiny strawberry-patterned onesie hanging on a clearance rack.

The red "SALE $10" sticker catches my eye, and I run my fingers over the soft cotton fabric.

The words "You're my berryest friend" are printed in cheerful letters across the front.

Mom watches as I check the size - newborn to 3 months.

I hold it up against my stomach, imagining a tiny baby wearing it.

The price feels more manageable than the bunny, but I still hesitate.

"Mom, what do you think?"

I ask, holding up the onesie for her inspection.

She smiles and says, "It's adorable."

I nod in agreement and make my way to the checkout counter.

The cashier scans the onesie and asks, "Would you like a gift box?"

I pause, considering it for a moment before replying, "No, I don't think so."

After paying, I carefully place the onesie in a bag and tuck it into my purse.

As we leave the store, I can't help but feel a sense of hope amidst the uncertainty.

The onesie becomes a tangible reminder of the journey ahead.

I sit cross-legged on my bed, surrounded by discarded outfit choices that didn't make the cut for my dating profile picture.

The pregnancy test lies forgotten on my nightstand as I adjust the angle of my phone for the tenth time.

My oversized sweater keeps sliding off one shoulder, and Mochi won't stop photobombing every shot.

When I finally capture what seems like a decent photo, I spend twenty minutes agonizing over which filters to use.

Mom knocks on my door to ask if I want dinner, but I'm too engrossed in crafting the perfect bio to respond. "Just leave it on the counter," I call out distractedly as I delete another failed attempt at describing myself.

It's harder than it seems to summarize your life in 200 characters or less.

And how do you fit in "potentially pregnant" as a fun fact?

I glance at the onesie peeking out of my purse and realize that, ready or not, life is about to change.

I refresh my dating profile for the hundredth time, sprawled across my bed with Mochi curled against my side.

The strawberry onesie lies crumpled at my feet, a forgotten relic of yesterday's shopping trip.

Suddenly, my phone buzzes with a notification - a message from someone named Akira.

My heart skips a beat as I open it, scanning his profile first: 20 years old, Japanese, studying photography at the local college.

His message is simple but sweet: "You have the most beautiful smile. Is that your cat?"

He's referring to one of my photos where Mochi is perched on my lap, both of us grinning at the camera.

I type and delete several responses, wanting to make the perfect first impression.

Should I mention the possible pregnancy?

I stare at the screen, my fingers hovering over the keyboard while Mochi purrs contentedly against my side.

The pregnancy test sits on my nightstand, a constant reminder of the unknown.

After a few moments, I finally type out "I'm a 19-year-old man" and pause.

My stomach twists into knots as I add "who just found out they're pregnant."

Before I can overthink it any longer, I hit send.

Immediately, I shove my phone under my pillow and bury my face in Mochi's fur.

Mochi jumps at the sudden movement, knocking over the strawberry onesie I'd propped on my bedside lamp.

It falls to the floor with a soft thud.

My phone buzzes again, and with trembling hands, I retrieve it from its hiding spot.

I stare at the screen, reading Akira's response over and over: "oh wow cool"

Mochi paws at my arm, demanding attention, but I'm too engrossed in the message to respond.

My fingers hover uncertainly over the keyboard.

Three words.

That's all he had to say to such monumental news.

It feels too simple, too casual for something so life-altering.

The strawberry onesie catches my eye from its new spot on the floor, a reminder that this is real.

I type out "Really?" then delete it.

Write "You're okay with that?" then delete that too.

I delete the chat entirely and return to swiping through profiles.

Akira's response was disappointing, but also somewhat of a relief.

At least I know now.

I wouldn't want to be with someone who can't handle this new reality.

My thumb pauses over a profile - Magnus, 23 years old from Iceland.

His photo shows him at a park, a toddler on his hip.

The little girl has a pink bow in her hair, matching the soft pink of her father's smile.

I study their picture for longer than I normally would, taking in the way he holds her so naturally.

It's as if she's always been there.

When I read that he's a single dad, my hand instinctively moves to my stomach.

Before I can overthink it, I swipe right.

I stare at my phone screen, my heart pounding in my chest.

The reply notification pops up, and Mochi jumps onto my lap, nearly knocking the phone from my hands.

I quickly type out a casual question - "Is Magnus your real name?"

- before I can overthink it.

The response comes almost instantly: "Martin. But everyone calls me Magnus."

I test both names in my head, trying to decide which suits him better as I study his profile picture again.

His daughter's pink bow matches the rosy hue of her cheeks.

And I notice for the first time that when he smiles, his eyes crinkle at the corners.

My fingers hover over the keyboard as I debate how to respond.

I sit cross-legged on my bed, Mochi napping beside me.

My phone rests against my knees as I type and delete several messages.

Finally, after ten minutes of deliberation, I hit send: "Just so you know, I'm pregnant."

The three dots appear almost instantly, signaling that Magnus is typing.

I watch the screen, my stomach churning with anticipation.

I can't help but compare this moment to Akira's dismissive response earlier.

I hold my breath as I wait for Magnus's reply.

It pops up with three red heart emojis followed by "not at all a problem."

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.

"Really?" I type, my fingers trembling slightly.

"Absolutely," Magnus replies, "I've always wanted a big family."

I smile at the screen, feeling a warmth spread through me that I hadn't expected.

I stare at my phone screen, my fingers hovering over the keyboard.

The message stares back at me, the words blurring together as my stomach churns.

I reread it again, hoping that somehow the meaning has changed.

But it hasn't.

I'm not sure how long I sit there, frozen in place, as Mochi stirs beside me.

She stretches and yawns, her tail twitching slightly as she senses my distress.

Her big brown eyes meet mine, and she paws at my hand, as if asking what's wrong.

I reach down to pet her absently, my mind still fixed on the words on the screen.

The message is from Magnus - Martin - the man I've been talking to for weeks now.

The man who seemed so perfect, so understanding.

But now...

I scroll back through our conversation, re-reading our messages about pregnancy and family.

It all seems different now, tainted by his latest response.

My fingers hover over the keyboard again, trying to decide how to respond.

Part of me wants to lash out, to tell him how hurtful and ignorant his words are. But another part of me just wants to end this conversation altogether.

I don't want to waste any more time on someone who doesn't see me for who I truly am.

Mochi jumps down from the bed and pads over to her food bowl, meowing loudly as if demanding attention.

I sigh and set my phone aside, getting up to feed her.

As I pour kibble into her bowl, I hear a ping from my phone - another message from Magnus.

My heart sinks as I realize he's probably expecting a response from me by now.

I consider ignoring it altogether, but something compels me to check it anyway.

When I pick up my phone again, I see that it's just a simple question: "Are you still there?"

I sit cross-legged on my bed, watching as Mochi finishes her food and jumps back up to join me.

She curls up beside me, her head resting against my leg.

The screen of my phone flashes with a new message, and I glance down to see Magnus's name pop up again.

Mochi reaches out a paw and pokes at the screen, as if trying to get my attention.

I chuckle softly and set the phone down, stroking her fur absently.

But as I look back at the screen, I see the message waiting for me: "I'm sorry. You're unique."

My fingers hover over the keyboard for a moment before I respond.

I reread his apology, trying to decipher its meaning.

The word "unique" stands out to me - it's a term he hasn't used before.

It's almost... sweet?

I type out a tentative response: "What do you mean?"

Then I delete it.

My mind races as I try to come up with the perfect reply.

I don't want to seem too eager or too angry. After three more attempts at typing out a response, I finally settle on something simple: "Ok, I'm listening."

I hit send and wait anxiously for his reply.

My heart pounds in my chest as I watch the screen, waiting for the typing indicator to appear.

I sit cross-legged on my bed, watching as the three dots appear and disappear.

Mochi stirs beside me, her head nudging my arm as if demanding attention.

I absently scratch behind her ears, my eyes fixed on the screen.

The message pops up, and I read it quickly: "I was just surprised about your race. I've never met anyone from Iceland before."

My stomach twists at his words, and I feel a surge of uncertainty.

I glance down at Mochi, who is watching me intently.

Her big brown eyes seem to hold a question - what's wrong?

I reach out to pet her again, trying to calm myself down.

The mention of Iceland brings back memories of Magnus's profile picture - that genuine smile as he held his daughter in his arms.

My mind wanders for a moment, imagining what it would be like to meet him in person.

But then I shake off the thought, focusing on the screen once more.

My fingers hover over the keyboard, considering how to respond.

Part of me wants to confront him about his assumptions, but another part of me just wants to move forward. As I deliberate, another message pops up on the screen: "Are you ok?"

I glance down at my hands, realizing they are trembling slightly.

Mochi nudges my arm again, as if sensing my unease.

I take a deep breath and look back at the screen, trying to decide how to respond.

My eyes wander to the nightstand beside my bed, where the pregnancy test lies waiting.

I lie in bed the next morning, my phone heavy in my hands as I type out a simple "How are you?" to Magnus.

Mochi stretches beside me, her tail twitching slightly as she paws at the pregnancy test on the nightstand.

I set my phone aside for a moment, reaching over to pet her absently.

As I stroke her fur, I glance at the test, remembering the mix of emotions that flooded through me yesterday.

My mind wanders back to Magnus's message, and I pick up my phone again to wait for his response.

After a few minutes, my phone buzzes with an incoming message: "I'm tired. My daughter has a cold and kept me up all night."

My stomach tightens at his words, and I can't help but picture him cradling his feverish daughter in his arms.

The image of him holding her close brings back memories of the photo he sent me - the two of them smiling together, their eyes filled with love. My fingers hover over the keyboard as I debate how to respond.

Part of me wants to offer sympathy and support, but another part of me is still wary after yesterday's awkward exchange about my race.

I remember how his words stung, how they made me question everything.

But as I read his message again, I see the genuine concern in his words.

I take a deep breath and type out a response: "I hope she feels better soon."

I hit send, knowing that sometimes the simplest words carry the most weight.

I sit cross-legged on my bed, staring at the screen as Magnus's latest message pops up: "If you want to stop this, just swipe down."

Mochi stretches out across my lap, her paws poking at the screen.

The words blur together as she blocks my view.

I gently push her off, but not before she knocks my phone onto the blanket.

As I pick it up, I see Magnus's message again.

The casual way he suggests ending our connection stings.

After everything we've been through - after I opened up about my pregnancy and dealt with his comments about my race - he makes it sound so easy to just swipe away.

My thumb hovers over the screen, hesitating.

I remember the photo he sent me of his daughter, their matching smiles and sparkling eyes.

But now, in the wake of his words, that photo seems less genuine.

Mochi nudges my hand again, as if sensing my uncertainty.

I take a deep breath and look back at the screen.

I swipe down.

I scroll through the dating profiles, my eyes scanning the endless stream of faces and descriptions.

Mochi sleeps at my feet, her soft snores filling the room.

I pause on a profile that catches my eye - a heavily pregnant man with a bright smile and a round belly.

His photo shows him cradling his stomach, wearing a loose blue sweater that stretches across his frame.

The profile states he's 26 and from Japan.

My finger hovers over his picture, studying the confident way he holds his body.

"Are you really going to message him?" Mochi's soft snores seem to echo the question in my mind.

I hesitate, then whisper, "I don't know, Mochi. What if he's just another Magnus?"

Mochi shifts slightly, her eyes opening briefly as if to say, "You'll never know unless you try."

I stare at the message from Fuma, my eyes widening in surprise.

Mochi stretches across my lap, her fur brushing against the screen.

I read his words again, marveling at how he's already offering friendship without pressure.

My fingers hover over the keyboard, hesitating as I study his profile photo - the way he cradles his round belly in that blue sweater.

After Magnus's harsh exit, Fuma's gentle tone is a breath of fresh air.

I touch my own stomach, remembering the positive test, and type out a simple "Hi Fuma, thank you for being so understanding."

I hit send, feeling a cautious hope unfurl within me.

Fuma responds almost immediately, his words filling the screen.

"I just think it's best to take things slow. I've been hurt before too."

His message ends with a small heart emoji, and I find myself smiling slightly.

I type back, my fingers still shaking from the aftermath of Magnus's rejection.

"I'm not sure I'm ready for dating while pregnant. It's all so new and overwhelming."

Fuma's response arrives quickly.

"We can just chat as friends first then. No pressure at all."

Mochi climbs into my lap, nudging my hand as if urging me to continue the conversation.

I stroke her fur gently, feeling a sense of calm wash over me.

"Okay, Fuma," I type back.

"If you don't mind, can you tell me about your pregnancy journey?"

His response takes a moment longer than before, but when it comes, it fills me with warmth.

"I'd love to share that with you," he writes.

"But first, how are you doing? How did you find out you were pregnant?"

My fingers tremble slightly as I type out my response.

"I took a test last week. It was positive."

I pause, adding a small smiley face emoji to soften the words.

"And yesterday, I went to the mall to buy some maternity clothes."

Mochi purrs contentedly in my lap as I finish typing.

I look down at her and smile.

I sit cross-legged on my bed, Mochi stretched out beside me.

Her fur brushes against my arm as I read Fuma's latest message.

"I don't want to do anything that might upset you," he writes.

Mochi lifts her head, her eyes fixed on the screen.

She paws at it gently, as if trying to understand the words.

I stroke her fur, considering Fuma's message.

His sincerity shines through in every word, so different from Magnus's dismissive tone.

My fingers hover over the keyboard, hesitating for a moment before I type out a response.

"Thank you for being considerate," I write back.

Mochi stretches out again, her purrs filling the room as I wait for Fuma's reply.

When it comes, it's accompanied by a small smiling emoji.

"You're welcome," he writes.

"I just want to make sure you feel comfortable."

I relax a little at his words, feeling a sense of relief wash over me. Mochi shifts slightly in her sleep, nudging my hand with her head.

I smile down at her and continue typing.

"It means a lot to me," I write back to Fuma.

"Thank you again."

Fuma responds almost immediately, his words filling the screen with warmth.

"You're welcome," he writes once more.

"I'm glad I can help."

Mochi stirs again, stretching out across my lap as if sensing my emotions.

I stroke her soft fur, feeling a sense of gratitude towards this stranger who has shown me kindness in such a difficult time.

As I wait for Fuma's next message, Mochi settles down beside me once more, her gentle snores filling the room with a soothing sound.

Fuma's next message arrives, and I can almost hear his gentle voice through the words.

"Have you thought about what you want to do next?" he asks, his curiosity wrapped in kindness.

Mochi nudges my hand again, her eyes meeting mine as if encouraging me to open up.

I stare at my phone screen in the dark bedroom, squinting at the unfamiliar Japanese characters Fuma just sent.

Mochi sleeps curled against my side, her fur a soft blanket against the chill of the night.

Another message quickly pops up, and I realize he's apologizing for using his native language.

My heart flutters at his thoughtfulness, even as I struggle to decipher what he wrote.

I type back that I can't read Japanese, though I wish I could.

When he offers to teach me basic phrases, starting with "I love talking to you," I find myself smiling.

"That would be amazing," I reply, feeling a warmth spread through me.

"I'll start with something simple," he writes back, his enthusiasm palpable even through the screen.

"How about 'Konnichiwa,' which means 'Hello'?"

I stare at my phone screen in surprise when Fuma responds with a single word: "annyeonghaseyo."

The Korean greeting echoes through my mind, sending a shiver down my spine.

Mochi stirs beside me, her fur brushing against my arm as I sit up straighter on the bed.

My fingers hover over the keyboard, hesitating for a moment before I type out a response.

"Wow, you speak Korean?" my message reads.

Memories of my birth country flood my mind, the familiar sounds and rhythms of the language tugging at my heartstrings.

As I wait for Fuma's reply, the silence in the room is punctuated only by Mochi's gentle snores.

Finally, his response arrives, filling the screen with a mix of excitement and curiosity.

"I learned some basic phrases," he writes.

"I've always been fascinated by languages."

I smile at his enthusiasm, feeling a sense of connection wash over me.

"Where did you learn Korean?"

I ask, my curiosity piqued by this unexpected connection to my past. The pregnancy test on my nightstand catches my eye as I wait for Fuma's response.

A small reminder of the life growing inside me, a symbol of hope amidst uncertainty.

"I've always been interested in languages," he writes back.

"I try to learn a few phrases from different cultures so I can make people feel more comfortable when they're around me."

My heart flutters at his thoughtfulness, the genuine desire to connect with others that shines through his words.

Mochi stretches out across my lap, her fur brushing against the screen as I type out my next message.

"I grew up speaking Korean," I write, the words feeling both familiar and foreign on my tongue.

"Really?" he responds almost immediately, his curiosity palpable even through the screen.

"Can you teach me some basic phrases?"

I smile at his eagerness, feeling a sense of pride in being able to share my native language with someone who truly wants to learn.

"Of course," I type back, my fingers moving swiftly over the keyboard.

"But first, let me correct your grammar. 'Annyeonghaseyo' is a polite way to say hello, but 'annyeong' is more informal."

Mochi purrs contentedly against my leg as I wait for Fuma's response.

When it comes, it's filled with a mix of gratitude and excitement.

"Thank you for correcting me," he writes.

"I want to make sure I'm using proper Korean."

I smile at his dedication, feeling a sense of joy in being able to share my culture with him.

"I'd be happy to teach you more," I type back, my fingers moving quickly over the keyboard. "Let's start with some basic pronunciation rules," I continue, eager to dive deeper into the intricacies of the language.

"In Korean, there are consonants and vowels that don't exist in English. For example, the letter 'ㅂ' is pronounced like a mix between 'b' and 'p'."

As I wait for Fuma's response, Mochi stretches out across my lap once more, her fur brushing against the screen.

"That's fascinating," Fuma replies, his words brimming with genuine interest.

"I didn't realize Korean had such unique sounds."

I chuckle softly, feeling a warmth spread through me as I type back, "It's one of the things that makes it so special."

I wake up to Mochi pawing at my phone screen, her tiny paws leaving smudges on the glass.

The bright morning light floods the room, and I blink away the remnants of sleep as I reach for my phone.

A new message from Fuma glows on the screen, his words filling me with a mix of excitement and trepidation.

"I want to send you some Japanese food and flowers," he writes.

"It's a small gesture of friendship, and I hope you'll accept it."

My stomach churns, partly from the possibility of morning sickness and partly from the uncertainty of accepting gifts from someone I've just met online.

I sit up in bed, holding my phone tightly in my hand as I stare at Fuma's message.

Mochi curls against my side, her fur a comforting presence as I run my fingers absently over my belly.

The pregnancy test from yesterday still sits on my nightstand, a constant reminder of the unexpected turn my life has taken.

I take a deep breath, feeling the weight of my choices and the promise of new beginnings.

I sit cross-legged on my bed, Mochi stretching out across my lap as I read Fuma's explanation about gift-giving in Japanese culture.

The words on the screen blur together for a moment as I focus on the sensation of my cat's fur against my fingertips.

"It's customary to give small tokens of appreciation when meeting someone new," he writes.

"I want to make sure you feel welcome and valued."

I pause, my eyes narrowing slightly as I read over his words.

There's something rehearsed about his message, a sense that he's said this before to others.

My mind drifts back to our previous conversations, the way he effortlessly switched between languages and shared stories of his life in Japan.

It all feels so genuine, yet there's a nagging voice in the back of my mind that wonders if it's too good to be true.

I scroll back through our chat history, searching for any inconsistencies or red flags.

But as I read through our conversations, I realize that everything he's said has been consistent and thoughtful.

Maybe I'm just being paranoid, my mind clouded by the uncertainty of my situation. As I continue to read Fuma's messages, Mochi stirs in her sleep, her tiny paws twitching as she chases after some imaginary prey in her dreams.

I smile softly at her antics, feeling a sense of comfort in her presence.

Fuma's next message pops up on the screen, pulling me back into the present moment.

"Can you send me your address so I can mail you a small package?" he asks.

My stomach tightens at the thought of sharing my personal information with someone I've just met online.

But there's something about Fuma that feels different, something that makes me want to trust him despite the doubts lingering in my mind.

As I debate what to do, Mom's voice drifts up from downstairs, reminding me that it's time for breakfast.

I close the app without responding to Fuma's message and delete our conversation from my phone.

With a deep breath, I resolve to keep my secrets safe, at least for now.

I sit cross-legged on my bed, nervously adjusting the screen of my phone as Mochi curls up beside me.

Yesterday, I deleted our chat and tried to convince myself that it was for the best.

But guilt and curiosity gnawed at me, until I finally gave in and sent Fuma a new message.

Now, as the video call connects, my heart pounds against my ribs.

The screen flickers, and suddenly I'm staring at his face.

What catches me off guard isn't his gentle smile or the familiar blue sweater from his profile picture.

It's his hair - a vibrant dark red that falls softly around his face.

It's almost burgundy, and it takes me a moment to process what I'm seeing.

I lean back against my headboard, my voice barely above a whisper as I ask, "Fuma, your hair...?"

He smiles, running his fingers through the burgundy strands.

"I dyed it," he explains, his voice smooth and familiar.

"It's been a few weeks now."

I nod, trying to process this new side of him.

"You look... different," I admit.

"Is that why you wanted to video chat?"

He laughs softly, the sound carrying through the screen.

"No, but I'm glad you like it," he says, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

"I've always wanted to try a different color."

Mochi stretches out across my lap, her fur blocking part of the screen as she tries to get closer to Fuma's face.

I gently move her aside, not wanting to miss a single moment of our conversation.

"So, is that why you wanted to talk?" he asks again, his voice gentle and curious.

I hesitate for a moment before answering.

"No... it's just... I wanted to see you again," I admit, feeling a mix of relief and vulnerability wash over me.

"I'm glad you called," he says softly, his smile warming my heart. "So, how are you feeling?" he asks, concern etched on his face.

I take a deep breath before answering.

"Honestly? A little overwhelmed," I admit.

"But I'm trying to stay positive."

He nods understandingly.

"That's good. You're going to be an amazing mom."

His words fill me with a sense of hope and gratitude.

"Thank you," I say softly.

"Fuma?"

He looks at me curiously.

"Yeah?"

"Your hair... are you worried about the chemicals affecting the baby?"

He shakes his head, running his fingers through his burgundy locks again.

"No, not at all. I dyed it before I found out about the pregnancy. My doctor said it wouldn't affect anything."

I nod, relieved that he's taken precautions.

"That's good," I say softly.

"I love your hair like this. It suits you."

A small smile plays on his lips as he continues to run his fingers through his hair.

"Thank you. I was thinking about keeping it this color throughout my pregnancy. What do you think?"

I can't help but smile at how open he is about such a small detail.

"It's up to you," I say gently.

"But if it makes you happy, then go for it."

His smile widens, and in that moment, I realize I've found a friend in the most unexpected of places.

While we're video chatting in my bedroom, Fuma suddenly stands up from his screen.

Mochi stirs in my lap, her eyes fixed on the movement.

I watch as Fuma walks off-camera, leaving me staring at the empty chair and the blue sweater draped over its back.

A few moments later, he returns, holding something delicate between his fingers.

As he leans closer to the camera, I see that it's a pink cherry blossom.

The petals tremble slightly in his grip.

He smiles at me and pretends to tuck the flower behind my ear.

"Fuma, where did you get that?" I ask, curiosity piqued.

He chuckles softly, "I have a cherry blossom tree in my garden. Thought you'd like a little piece of Japan."

Touched by the gesture, I reply, "It's beautiful, thank you."

He settles back into his chair, adjusting the blue sweater he's wearing.

I sit cross-legged on my bed, absently stroking Mochi's fur as I watch him.

The virtual cherry blossom tucked behind my ear gives me a strange sense of courage.

"Hey, Fuma?"

"Yeah?"

I take a deep breath, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Do you have a boyfriend?"

He looks at me curiously, then smiles softly.

"No... I haven't found the right person yet," he admits.

"But I'm not giving up hope."

I nod, trying to keep my emotions in check.

"That's good. Love is worth waiting for."

Fuma leans forward, his eyes locked on mine through the screen.

"I'm afraid of losing someone special," he confesses quietly.

My heart skips a beat at his words.

"Who's the lucky guy?" I ask casually, trying to hide the nervousness in my voice.

Fuma goes quiet for a moment, his burgundy hair falling forward as he looks down.

After what feels like forever, he looks directly into the camera and says "It's you."

I blink, taken aback by his confession.

"Me?" I ask, my voice barely a whisper.

He nods, a small, hopeful smile playing on his lips.