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MidReal Story
The Football Player's Forbidden Love
Scenario:soy noah tengo 19 años soy guapo y musculoso, soy un estudiante de medicina de la universidad de madrid y jugador de fútbol del equipo de la universidad donde estudio y vivo solo en mi piso de Madrid y mis padres y mi hermano de 18 años viven en un pueblo de toledo y tengo novia que se llama Lucía de 19 años pelo largo rubio que estudia derecho en mi misma universidad y vive con sus padres en Madrid todo esto sucede en el año 2024, con mis amigos lucas, Mateo,leo todos estudiantes de la universidad
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Noah Martinez
passionate, and loyal. Noah lives alone in Madrid while his family resides in Toledo. He has a closeknit group of friends, including Lucas, Mateo, and Leo. Noah is deeply in love with Lucía, his girlfriend of two years, who studies law at the same university. His life revolves around football, friends, and Lucía.
Leo Martínez
adventurous, and enthusiastic.
Lucas Díaz
humorous, and supportive. Lucas often provides comic relief among his friends and shares a strong camaraderie with them. He frequently hangs out with Noah and their other friends at bars or during football games. Lucas's friendship with Noah dates back to their early days at university.
My name is Noah Martinez, I am 19 years old, I study medicine at the University of Madrid, I am a football player and I am very passionate about this sport.
I live in an apartment in Madrid, alone, while my parents and my 18-year-old brother live in a village in Toledo.
I have a girlfriend, also 19 years old, blonde and very beautiful, her name is Lucía García.
She studies law in the same university as me and lives with her parents in Madrid.
I have a group of very close friends, Lucas, Mateo and Leo, all of them students at the University of Madrid.
I am in my second year at the university and I am very happy with my life.
I am very determined and once I set a goal for myself, I work hard until I achieve it.
I am also very loyal to my friends and family, I will always be there to help them whenever they need me.
I am completely in love with Lucía, I have been dating her for two years and I would do anything to make her happy.
I am a bit possessive but that's because I don't want to lose her.
I know that Lucía feels the same way about me and that gives me the confidence to know that our relationship is strong.
After a long day of classes and football practice, I collapse on my couch and pull out my phone to call my brother back home.
It's been two weeks since we last spoke and I miss hearing about life in Toledo.
I scroll through my contacts until I find his name and hit the call button.
As the phone rings, I notice several missed texts from Lucía about meeting up later tonight.
I'll have to respond to them after I talk to my brother.
"Hello?" my brother answers, sounding distracted.
"Hey, what are you doing?"
I ask, settling into the couch for a long conversation.
"Not much, just playing some video games. What about you?"
My brother asks, his voice laced with excitement as he plays in the background.
"I just got back from football practice. How's school going?"
I ask, trying to keep the conversation light.
"It's good. It's my final year so I'm trying to stay focused."
My brother replies, his tone serious for a moment before he laughs at something happening in his game. "And how's mom and dad doing? How's work at the factory?"
I ask, curious about what's happening back home.
"They're good. Dad's been working late hours again but mom's worried about something. She won't tell me what it is but I know it has something do with dad."
My brother says, his voice laced with concern.
I can hear him die in his game and rage quit before he speaks again.
"I gotta go man. Talk to you soon."
My brother says abruptly before hanging up the phone.
I stare at the screen for a moment, wondering what's really going on back home.
Why is dad working late hours again?
And what could mom be worried about?
I decide it's time to find out for myself.
I pace around my apartment, trying to decide what to do.
Should I call mom directly and ask her what's wrong?
Or should I try calling home again and see if dad picks up?
The evening sun casts long shadows across my floor as I walk back and forth in front of my window.
I decide to try calling home again, hoping that someone will pick up this time.
I hit the call button and wait for an answer but no one picks up.
I try calling again, thinking maybe they're just busy but still no one answers.
I let the phone ring a few times before hanging up.
My phone buzzes on the coffee table, making me jump.
I turn around and see Lucía's contact photo lighting up the screen.
I stare at her smiling face for a moment, debating whether or not to answer her call.
She's been blowing me up all afternoon about meeting up tonight but I've been too busy with practice and then talking to my brother. I know she's going to be pissed that I ignored her messages all day but I'll make it up to her tonight.
The phone keeps ringing, Lucía's name flashing on the screen as I stand frozen in front of my couch.
After four rings, I reach out and swipe the answer button.
"Hello?"
I ask, pacing near my kitchen counter as I wait for her to speak.
"Where the hell have you been? I've been trying to reach you all day."
Lucía's voice is cold and clipped, her anger obvious in her tone.
"I'm sorry, I was at football practice. I didn't have my phone on me."
I try to apologize, hoping she'll forgive me.
"And then I called my brother back home and we got into a long conversation."
I add, hoping to explain why I didn't call her back sooner.
"I'm sorry Lucía, I know I should have reached out to you sooner. Can we make up for it tonight? Maybe meet for dinner at that Italian place near campus?"
I ask, trying to make it up to her.
Lucía pauses for a moment before answering.
"I don't know Noah. I had already planned on meeting up with my study group tonight. We have a big exam coming up and we really need to study."
She says, her voice softer now but still hesitant.
"Come on Lucía, it's our favorite restaurant. And I'll treat you to tiramisu for dessert."
I try to convince her. "Okay, fine. But just dinner and then I really need to get back to studying."
She agrees after a moment of silence.
"Great! How about we meet there at 8pm?"
I suggest, relieved that she agreed to meet me at all.
"Sounds good. See you then."
Lucía says before hanging up the phone.
I stare at the screen for a moment before setting the phone down on the coffee table.
As soon as it's set down, it buzzes again in my hand.
This time it's not Lucía calling again but the house number from Toledo.
I stare at the screen for a moment, debating whether or not to answer.
I'm already running late for dinner with Lucía and I really need to get ready.
But something in my gut tells me I should answer this call.
I set the phone down on the counter and rush to my bedroom to get ready.
I pull a crisp white shirt from my closet, almost knocking over other hangers in my haste.
I step into my favorite navy blue jeans that Lucía always compliments me on before hopping toward the mirror.
At my dresser, I grab my white Nike sneakers but pause before putting them on.
The phone vibrates again on my bed, the house number from Toledo flashing on the screen.
I pick it up this time, pressing the answer button with a sense of urgency.
"Noah, it's Dad," his voice is low and strained, unlike anything I've heard before.
"Dad? What's going on?" I ask, my heart pounding as I brace myself for his response.
"Son, I need to tell you something about the factory," he starts but I cut him off before he can finish.
"I can't talk now - I'm already late meeting Lucía," I say, buttoning my shirt with one hand as I glance at the clock.
It's 7:45pm and I still need to drive across town.
"Just give me a quick summary, Dad. I promise to call you back after dinner."
I rush him off the phone, feeling guilty for not having more time to talk.
But I know how Lucía gets when I'm late and I don't want to make things worse.
"Okay, just be careful on the drive over. I'll wait to hear from you later."
Dad says before hanging up.
I throw my phone on the bed and rush to the bathroom to brush my teeth and run a hand through my hair.
I glance at myself in the mirror, smoothing out wrinkles in my shirt that I didn't have time to iron.
I rush back down the hallway, checking myself out in the mirror one more time.
My white shirt is half-buttoned and wrinkled from rushing around but it'll have to do.
I grab my wallet and phone from the kitchen counter, patting my pockets to make sure I have everything.
The digital clock on my microwave reads 7:52pm - I'm cutting it extremely close.
I can hear Dad's worried voice in my head as I snatch my car keys from the hook by the door.
As I step outside, my phone buzzes again with a text from Lucía: "Don't rush, Noah. I just got a call from the study group, and they want to meet earlier than planned."
I pause, staring at the message, feeling a mix of relief and disappointment.
"Dad, it's me again," I say, calling him back immediately. "Tell me everything about the factory."
I plop down on the couch, my heart still racing from the day's stress.
"Son, I'm sorry but I can't talk now. I have to go."
Dad says, his voice strained and distant.
"Wait, Dad! I need to know what's going on. Is it about the factory? Are you okay?"
I press him for answers but he deflects my questions.
"Noah, I'm fine. I just need to talk to your mother first. How was your day? How's Lucía?"
He asks instead, his voice tired but genuinely interested.
"Lucía is good, Dad. We're actually having dinner together tonight."
I tell him, feeling a pang of guilt that he's avoiding my questions.
"How about you? How was your day?"
I ask him back, trying to keep the conversation light.
"It was long and stressful," he sighs.
"I'm sure you'll be happy to know that we've been having some issues with the factory lately."
He says in a dry tone that makes me roll my eyes.
"Dad, I already know about the factory," I say with a chuckle.
"Lucía told me about the rumors going around."
"Ah, well then you know how it is," he says with a sigh.
"I'm sure she also told you how busy I've been lately." "Yeah, she mentioned something about that," I admit reluctantly.
"She's been upset about how little time we've been spending together lately."
"Well, you should make more time for her," Dad says sternly.
"She's a great girl and she deserves it."
"I know," I say with a groan.
"I'm just really busy right now. Between school and soccer practice, there aren't enough hours in the day."
"Well, make more time," Dad repeats firmly.
"You're young and have your whole life ahead of you. You can always find more time for work but not for love."
He says in a sappy tone that makes me roll my eyes.
"Dad, you sound like a Hallmark card."
I tease him playfully but he doesn't laugh.
Instead, his voice turns serious again as he presses me for more information about Lucía and our relationship.
"How long has it been now? Three months?"
He asks thoughtfully.
"Yeah, something like that," I reply vaguely.
"And how is it going? Are you happy together?"
I sink back into the couch, running my hand through my hair.
"It's going well, Dad, but like I said, we're really busy right now. Between university and football, we hardly see each other at all."
I say truthfully.
It used to be so different last semester.
Lucía and I would meet up every night after class to walk home together and grab dinner.
But this semester, it's been impossible.
We're lucky if we can even squeeze in a quick coffee between classes.
Dad stays quiet for a moment, letting me think.
"So what? You're saying that you don't have time for your girlfriend?" he presses, his voice firm again.
"Well...not as much as I'd like," I admit reluctantly.
"But it's not just that. She's been getting upset because of my packed schedule lately. She thinks I'm always cancelling plans with her." "Well, are you?"
Dad asks bluntly.
"Maybe not always, but I've definitely missed a few dates."
I admit reluctantly.
"And then there was that one time when football practice ran way later than expected..."
"Football again," Dad sighs heavily over the phone.
I can tell he's shaking his head from all the way over the phone.
"And today?"
He presses me to continue.
"Well...I was supposed to meet her tonight for dinner but practice ran late again."
"So you cancelled?"
He asks flatly.
"Yeah..."
I admit sheepishly.
"I know I should've called her earlier but things got crazy during practice. Coach was upset about our performance last weekend and kept us late for extra drills."
I lean back on the couch, still on the phone with Dad.
He launches into a lecture about relationships and how important it is to make time for the people you care about.
His voice cracks slightly when he starts talking about how he used to court Mom years ago.
It's so unusual to hear him talk like this that I pause, studying the ceiling as I try to process what I'm hearing.
Dad's always been a tough, stoic guy who never talks about his feelings.
But right now, his voice sounds almost sentimental as he talks about how he used to take Mom on long walks through the countryside and surprise her with flowers.
It's such an unusual display of emotion from him that I can't help but interrupt.
"Dad," I say carefully, studying the ceiling again.
"Can I ask you something?"
I say, interrupting his flow of relationship advice.
He pauses for a moment, clearly caught off guard by my sudden change of topic.
"Sure, son. What is it?"
His voice turns guarded again, the emotional tone from earlier gone.
I lean forward on the couch, my phone pressed tight against my ear as I ask the question that's been nagging at me for weeks.
"Hey dad...what was mom like when she was pregnant with me?"
The line goes quiet for a moment.
I can tell Dad's clearing his throat over the phone.
He clears his voice again before he speaks.
"What do you mean, Noah?"
His voice is guarded now, almost distant.
"Was she as worried as you sound now?"
I lean forward on the couch, gripping the phone tighter in my hand.
I can feel my stomach churning as I wait for his response.
"Well...she was definitely worried," Dad says slowly.
"But she was also excited. She'd always wanted to be a mother."
He pauses for a moment, clearing his throat again.
"Of course, she was also sick a lot. Morning sickness, you know."
The line goes quiet again, and I can tell he's lost in thought.
I stay quiet too, listening to the sound of his breathing over the phone.
It's so unusual to hear him talk like this that I'm not sure what to say.
I've never heard him talk about Mom like this before.
He's always been so tough and distant, never wanting to talk about his feelings.
But now...now he sounds almost vulnerable.
"Father," I say carefully, interrupting his reverie.
"I think Lucía is with child."
There's a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line.
"Are you sure, Noah?" Dad asks, his voice a mix of concern and disbelief.
"She hasn't told me directly, but there are signs... and I just have this feeling," I reply, my voice barely above a whisper.
I slump back against the couch cushions, my hand still trembling as I hold the phone.
There's a long pause on the other end of the line.
I can tell Dad's trying to process what I've just told him.
"Son...I don't know what to say," he says finally, his voice filled with emotion.
"I don't know what to do."
I nod, even though he can't see me.
I feel like I'm in shock.
The idea of becoming a father at 19 is almost too much to handle.
Medical school, football, my whole future... it all seems to blur together in a haze of uncertainty.
There's another long pause on the other end of the line.
I can hear Dad clearing his throat again, trying to find the right words to say.
But before he can speak, I cut him off by hanging up. I need to talk to Lucía first.
I stare out the window at the Madrid traffic below.
It's late afternoon, and the sun is starting to set over the city.
The weight of the moment presses down on me as I realize everything is about to change.
I pace back and forth in my apartment, phone in hand.
I'm rehearsing what I'm going to say to Lucía, trying to get it just right.
The screen still shows our last text exchange from earlier.
We'd planned to meet for dinner tonight, but she'd canceled at the last minute.
Her contact photo is a picture of us from last summer's beach trip.
We're both smiling, the sun shining down on us.
I can feel my heart pounding in my chest as I stand there, staring at the screen.
I take a deep breath and lift the phone to my ear.
The evening traffic hums in the distance outside my window, a steady drone of noise that fills the air.
I hear her voice on the other end, soft and tired from studying.
I open my mouth to speak, but no words come out.
My chest feels heavy, as if something is pressing down on me.
"Hey, Noah?" she says, concern creeping into her voice.
"Is everything okay?"
I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself down.
The traffic noise outside my window fades away, replaced by the sound of her breathing through the phone's speaker.
"Can you come over?" I finally manage to say.
My voice is barely above a whisper.
"We need to talk about something important."
There's a pause on the other end of the line, and for a moment I wonder if she heard me.
But then she responds, her voice steady and strong.
"I'll be there in twenty minutes."
"Is it about what I think it is?" she asks, her voice tinged with apprehension.
I hesitate, knowing this conversation could change everything.
"Yeah," I say softly, "it's exactly what you think."
I move through my apartment in a daze, picking up textbooks and football gear from the living room floor.
My hands shake as I fold the blanket on the couch where I'd just had that heavy conversation with Dad.
I glance around the room one last time before heading into the bathroom to splash some cold water on my face.
The mirror reflects back a pale, anxious-looking version of myself.
Just then, a car horn blares outside my window, making me jump.
I rush to the window, heart pounding, and see Lucía's white Fiat pulling up to the curb.
She expertly parallel parks between two cars, taking longer than usual to turn off the engine.
The streetlight casts a warm glow over her car, illuminating her inside.
I can see her checking her makeup in the rearview mirror - something she always does when she's nervous.
My palms press against the cool glass as I watch her gather her purse and phone from the passenger seat.
She still hasn't looked up at my window, which is unusual.
I move mechanically through my apartment, straightening the pile of medical textbooks on my desk and folding my football jersey from practice.
Every item I touch feels like an artifact from a life that might be about to change forever.
In the kitchen, I wipe down the counter where I'd just had that emotional call with Dad.
The dishes from yesterday's breakfast sit in the sink, unwashed, but I can't bring myself to wash them now.
I lean against my apartment door, listening for Lucía's footsteps in the hallway.
The elevator dings on my floor, and my breath catches.
I move to the peephole, watching as Lucía emerges from the elevator.
She's wearing the blue sweater she wore on our first date.
It looks even better now, clinging to her curves and accentuating her bright blonde hair.
She walks slowly down the hall, her eyes fixed on her phone.
When she reaches my door, she pauses.
Her hand hovers near the doorbell, but she doesn't press it.
Instead, she checks her phone again, her brow furrowed with uncertainty.
I grip the doorknob, wondering if I should open the door before she rings it.
I hold my breath, watching her through the peephole.
Her eyes are still fixed on her phone, and she hasn't moved.
The fluorescent lights in the hallway cast harsh shadows across her face, making her look older, more serious than usual.
My medical textbook lies open on the coffee table behind me, its pages on reproductive health a painful reminder of what might be happening.
I grip the doorknob tighter, my palm slick with sweat.
The doorknob feels cold and unforgiving beneath my hand.
Lucía still hasn't moved.
She's clutching her phone tightly, as if waiting for a call or message.
The hallway is silent except for the hum of the fluorescent lights above.
I watch her through the peephole, trying to read her expression.
Her chest rises and falls rapidly, her breaths coming in short gasps.
My medical training kicks in automatically, and I count her respiratory rate. Twenty-two breaths per minute.
A normal person takes twelve to twenty breaths per minute, but stress or anxiety can cause that number to rise.
I'm not sure why I'm counting her breathing rate, but it gives me something to focus on besides the fact that my life might be about to change forever.
I'm not sure how long I stand there, watching her through the peephole.
It feels like hours, but it's probably only thirty seconds.
Finally, I turn the handle and pull the door open.
Lucía looks up, her eyes meeting mine with a mix of fear and hope.
I hold the door open, and she steps inside.
Her blue sweater brushes against my arm as she passes.
The door closes behind her with a soft thud.
She walks straight to the living room, her footsteps echoing in the empty space.
She sets her purse down on the coffee table next to my open textbook.
The evening traffic noise drifts through my window, a steady hum of cars and horns.
I watch her from the doorway, taking in the sight of her perched on the edge of my couch.
Her hands are folded tightly in her lap, and she's avoiding eye contact.
I close the door slowly, watching her reaction to the ultrasound diagrams visible on the open textbook pages.
My throat feels dry, and I swallow hard before moving to sit beside her.
Her voice trembles as she finally speaks, "We need to talk."
I sink into the couch cushions next to her, keeping a careful distance between us.
The textbook's diagrams stare up at us from the coffee table, but I can't bring myself to close it.
My breathing feels shallow, and I focus on taking slow, deep breaths.
Lucía's hands twist nervously in her lap, and her blue sweater rises and falls with each rapid breath.
When I speak, my voice comes out softer than I intended.
"I know."
She turns to face me, her eyes glistening under the apartment's harsh lighting.
Before she can respond, her phone buzzes loudly on the coffee table.
I lean forward, my hand extending toward her.
The phone continues to buzz, casting a blue glow across Lucía's tear-streaked face.
She stares at my outstretched palm for a long moment, her fingers twisting the hem of her sweater.
The diagrams in my textbook catch my eye again, and my stomach clenches.
When she finally moves to take my hand, her phone stops buzzing.
Her fingers curl around mine, and in the silence that follows, everything changes.
The phone buzzes again, and her grip on my hand tightens.
Her eyes dart toward the screen, and I catch a glimpse of her trembling thumb hovering over the device.
She pulls her hand from mine, lunging for the phone before I can see the screen.
In the sudden movement, my textbook slides off the coffee table, hitting the floor with a thud.
As she clutches the phone to her chest, I catch sight of a name flashing across the screen - "Dr. Martinez."
My stomach drops.
That's my father's colleague at the Toledo hospital.
Lucía's face drains of color when she realizes I've seen it.
Her fingers grip the phone tighter as she backs away from me, shaking her head.
I lean forward on the couch, my hand reaching for hers.
"Lucía, what's wrong?"
I try to keep my voice steady, despite the racing of my heart.
"You can tell me. I already know you're pregnant."
The words spill out before I can stop them.
Lucía's face transforms from fear to shock to something else - a mix of confusion and disbelief.
Her grip on the phone remains firm, her head shaking as she backs away from me, her eyes wide with uncertainty.
The room seems to hold its breath, as if waiting for the truth to finally surface.
I slide across the couch, my hand reaching out to her again.
It trembles as I cup her cheek, my thumb brushing away a tear that's about to fall.
She flinches but doesn't pull away as my fingers touch her.
The phone lies face-down between us on the cushion, Dr. Martinez's name still visible in my mind.
The unspoken secrets hang heavy in the air, threatening to break the fragile connection we share.
My throat tightens as I try to speak again, the words coming out barely audible.
"Lucía, whatever it may be, we will face it together."
Her eyes search mine, a flicker of hope mingling with the fear.
"But what if it's not just about us?" she whispers, her voice trembling.
I nod slowly, understanding dawning as I realize the weight of what she's been carrying alone.
Her purse, which had been resting beside her on the couch, falls open on the floor, spilling its contents near my medical textbook.
Among the scattered items, a crumpled pharmacy receipt catches my eye.
I reach down to help gather her things, and as I do, I notice something partially wrapped in tissue paper peeking out from beneath the couch.
My hand trembles as I pull it out - a positive pregnancy test.
Lucía gasps, reaching for it, but I hold it up to the light, confirming the two clear lines.
The discovery transforms my earlier suspicions into reality, making my conversation with Dad feel prophetic.
Lucía's voice is barely a whisper, "I was going to tell you, but then Dr. Martinez called."
I nod, trying to process everything, "Is he helping you with this?"
She hesitates, her eyes searching mine for understanding, "He's been guiding me through... options."
I hold the pregnancy test, my gaze fixed on her.
"Options?"
I repeat, trying to keep my voice steady.
Lucía takes a deep breath, her eyes welling up again, "I've been seeing him in secret. I couldn't tell you, not yet."
She pauses, her voice trembling.
"I've seen him twice already. At Toledo Hospital."
The weight of her words settles heavily on my shoulders.
"He's been helping me figure out... termination."
My hands tremble as I hold the test, the reality sinking in.
"Lucía, why didn't you tell me sooner?"
Her voice cracks as she speaks, "You've been busy with football and your studies. I didn't want to add more stress to your life."
Guilt washes over me as I recall canceling our dinner plans tonight.
I squeeze her hand, trying to reassure her that we'll face this together.
"We'll meet with Dr. Martinez tomorrow. Together."
She nods, a mix of relief and tears on her face.
"I'm sorry, Noah. I was scared."
Her voice cracks as she continues, "I didn't know what to do. But Dr. Martinez is... he's my father."
The words hang in the air, heavy with secrets and revelations.
My mind reels as I process everything she's shared.
Lucía's trembling hand finds mine on the couch, and I squeeze it gently, trying to offer what little comfort I can.
Tears stream down her face, but her voice grows stronger as she speaks again.
"Darling, we can take care of it," she says, squeezing my hand.
"If necessary, I shall set to work."
The determination in her tone contrasts sharply with the fear that had gripped her just moments before.
"What do you mean?"
I ask, my throat tight with emotion.
Lucía takes a deep breath, composing herself before explaining, "I'll pick up extra tutoring jobs to cover the costs. If necessary, I'll take out a loan."
My throat tightens as I realize the lengths she's gone to, calculating costs while I was consumed by football and my own fears.
I grip her hand tighter, interrupting her detailed plans for tutoring jobs and loan repayments.
"No, Lucía," I say firmly, watching as her eyes widen in surprise.
"You won't be working extra hours."
She begins to protest, but I cut her off, my voice growing more confident with each passing moment.
"I'll get a job as a waiter. I've seen openings at the restaurant near campus."
When she reminds me of my already packed schedule with football and studies, I shake my head.
"Football can wait. This is more important."
I lean back on the couch, still holding her hand as I process everything she's shared.
The positive pregnancy test remains on the coffee table between us, its two lines a constant reminder of our situation.
The room falls into a heavy silence, the weight of our shared secret hanging in the air.
After a moment, I turn to face her directly, my voice barely above a whisper.
"Lucía," I say, my medical training kicking in as I realize we haven't discussed the most basic detail.
"How many months are you?"
Lucía hesitates, her eyes flickering with uncertainty before she finally answers, "Almost three months."
I nod slowly, absorbing the information, "Okay, that's important to know for our options."
She looks at me with a mixture of hope and fear, "Do you think we can really do this together?"
I stand from the couch, determination etched on my face, "Yes, Lucía. We can do this."
I pull my phone from my pocket, still holding her hand as I search for the campus restaurant's number in my contacts.
She watches me warily, eyes wide with uncertainty.
My fingers tremble slightly as I press call, but my voice remains steady when the manager answers.
I schedule an interview for the next morning, ignoring Lucía's whispered protests about the potential impact on my studies.
After hanging up, I kneel in front of her and take both her hands in mine.
"Lucía, we're in this together," I assure her, looking into her eyes with unwavering resolve.
She bites her lip, searching my face for any sign of doubt, "Are you sure about this, Noah?"
I nod firmly, squeezing her hands, "Absolutely. We'll figure it out, one step at a time."
I grab a notebook from my backpack, still holding her hand as we sit at the small kitchen table.
The pregnancy test remains on the coffee table behind us, a constant reminder of our situation.
I open the notebook, my medical student handwriting barely legible through trembling fingers.
At the top of the page, I write "Our Plan" in bold letters.
Lucía leans close, her eyes scanning the blank page as she suggests we start with class schedules and doctor appointments.
When she mentions possibly dropping a semester, I shake my head firmly and write "Both graduate" as item one.
Lucía nods in agreement, her eyes never leaving my hands as I scribble "Part-time work" under our first goal.
She leans closer, squinting to read my messy handwriting.
I turn the notebook slightly so she can see better, pointing to the campus restaurant listing on my phone.
She taps the screen, her eyes widening as she scrolls through the job description and requirements.
After a moment, she looks up at me with a determined glint in her eye, "Noah, you could do this. You could work evening shifts after football practice."
I hesitate for a moment before nodding slowly, "Okay," I agree, crossing out "football practice" on my weekly schedule and circling the restaurant's number instead.
My stomach tightens at the thought of giving up football, but I know we need the money.
I sit at the kitchen table next to Lucía, staring at my phone with the restaurant's number displayed.
My hand shakes slightly as I hold it, knowing this call means giving up football for evening shifts.
Lucía squeezes my arm as I press dial, her eyes fixed on the notebook where I crossed out "football practice."
The phone rings three times before someone answers.
I clear my throat, trying to sound confident, "Hi, do you have any reservations available for tonight?"
Lucía's brow furrows in confusion, "Reservations? I thought you were calling about the job."
I quickly cover the mouthpiece, whispering, "I am, just needed a moment to gather my thoughts."
She nods, understanding dawning in her eyes, "Okay, but remember why we're doing this."
I grip my phone tightly, watching Lucía's encouraging nod.
Clearing my throat, I continue into the receiver, "Actually, I was calling about the waiter position. Is the manager available?"
Lucía nods, urging me on as I wait for the manager to pick up.
A few moments later, a male voice answers, "Yes, who is this?"
My voice comes out stronger than expected, "Hi, my name is Noah Martinez. I'm interested in the waiter position. I'm available for evening shifts and would like to schedule an interview."
The manager responds, "When are you free?"
I glance at Lucía, who mouths "tomorrow" before I answer.
"How about tomorrow morning?"
There's a pause on the other end of the line before he responds, "10 am tomorrow. Be here at least 15 minutes early."
I nod even though he can't see me, "Great, thank you."
As I listen to him give directions to the restaurant, my free hand absently touches the football captain's armband lying on the table.
Lucía squeezes my hand when I schedule the interview for tomorrow morning at 10 am.
I lower my phone, catching her proud smile.
She reaches across the table, squeezing my hand as she stares at me with newfound hope.
The positive pregnancy test still sits on the coffee table behind us, but it no longer feels like a threat now that we have a plan.
I slide the armband away and pull the notebook closer, ready to write down more details about the restaurant job.
Lucía and I share a silent promise, ready to face whatever comes next together.
I grab a fresh sheet of paper, writing down the restaurant's address: Calle Mayor 23, near campus.
While Lucía watches, I plan my outfit for the interview - my navy blazer and khaki pants.
She suggests I iron them tonight so they look crisp.
I check the bus schedule on my phone, calculating how long it will take to get there and arriving fifteen minutes early.
Though my hands still shake slightly, I methodically write down every detail - from bringing extra copies of my resume to preparing answers about my work ethic.
I stand in front of my bedroom mirror, practicing my interview responses while Lucía sits cross-legged on my bed.
My navy blazer hangs pressed on the closet door.
"I've had a lot of work experience," I explain, trying to sound confident.
"I worked at the grocery store back home during high school and was captain of the football team."
My voice cracks when I mention the football team.
Lucía gently corrects my posture, reminding me to stand up straight as she listens intently.
I continue, "So I have leadership experience. I'm also good under pressure and can handle multiple responsibilities at once."
I'm wearing a white t-shirt and khaki pants, the outfit I plan to wear for the interview tomorrow.
Lucía holds the notepad, prompting me with more questions.
"What would you do if a customer is unhappy with their meal?"
I pause, thinking through my response.
"I would listen to their concerns and try to find a solution. If they're still not satisfied, I would offer them a discount or free dessert."
Lucía nods, making a note on the pad.
She asks another question.
"How will you balance working at the restaurant with your studies?"
I take a deep breath, trying to relax.
"I'm organized and can manage my time effectively. I'll make sure to prioritize my schoolwork and complete it on days when I don't work."
She smiles encouragingly.
"You're doing great."
I glance at myself in the mirror, seeing dark circles under my eyes from lack of sleep last night.
But as I meet my own gaze, determination eclipses exhaustion.
I stand up straighter, repeating my responses about customer service for the tenth time.
Lucía sits cross-legged on my bed, notepad in hand.
After finishing, I turn to face my mirror, gripping the edges of the dresser.
My reflection shows a 19-year-old with a tired expression, wearing a white t-shirt and khakis.
Dark circles under my eyes betray the stress I've been under.
I force my lips into what I hope is a welcoming waiter's smile, but it looks strained.
Lucía comes up behind me, placing her hands on my shoulders.
"Try relaxing your jaw," she suggests softly.
I nod, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly.
"Thanks, Lucía," I say, my voice steadier now.
She squeezes my shoulders gently, "You've got this, and remember, it's okay to be nervous."
I turn away from the mirror, looking at her.
My heart pounds in my chest.
I want to ask her to stay the night.
The interview has been weighing heavily on me, and I'm not ready for us to be apart just yet.
But I hesitate, fidgeting with my khakis as I rehearse the words in my mind.
Lucía moves to sit on my bed, organizing the interview notes.
The city lights outside my window cast a warm glow over her worried expression.
She looks up from the papers, her blue sweater wrinkled from our long evening of preparation.
"Hey, Lucía?"
I say finally, finding my voice.
"Yeah?" she replies, her eyes meeting mine with a hint of curiosity.
"Would you mind staying over tonight?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
She smiles softly, understanding the unspoken need for comfort, "Of course, I wouldn't want to be anywhere else."
I sit down beside her on the bed, both of us leaning against the headboard.
The interview notes are spread between us, a reminder of the task at hand.
Lucía quizzes me on handling difficult customers, but my eyes keep drifting closed.
The streetlights outside cast long shadows across my wrinkled interview clothes hanging in the closet.
When Lucía yawns mid-question, I suggest we've practiced enough for tonight.
She nods sleepily, helping me gather the scattered papers and placing them on my nightstand.
We slide under the covers fully clothed, too exhausted to change into pajamas.
Lucía turns to face me, her eyes half-closed.
"Do you think they'll ask about your dad?" she murmurs, the question hanging heavily in the air.
I swallow hard, the thought of it tightening my chest, "I hope not, but if they do, I'll just say he's not in the picture anymore."
Lucía nods softly, her eyelids drooping further.
I lie on my back, Lucía shifting to rest her head on my shoulder.
We're both still in our wrinkled clothes from the day, but I'm too tired to care.
The weight of the pregnancy, quitting football, and tomorrow's interview hangs in the air, but as Lucía's steady breathing fills my senses, I feel some of my anxiety fade.
The city lights cast a dim glow around us, illuminating the quiet of the room.
I lie still, her warmth against my side, listening to the rhythmic sound of her breaths.
Her blue sweater scratches my neck, but I don't dare move.
The interview notes on my nightstand catch the dim streetlight, a reminder of tomorrow's challenge.
My football captain's armband peeks out from my dresser drawer, a bittersweet reminder of what I'm giving up.
But as I feel Lucía's steady presence beside me, my racing thoughts slowly settle.
The room is quiet, the only sound Lucía's gentle breathing.
I'm lying on my back, Lucía's head resting on my shoulder.
Her blue sweater rustles against my t-shirt as she shifts slightly in her sleep.
My phone in my pocket vibrates, the screen lighting up the dark room.
I carefully move my arm to extract it, not wanting to wake Lucía.
I glance down at the screen, a text from my brother.
"Hey Noah, what's going on with Dad? He seemed really off today. I tried calling him but he didn't answer."
Lucía stirs slightly against me, her hair tickling my neck.
I cradle her head with one hand, using my thumb to type out a response.
"Hey man, I'm busy planning work stuff. I'll talk to you about it later."
I press send, the screen dimming once more.
As the room returns to darkness, I close my eyes, hoping for a few hours of peace before facing the unknown.
I lie still, listening to Lucía's steady breathing.
My exhaustion takes over, my eyes growing heavy.
The interview notes on my nightstand blur as I drift off.
My last conscious thoughts are of serving tables in a crisp uniform and scoring goals in my captain's jersey.
The weight of Lucía's head on my shoulder anchors me as my mind starts to float away.
The sounds of morning stir me from my slumber.
I blink, disoriented by the unfamiliar sounds coming from my kitchen.
The bed beside me is empty, the sheets rumpled where Lucía slept.
I listen to the soft clattering of cabinet doors opening and closing, the aroma of brewing coffee wafting through my room.
I'm still wearing the wrinkled t-shirt and khakis from yesterday.
I push myself up against the headboard, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.
Through my bedroom doorway, I glimpse Lucía moving around my kitchen in her blue sweater.