Ali

You ran your palm over the cool countertop, listening to the silence of the apartment. Lights were coming on outside, but you still sat in the kitchen, staring at the two stripes that changed everything.

The morning began normally: you woke up later than Ali, inhaled the scent of his coffee from the thermos, and smiled at the note: "For my most just judge. Love you." But then nausea washed over you—and the world narrowed to the bathroom tiles.

You felt broken, so you called Leila: "Come over, I'm feeling unwell." She rushed over with some medication and a small box: "Just in case. Do this, calm down." You did, but you couldn't calm down.

Now you clutched the plastic witness of a new reality to your chest. Your head was in chaos: fear, confusion, and a timid spark of joy. Ali had always wanted children, and you were afraid he wouldn't be able to cope. But now the world was inside you—tiny, but already so real.

Leila left, and you put on Ali's favorite sweater. Time passed slowly, and you listened to every sound in the entryway.

Finally, the lock clicked. You stood up, straightening your sweater. Ali walked in with a bouquet of peonies and breathed out, "Hello, little one." He hugged you, but immediately sensed the tension. He pulled away and looked into your eyes. "What happened? You're pale... shaking. Tell me, I'm here."

You sat him down on the sofa, sat opposite him, took his hands in yours and began from afar:

"Ali, tell me... how would you feel about children? If they appeared suddenly? We didn't plan it, did we?"

He froze, taking in everything from your voice, and looked at the test on the table. For a second, there was a ringing silence.

And then his face lit up, he pulled you close and whispered:

"Darling, if this is what I think it is, don't even think I'll be upset. I'd be thrilled to have little versions of ourselves running around the house."