Three Bites, Two Lies

Lea hadn't gone to class in two days.

Not that anyone noticed. Or maybe they did, but no one cared enough to say anything. The air in her room felt thick. Her skin felt too tight. Everything felt loud. Even the silence.

Her phone had buzzed a few times. Kendra hadn't texted, of course. Andre had. Twice.

U good, girl?

Don't ghost me. I'll show up with soup and violence.

She hadn't replied.

The only person she did respond to was Luca.

She didn't even know why.

He'd sent a photo of his half-burnt grilled cheese and a message that said:

"This was supposed to make you feel better. It didn't."

She smiled. Just a little. Enough to remember what it felt like.

Later, he sent another:

"Come eat. I'll cook again. You don't have to talk."

And somehow, that made her feel safe enough to show up.

Luca's apartment was quiet, dimly lit, smelling faintly of butter and something clean. He answered the door in sweats and a loose t-shirt, his curls wet like he'd just gotten out of the shower. His glasses slid down the bridge of his nose and he looked at her like she wasn't a problem to solve—just a person.

She stood in his doorway, hoodie pulled tight, eyes puffy from not crying.

"You said you cooked," she muttered.

He stepped back. "I lied. I DoorDashed. But I plated it, so technically, yes."

She didn't laugh, but the corner of her mouth twitched.

In his kitchen, there were two plates of pasta—one with barely a forkful left, the other untouched.

"Is that yours?" she asked, pointing.

"Was. I got hungry."

She sat, picked up the fork, and took one bite.

Then another.

Then a third.

By the fourth, her hand started shaking.

She set the fork down.

"You okay?" Luca asked softly.

She nodded.

Lie one.

He leaned against the counter, arms crossed loosely over his chest. He didn't push. Never did. Just waited. Like he was used to people taking their time to be human around him.

"I think I'm pregnant," she said suddenly.

His eyes widened just a little. No horror. No judgment. Just stillness.

"I don't know," she added quickly. "I haven't taken a test. I'm just… late. And I feel wrong."

He nodded slowly. "Okay."

"Okay?" she echoed, blinking.

"What do you need?"

The question hit harder than any reaction she imagined. What do you need. Not what did you do. Not who's the father. Not are you serious.

Just… support.

"I don't know," she whispered.

Lie two.

He pushed the plate toward her. "Eat. We'll figure out the rest later."

She ate two more bites before her stomach cramped.

This time, she didn't hide the pain on her face.

"Is it always that bad?" he asked.

She nodded. "Worse when I'm this stressed."

He opened a drawer and pulled out a heating pad, then grabbed a soft throw blanket from the couch.

"Lay down. I'll plug it in."

"You're spoiling me," she muttered, half-joking, half-hollow.

"Maybe someone should."

She sat on the couch. He plugged in the pad. Draped the blanket over her.

And then sat beside her.

Close, but not too close.

His warmth seeped into her shoulder, and her heart thudded quietly like it wasn't used to safety anymore.

Luca didn't ask about Zayne.

Didn't ask if it was his baby.

Didn't even ask if she was going to take the test.

He just gave her space.

And that scared her more than anything else.

Because she was used to being handled. Not held.

When she left later, he handed her a small white bag. Inside was a test.

"I figured you wouldn't buy it yourself," he said. "I can throw it away. Or you can use it. Or you can ignore it and we'll pretend it never existed."

She held the bag like it weighed more than her entire body.

"I'll let you know," she said.

"Don't," he replied. "You don't owe me anything."

She turned away before he could see the way her eyes shimmered.

Back in her dorm, she stared at the test for hours.

Then put it on her desk.

Unopened.

Instead, she opened her phone.

Zayne:

"U miss me?"

She stared at it. Typed. Deleted. Typed again.

Finally:

"You only check in when you're bored."

He replied instantly:

"Good thing I'm always bored."

She didn't reply.

But her hand still shook when she opened the desk drawer and shoved the test inside.

Three bites. Two lies.

She was getting better at pretending.

Just not at breathing.