The room was dark, but not completely silent.
Ha-rin lay on her back, eyes open, listening to the faint hum of the city outside. Tomorrow hovered at the edge of her thoughts, but for once, it didn't press down on her chest.
Her breathing slowed.
She shifted slightly, adjusting the pillow, then stilled.
Her hand rested naturally on her stomach.
She didn't stop it.
The warmth there felt… different. Not heavy. Not uncomfortable. Just present, like something she was slowly learning to acknowledge.
Her fingers relaxed.
"…You're quiet today," she murmured, her voice barely louder than a thought.
Nothing answered.
She smiled faintly anyway.
Her palm moved in a small, unconscious circle, not rubbing—just resting, as if confirming something was there.
"…I wonder," she whispered, eyes tracing the dark ceiling, "…what you'll look like."
The thought came easily.
Too easily.
Her lips curved despite herself.
"…You'll probably be pretty," she said softly. "Everyone says babies take after their mothers."
She paused.
"…So obviously."
The smile widened.
Then her brows furrowed.
"…But what if you take after him instead."
The image appeared without invitation.
That calm face.That flat tone.The way he said everything like it was already decided.
"…That would be a problem," she muttered. "What if you talk like that too."
Her fingers pressed lightly into the blanket.
"…Imagine a tiny version of him, just staring at people and saying things like 'that is inefficient.'"
She scoffed quietly.
"…So annoying."
Her cheeks warmed.
She noticed this time.
Not because of the baby.
Because of him.
"…Why am I even thinking about that," she whispered, frowning.
Her thoughts didn't slow.
What if the baby had his eyes.What if it slept like him—too still, too quiet.What if—
She stopped.
Her face felt warm now for a different reason.
"…This is getting out of hand," she said softly.
Her hand stayed where it was.
She didn't pull away.
The warmth under her palm felt steady. Real.
"…I'm not overthinking," she added stubbornly. "…I'm just planning."
That sounded reasonable.
She turned onto her side slowly, careful without realizing she was being careful, arm curved naturally around herself.
"…Tomorrow's important," she whispered. "So you behave."
The silence felt… comfortable.
Her breathing evened out.
The thoughts didn't disappear, but they softened, blurring at the edges.
By the time sleep finally reached her, her hand still rested there—protective, unintentional, certain.
Tomorrow could wait.
Tonight, she already knew one thing.
She wasn't alone anymore.