His hands trembled as they cupped her face, fingertips almost digging into the soft skin of her cheeks. Her breath hitched, a runaway tide, and a hoarse plea tore through the night: "Kiss me... please." In her voice, there was a surrender so profound it bordered on desperation. His voice, a low guttural struggle, urged, "Betty, calm down." Yet, in the depths of his eyes, a fire burned even fiercer than hers, his reason a taut string stretched to breaking point. The moment their lips met, the world imploded, leaving only the raw, primal urge to consume each other whole. But by day, Betty was an entirely different creature. "Look, the 'brace-face' dropped her books again. So clumsy." "The senior student is so patient, always picking them up for her." "Who knows what he whispers in her ear at night? Certainly not 'Are you alright, classmate?'" In the harsh glare of the corridor, she was a quiet silhouette, thick black-rimmed glasses perched on her nose, two neat braids resting demurely on her shoulders, lost in the indifferent crowd. He walked past her, pausing just long enough to collect her scattered books, his fingertips brushing hers with a fleeting, almost imperceptible touch. That lingering, significant glance, as he subtly adjusted her glasses, seemed to silently remind her: between them lay a secret powerful enough to consume them both. When the world's watchful eyes finally receded, the bedroom light grew dim and ambiguous. Her glasses were tossed carelessly on the bedside table, her braids unbound, now soft tendrils fanning across the pillow. Betty's fingers traced the resolute line of his jaw, a face that had once been a mask of indifference, now pliant as a cat beneath her touch. Their lips intertwined again, each contact a silent agreement of suppressed frenzy and intoxicating madness. Yet, as the heat of desire cooled, an unspoken heaviness always settled in the air. He would quietly pull back, a subtle distance forming between them. His fingers might brush her hair, but the gesture carried an almost imperceptible detachment. Their hushed conversations, meant to be intimate, were always conducted in low tones, as if fearing to awaken the sleeping secrets behind the walls, letting the tension solidify into ice. In his eyes, a flicker of complex hesitation, an unnameable guilt, would always surface. Until one morning, as she still slept, the sunlight, piercing through a gap in the curtains, danced across the screen of his tightly gripped phone. A sudden vibration shattered the fragile peace. An unfamiliar number. A message, brief yet devastating enough to shatter everything, gleamed with brutal clarity: **"I'm pregnant."**