December 2016 — Saratoga University Dorms

Ryin

Ryin’s suitcase lay half-open on the floor, sweaters and jeans spilling over the edge like she’d stopped halfway through and forgotten what she was doing. Tomorrow she was supposed to take the train with Stephen down to Westchester. His parents — her aunt and uncle — had invited her to spend winter break with them. They said the house felt too quiet lately, that it would be good for her to be around family.

Her father wasn’t happy about it. Her mother, even less so.

Her mom said they missed her.

Her dad said he was disappointed.

But in the end, they agreed to come visit for New Year’s, like that would somehow make everything okay.

Nothing felt okay.

They still didn’t know the real reason she didn’t want to come home.

The dorm was silent. She didn’t have a roommate — never had — and now that most of campus was empty for the holidays, the stillness pressed in on her. She’d barely made it through her final exams, turning in papers she could hardly remember writing, but she was hopeful the results would be good enough. She used to like this kind of stillness. Now it just made her anxious.

Everything since Thanksgiving had blurred together.

Tony.

Zoie.

The memories came in fragments — his voice, his hands, the fear that followed her back to school. Then Zoie’s messages: confusion, pain, desperation. She’d read every word, every unanswered bubble. She kept telling herself she’d explain when she was ready, until that last text came through.

Call me. I know it was Tony.

The words had stopped her breathing. If Zoie knew, then Tony might know that she knew. And if he thought Ryin had told her —

Her chest tightened. The thought rooted deep and refused to move.

Before she could think, she blocked Zoie’s number and changed her own. It wasn’t about avoiding her anymore; it was about staying alive.

She reached out to her parents a few days later with the new number. Of course they questioned it, why wouldn’t they? They paid the bill. She told them her old number had been compromised, that she’d been getting nonstop spam calls and random messages and decided it was easier to start fresh. When she texted her cousins, they replied asking why the sudden change and why they couldn’t find any of her social media accounts. She told them she just needed a break, that school had been overwhelming. They were easy lies, ones she’d practiced in her head before hitting send.

Stephen asked too. The look on his face told her he didn’t believe the explanation, but being Stephen, he didn’t push. Not then. She knew he’d bring it up again eventually.

For days, she teetered back and forth on whether to send the new number to Colin. He’d been checking in before she changed it — messages she’d seen but never answered. In the end, she sent it anyway. A few minutes later, his reply came: Who’s this?

She hesitated, then typed back, It’s Ryin.

After a pause, he sent, Didn’t think I was still on the contact list.

Her throat tightened. Sorry, she wrote. I’ve just been dealing with a lot lately.

Yeah, he replied. I figured. Must’ve had your hands full with someone else.

She read it twice, the words twisting the guilt she was already carrying. I just needed a reset, she sent back, keeping it short.

She hadn’t heard from him since. That was three weeks ago.

The stress hadn’t left her body since. It burrowed itself into her skin — into the pounding headaches, the nausea that came and went, the knot that never left her stomach. Her appetite vanished; sleep came in fragments. She’d already run out of the Ambien she’d snuck from her mother over Thanksgiving break, and now even exhaustion refused to help her rest. Some mornings she woke dizzy, other days she forgot to eat until night.

At first, she didn’t think about her period. She could never keep track of it anyway. She’d always been irregular, even when she was younger. Her mom used to say her body just needed time to “find its rhythm”.

But lately, something felt different.

How long had it been? One month? Two?

She couldn’t remember.

Her jeans were looser from barely eating, but her chest ached when she pressed her arms against it. Her stomach fluttered unpredictably between hunger and nausea. Her headaches were constant, her body tired no matter how much she slept.

Stress could do that. It had before.

That’s what she told herself.

But the more she tried to explain it away, the more that quiet unease grew. The thought came slow, unwelcome, refusing to leave once it arrived.

She had bought the test two days ago from a pharmacy off campus, wearing the oversized hoodie Colin had left in her dorm room one night, its sleeves swallowing her hands as she kept her head down. The cashier didn’t seem to notice Ryin’s shaking hands, or at least didn’t care. Once she got back to her dorm, she shoved the box into her drawer to have just in case. The light cramping and slight spotting she’d been having made her hopeful her period would be starting soon. When she finally decided to take the test, it wasn’t because she believed she was pregnant, it was because she needed to see the negative result and quiet the what-ifs in her head.

Her hands shook as she opened the box, every movement deliberate, like being careful could change the outcome. The bathroom light flickered overhead, pale against the tile. She read the directions twice, then followed them with trembling hands. Each motion mechanical, her breath shallow. When she was done, she set the test on the counter, put a timer on her phone for three minutes, then stared at her reflection.

Her mind wandered where she didn’t want it to go.

Dorian’s eyes, the way they’d hardened when he found the truth in her phone.

Colin’s touch, familiar, but empty.

And Tony, his anger, dark and heavy, a memory she could never wash off.

She blinked, but the flashes kept coming until the room tilted slightly and her stomach clenched.

The timer buzzed, sharp and sudden. It snapped her back into the present.

When she finally looked down, the digital hourglass blinked away and the result was there.

Her breath caught in her throat as she picked it up. The edges of her vision blurred, the world shrinking to that one impossible truth sitting in her hand.

Pregnant.

The word didn’t sound real. She waited for it to fade, for something to change, but it didn’t.

She didn’t know who the father was.

Her mind clung to Colin because it was easier. Because thinking it could be anyone else — especially Tony — made her chest tighten until she could barely breathe.

She sank to the floor, the test trembling between her fingers. The tile was cold against her legs. For a moment, she just listened to the radiator hum, pretending it was the sound of anything but her heartbeat.

Tears came quietly, the kind that burned without warning. She didn’t sob. She couldn’t. The silence swallowed everything.

When she finally stood, she wrapped the test in tissue and buried it beneath old papers and wrappers in the trash. Then she washed her hands — once, twice, again — until the water ran cold.

The mirror reflected someone she didn’t recognize. Pale. Hollow. Eyes rimmed red.

“No one has to know,” she whispered.

The words felt small, but they were the only ones she could manage.

Outside, snow drifted past the window, soft and endless. She watched it fall, pressing her palms to her stomach, she stood there a long time, trying to pretend her whole world wasn’t changing.

Tomorrow, she and Stephen would take the train.

Tomorrow, she’d smile and pretend she was fine.

But tonight, the silence felt like the only thing keeping her from falling apart.