False Pregnancy!

Dawn painted the sky in hues of orange and pink when I awoke, filled with a sense of purpose. My heart led me to another hospital, hoping for clarity. The air was crisp, carrying whispers of new beginnings as I walked through the hospital doors, yet my spirit was heavy with uncertainty.

Upon receiving the results, I found myself in a sterile room, the walls echoing the doctor's unexpected words. He scrutinized me, a puzzled frown creasing his forehead. "Miss," he began with a tone of disbelief, "you are not pregnant."

A wave of shock washed over me. "What?" The word escaped my lips before I could catch it, a testament to my disbelief.

He peered over his glasses, concern etched into his features. "May I ask who gave you this diagnosis?" His voice was tinged with incredulity. "It's quite serious to make such hasty conclusions about pregnancy."

I faltered, words tangling like vines. "I... I don't understand." Confusion clouded my thoughts. How could the torment of these past weeks be a mere phantom? I touched my stomach, expecting to find evidence of my turmoil, but found nothing but my own flat abdomen.

"But it has to be there," I insisted, desperation lacing my voice. "Please, look again. I must resolve this today." My plea hung in the air, an echo of my inner turmoil.

The doctor's patience waned, his gaze now sharp. "Miss, your insistence is unreasonable." He stood, authority radiating from him. "We cannot base medical procedures on whims. Insurance will not cover further tests without just cause."

His words stung, igniting a fire within me. I left the room swiftly, the corridors of the hospital now feeling more like a maze of my own confusion. If they could not confirm my condition, what was I to do?

In a daze, I found myself in a drugstore, arms laden with every test I could find. Back at home, surrounded by a sea of negative results, the truth finally dawned on me. I was not pregnant.

The silence of my apartment was a stark contrast to the laughter I had grown accustomed to each morning—a laughter that felt like a greeting from the life I thought was growing inside me. But today, there was only silence.

With a heavy heart, I acknowledged the absence, pressing a hand to my flat, untroubled stomach. No longer did food repulse me; I ate a biscuit, and it tasted like acceptance.

In that moment of solitude, I realized the laughter had vanished, just as the phantom child had. It was a strange, bittersweet release. I had been given a second chance, albeit one wrapped in the complexity of my own emotions.

In the quiet of my room, every sign whispered the truth I was reluctant to face: the spectral presence that had become an unexpected part of me was no longer there.

The realization struck me like a cold wave, and with it came a surge of raw emotion. I wasn't prepared for the flood of sorrow that accompanied the absence. There, in the solitude of my own despair, I crumbled to the floor, my tears freely tracing the lines of my face. It was a paradox of the heart—I should have been reveling in my newfound freedom, yet all I could feel was an overwhelming sense of loss.

Logic battled emotion within me, a tumultuous storm where reason spoke of liberation while my heart mourned the phantom child I had never truly known born out of a forced affair with a ghost. Guilt gnawed at me, branding me the culprit in a tale where innocence was lost. The conflict within was so intense, it threatened to shatter me, driving me to seek refuge in the oblivion of sleep.

In the world of dreams, I encountered Lance once more. The ethereal white hall that cradled his form seemed timeless, a space where reality blurred with the fantastical. As I stepped closer, the unique hues of his eyes—one emerald, one ruby—no longer filled me with fear but with an inexplicable longing.

"I...I'm sorry," I managed, the words a weight lifted from my soul. I had braced myself for his wrath, for in his position, the disappearance of our child would be an unimaginable loss.

His gaze pierced through me, a stare so intense I nearly fled. But then, laughter broke the silence, a sound so rich and genuine it disarmed me completely. Lance, with his otherworldly allure, laughed not with scorn but with a warmth that thawed the chill of the hall.

As he approached, the air grew cool, sending shivers down my spine. Yet, when he placed his hands on my shoulders, the cold was replaced by an unexpected comfort. "The child is still here, don't worry, he is fine," he whispered, his breath a ghostly caress against my ear.

Confusion and relief tangled within me. How could it be? Yet in that moment, Lance's nearness, the surreal beauty of his smile, and the soft assurance in his voice wove together a moment of magic, a promise of mysteries yet to unfold in the tapestry of our intertwined fates.

My heart skipped a beat as Lance withdrew, his gaze locking onto mine with a serenity that belied the storm of emotions within me. "He is fine," he reiterated, his voice a soothing balm to my frayed nerves. "The child merely encountered a slight shock; he needs time to rest."

"In the meantime, you must tread carefully," he added, a note of caution lacing his words.

Confusion and a whirlwind of emotions battled within me. "But... what exactly should I be wary of?" I managed to ask, my voice barely a whisper.

Lance's eyes searched mine, an inscrutable expression crossing his features. "Have you not come across that book?" he questioned, an edge of surprise in his tone.

I stood there, perplexed, the question hanging between us like a riddle.

After a pause that felt like an eternity, he exhaled deeply. "So be it," he conceded, his gaze softening. "Remember, no one can flee the cycle of karma. The debts of the past are always repaid, in time."

I frowned, his words a cryptic puzzle I couldn't solve. "I'm sorry, but I don't follow. What are you trying to say?"

"It's of no consequence," Lance replied, a resigned calmness in his demeanor. "We shall not cross paths for some time now."

"If danger finds you, seek the furthest row in the bookstore, and there, you will find a black book that might aid you," he instructed with an unexpected gentleness. "And should you find no other recourse, go to the largest mulberry tree by the school and summon me. Three drops of your blood and thrice call my name, but sir, not merely as a title."

I couldn't help but feel a mix of amusement and incredulity. "Really? The blood I get, but 'sir'? Is there a need for such formalities in our... unique situation?" The thought of us, me and a spectral being, navigating the complexities of a relationship brought a hesitant smile to my face.

What were we to each other, truly? The idea of seeking a ghost as a companion was ludicrous, yet here I was, pondering the possibility. I wanted to press Lance for answers, but the words dissolved before they could escape my lips.

"Return to your world," he said, his voice no longer carrying the harsh edge it once did. His eyes, a mesmerizing dance of green and red, held a softness I had never seen before.

Lance stepped closer, his touch as light as a feather, nudging me towards my own reality.

"Remember to miss me," he whispered, his words a gentle echo in the void as he faded away, leaving me alone with a heart full of questions, a promise of mystery, and an unexpected longing for what was, undoubtedly, the most unconventional romance I had ever imagined.