17. Meiko

Ilean against the wooden back of the bench, letting my fingers graze my belly gently. "What are we going to do about Grandma, little one?" I ask.

Sitting in the stark glow of the hospital's garden lights, there isn't much else for me to think about. Other than the fact that I'm avoiding thinking about a particular question that I never expected a certain someone to ask me. We've been in touch via text here and there since he learned I was pregnant, but I've been keeping him at a distance for now.

My mind drifts back to Grandma – her warm smile, her comforting presence. She's been fading away for nearly half a year due to ill health, and it only seems to get more and more unbearable to watch. The helplessness that washes over me is suffocating, a constant reminder of how fragile life can be.

It doesn't help that, thanks to the life I'm cooking up within my very own body, my emotions are all over the place. Life seems to throw one thing after another at me.

The sound of shoes against the pavement forces me out of my thoughts. I immediately stiffen despite not knowing who it is, and pull my sweater tighter around my body before glancing over my shoulder.

Mustaf appears much to my shock. His brows are furrowed as he approaches, his hands clutching a small paper bag.

I eye him warily, my heart pounding in my chest. "What are you doing here, Mustaf?" I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.

The question is heavy, pointed, and clearly not thrilled.

"When you texted me that you were here," he says, his voice gruff. He hesitates for a moment before holding the paper bag out towards me. "I thought you could do with something good to eat instead of whatever they might have here."

I stare at him for a moment, taken aback by his unexpected gesture. I had been so focused on my own worries that I hadn"t even considered the fact that Mustaf might be concerned about me. The notion of it touches me deeply, but I'm far too exhausted to find the right words he deserves for it.

"I"m not really hungry," I say, trying to brush off Mustaf"s offer of food. But as soon as the words leave my mouth, my stomach growls loudly, betraying me.

Mustaf raises an eyebrow and chuckles. "Are you sure about that?" he asks, holding out the bag again.

I hesitate for a moment, feeling awkward and embarrassed. But my stomach growls again, and I can"t deny that I am, in fact, hungry.

"Okay, fine," I say, accepting the bag from Mustaf with a small smile. "But only because I don"t want to be rude."

Mustaf grins and takes a seat on the bench next to me. "Suit yourself," he says. "But trust me, you won"t regret it."

As I open the bag, I realize with complete shock that he's brought my favorite meal. A gyro with extra tzatziki sauce, crispy onions, and juicy tomatoes. I can"t help but feel touched. How did he even remember this? The last time I had it was months ago before I found out I was pregnant.

Taking a bite, I let out a moan of pure satisfaction. I"ve been craving something this good. Most food makes me nauseous these days, but this is absolutely delightful. It"s a small moment of pleasure in the midst of all the chaos and uncertainty, and I"m grateful for it. Grateful for him.

For a few moments, we sit in silence while I savor the food and the cool night air. Mustaf watches me with a small smile on his face, and I can"t help but feel a little self-conscious. But then he starts telling me about his day, and I find myself relaxing in the conversation. He"s being so kind and considerate, and it"s hard not to let my guard down a little.

When I comment that I"m eating the food because the baby seems to like it, Mustaf smiles and nods. "The baby"s preferences come first," he says gently. "Before either of ours."

Something about his words, his tone of voice, stirs something in me. Maybe it"s the fact that he"s acknowledging my role as a mother-to-be, or maybe it"s just a simple act of kindness. But whatever it is, I feel my defenses wavering. I find myself wanting to open up to him, to tell him about my fears and worries.

But right now, his good company will do. This meal and our chat is a much-needed break from the chaos of the last few months.

As we finish up our meal, Mustaf clears his throat and looks at me hesitantly. "We need to talk," he states.

I nod, feeling a sense of dread wash over me. I know what"s coming.

"I"ve been thinking a lot about what you said before, about not wanting to get married," Mustaf says. "And I've found a solution."

I raise my eyebrows, waiting for him to continue.

"What if we agree to only play the part of future spouses for a while, just for the first few months of the baby's life?" Mustaf suggests. "We can go through with the wedding, but we don"t have to make it a life-long commitment. We can agree to divorce after a certain amount of time."

I stare at him, feeling shocked and confused. "What are you saying, Mustaf?" I ask. "You want to marry me, but only for show?"

His body stiffens. "Don't say it like that, Meiko," he grumbles before sighing deeply. "I know it"s not ideal, but it"s a compromise. Think about your family's reaction if they were to find out about the baby, about raising it yourself. It's not right to make you do this as an unwed single mother, even if we don't stay married for long. Your grandmother's health, the delicate balance of happiness, and the well-being of our child… Are you really willing to risk all of that?"

I"m not sure what to think. On the one hand, it"s a tempting offer. I don"t want to disappoint my family, and this would be a way to avoid doing so without having to sacrifice my own happiness. But on the other hand, it feels wrong to deceive them in this way.

Looking into Mustaf"s earnest eyes, I can see the sincerity in his expression. He truly wants to find a solution that works for both of us, and I can"t help but feel grateful for his consideration.

As I think about the future of my child and my family, I realize that this compromise may be the best option for everyone involved. No, it"s not ideal, but it"s a way to keep everyone happy without sacrificing my own happiness.

"Okay," I say, taking a deep breath. "I"ll do it. I"ll agree to your proposal. But I can call it off at any time, for any reason."

Mustaf"s eyes light up with relief and gratitude. "Thank you," he says, taking my hand in his. "I promise I"ll make this work for both of us."

I nod, feeling a sense of hope and optimism that I haven"t felt in a long time. Maybe this is the beginning of a new chapter for me and Mustaf, one where we can find a way to be happy together without sacrificing our own needs and desires.

Or maybe I'm just too tired to think clearly. But what's the worst that can happen? Mustaf could have left me to raise the child on my own, but I can see he's making the effort, so I've got to trust him. He deserves this.

Just as I"m starting to feel more comfortable with our arrangement, Mustaf does something that completely catches me off guard. He stands up, takes a deep breath, and then drops to one knee in front of me.

My heart starts racing as I watch him, feeling a mix of confusion and shock. "Wait, what are you doing?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

Mustaf looks up at me with a serious expression on his face. "I know this is a compromise, and I know we"re not doing this for the typical mutual love," he says. "But I want you to know that I will always respect and care for you. And I want to make this as real as possible for our families and for our child."

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small velvet box. I feel my breath catch in my throat as he opens it to reveal a beautiful diamond ring. It"s a stunning piece of jewelry, sparkling in the dim light of the hospital garden.

"Will you marry me?" he asks, his voice filled with genuine emotion.

I stare at him, completely taken aback. I had never expected this, never even considered it. But as I look into Mustaf"s eyes, I can see that he means every word. He"s not asking me for love, or even for a real marriage. He"s asking me to be his partner, to help him navigate this complicated situation and provide a stable home for our child.

And as I think about it, I realize that maybe this is exactly what I need. Maybe this compromise, this arrangement, is the best possible solution for everyone involved.

"Yes," I say, my voice trembling with emotion. "I"ll marry you."

Mustaf"s face breaks out into a relieved smile as he slips the ring onto my finger. I watch speechlessly as it sparkles under the fluorescent lights.

"I know this isn"t ideal," he says, his voice soft. "But I promise you, I"ll do everything I can to make it work. For you, for the baby, and for our families."

I look into his earnest eyes, searching for any sign of insincerity. But all I see is genuine concern and care. And at that moment, I realize that maybe, just maybe, we can find a way to make this work after all.