A few weeks had slipped by in Zemen like the river's steady flow, each day blending into the next with work at the bar, Miko's shifts at the store, and the quiet rhythm of our new life. The town had started to feel like home—neighbors waving hello, the market vendors remembering our usual orders, even the hybrid festivals in the square where we'd dance under string lights. But the world's chaos loomed on the edges, radio static crackling with updates that made my stomach knot. Miko's belly had grown a bit bigger now, more noticeable if you knew to look—a gentle swell that made my heart skip every time I saw it, or felt it pressed against me in bed. But it was still easy to hide under loose shirts or sweaters, nothing that screamed "expecting" to the world yet. She carried it with a glow, though, her tail swishing a little prouder, her hand often drifting to rest there absentmindedly. The proposal idea Viktor planted had taken root, growing in my mind until it felt inevitable. Today, a lazy weekend with no shifts pulling us apart, seemed like the perfect time to act.
I woke to Miko's warmth pressed against me, her tail lazily draped over my leg, her hand tracing idle patterns on my chest. She was already awake, eyes half-lidded with that playful glint, her cat-like ears twitching slightly at the sound of birds outside. "Stay," she murmured, nuzzling closer when I shifted to get up, her breath warm against my neck. "It's the weekend—no rush. Just us, for once."
I chuckled, settling back into the pillows, my arms wrapping around her waist, careful of the bump. "Fine, you win. But tell me something— is pregnancy different for hybrids? I've been wondering, with all the changes."
She propped her chin on my chest, ears twitching thoughtfully as she considered. "Similar to humans, mostly. Morning sickness hits hard some days, cravings for weird things like pickled fish at midnight—all that fun stuff. Only real difference is the due date—it depends on the hybrid type. For catgirls like me? Around seven to eight months, give or take. Faster than full humans, but not by much. Means our little one might surprise us sooner." She smiled softly, her claws lightly tapping a rhythm on my shoulder, a mix of excitement and nerves in her eyes.
"Got it," I said, absorbing that, my hand sliding to her belly to feel the subtle curve. Before I could ask more, she rolled on top of me with a graceful twist, straddling my hips with a grin, her bump pressing softly against my stomach like a secret shared between us. She leaned down, kissing me slow and deep, her tongue teasing mine, her tail flicking playfully against my thigh. I held her there for a few good minutes, hands roaming her back under her shirt, savoring the weight of her, the softness of her furred ears brushing my cheek, the life we were building. No rush, just us—the scent of her skin, a faint mix of lavender from her shampoo and that unique hybrid musk that drove me wild—the world outside forgotten in the cocoon of our bed.
Eventually, hunger won out, our stomachs rumbling in unison. We dragged ourselves to the kitchen for breakfast—eggs scrambled with herbs from the market, toast slathered in local honey, and strong coffee that filled the air with its rich aroma. We ate at the table with easy chatter about the week: her dealing with chatty customers at the store, me recounting bar stories like the regular who always ordered the same rakia with a side of life advice. Miko flexed her Bulgarian again, ordering me around playfully in the language. "Podaj mi solta," she'd say—pass the salt—with a smug tail swish, laughing when I fumbled the response but got it right eventually.
After we cleared the plates, Miko mentioned running errands, stretching with a yawn that showed her fangs. "I might meet up with Elena and Sylvia later—girl time, you know? Don't burn the house down while I'm gone." She kissed me goodbye, her lips lingering a second longer, before heading out, leaving the house quiet and full of possibility.
I had my own plan brewing. "I'll head to town too," I said casually before she left. "Need to pick up a few things." Once alone, I made my way to the jewelry shop in the market square, the streets alive with weekend bustle—hybrids bartering over spices, kids chasing each other with laughter echoing off the stone walls. The place was a hidden gem—literally—tucked between a bakery wafting fresh bread smells and a bookstore with dusty tomes in the window. I stepped in, the bell jingling softly, and was surprised by the collection: rows of rings, necklaces, and earrings in gold, silver, and gems that caught the sun like fireflies, some with intricate hybrid-inspired designs like entwined tails or claw motifs.
The clerk was an old guy, human, with a white beard and kind eyes behind thick glasses, his hands weathered from years of crafting. He greeted me in Bulgarian, switching to broken English when he saw my hesitation. "Looking for something special? Gift? For love?"
"Yeah," I said, scanning the cases, my pulse picking up at the thought of what this meant. "Proposal rings. For my girlfriend."
His face lit up like I'd made his day, and he pulled out a tray of elegant bands with a flourish. "Ah, congratulations in advance! Here—some favorites." He suggested a few: diamond-studded gold ones that sparkled under the lights, intricate designs with sapphires that reminded me of the river's blue. Beautiful, but the prices... I almost choked when he quoted them, my savings flashing before my eyes. "That's... wow. Might need a loan for that," I joked, rubbing my neck with a laugh. "Got anything more... affordable? Something simple but meaningful."
He laughed heartily, no offense taken, his eyes twinkling. "Of course, young man. Love doesn't need extravagance—it's in the heart." He swapped trays, showing simpler options—a silver band with a small emerald accent, elegant and understated, the stone catching light like Miko's eyes when she was excited. "This one? Timeless. Symbol of growth, like your future."
I nodded, handing over the cash, the ring feeling heavy with promise in its little box. It felt right—nothing flashy, just us, a quiet commitment amid the chaos.
Back home, the house was empty; Miko must've been out hanging with Elena and Sylvia, catching up on girl talk or exploring the town's hidden spots, maybe sharing pregnancy tips over coffee. I hid the ring in a drawer in the bedroom, tucked under some clothes for now, my mind racing with how to pop the question—maybe at sunset by the river, or during one of our quiet dinners. Timing had to be perfect.
With the afternoon free, I sank into the living room couch, flipping on the TV to kill time, remote in hand as I scrolled channels. The news channel blared to life uninvited, and my stomach twisted at the headlines, the anchor's voice grave over footage of smoke-filled skies. Urgent voices in Bulgarian, subtitles flashing: "Bulgarians urged to join the army—voluntary enlistment rising amid threats." Clips showed Russian troops advancing deeper into Romania, tanks rolling over borders, skirmishes lighting up the night with tracer fire. Then broader chaos: China invading Taiwan, naval blockades cutting off supplies, airstrikes pounding cities. And back home—the US civil war raging brutal, reports of genocides on hybrids, mass executions in faction-held territories where they were hunted like animals, and whispers of the same horrors spilling over to humans in ethnic hotspots, bodies piled in streets, refugee caravans fleeing. It hit like a punch; our escape felt fragile, the world closing in, drafts and borders threatening to pull us apart.
I switched channels fast, heart pounding, landing on a cooking show to drown it out. Some chef whipping up a hearty stew with local herbs, step-by-step, his enthusiasm infectious as he chopped onions and stirred pots. It looked doable, comforting—a distraction I needed. Why not? I raided the kitchen, following along—chopping veggies with careful slices, simmering meat until it tenderized, the aromas of garlic and thyme filling the house like a warm hug, chasing away the news' chill. By the time it was done, the sun was dipping low, the stew bubbling invitingly.
Miko returned just as I set the table, her nose twitching at the smell, ears perking up in surprise. "You cooked? From scratch? And it smells amazing—what's the occasion?" She hugged me from behind, peeking over my shoulder, her bump brushing my back softly.
"Just felt like it," I said, turning to kiss her. "Saw it on TV and thought... why not spoil you?"
We ate together, the stew hitting the spot—rich flavors bursting with each bite, Miko humming appreciatively between stories of her day with the girls: Elena landing more shifts at the market, Sylvia complaining about cafe customers with dramatic eye rolls, the three of them laughing over hybrid myths and baby names. No mention of the news; I kept it light, focusing on her smile, the way her tail curled contentedly.
After dinner, we curled up on the couch for a movie—an old rom-com dubbed in Bulgarian, subtitles helping me follow the cheesy plot twists. Miko nestled against me, her head on my chest, tail wrapping my arm like a possessive vine, her hand occasionally stroking her belly. As the credits rolled, her eyes drooped, yawns turning into soft purrs, and mine followed suit. We didn't bother moving to bed—just fell asleep there, tangled on the couch, her warmth enveloping me like a shield against the world's storms. The ring waited in its hiding spot, a secret promise for tomorrow, my dreams filled with visions of her saying yes.