The studio was quiet, save for the hum of a small refrigerator and the distant sound of Taipei traffic. Kenneth sat beside her, holding a stack of physical polaroids from their high school days.
"Remember this?" he asked, pointing to a blurry photo of them at a roadside mamak stall. "You spilled teh tarik all over my favourite shirt. I never washed that spot out."
Nicole tried to laugh, but it came out as a strangled gasp. The pain in her chest was no longer a dull ache; it was a sharp, rhythmic throbbing. Her nursing body, perfectly synchronised to Aria's schedule, was screaming for relief.
"Nic? Your face is white," Kenneth said, dropping the photos. He reached out, his hand hovering near her shoulder. "Are you sick? Do I need to call a doctor?"
"No, I... I just need to go," she stammered, attempting to stand.
But as she moved, the pressure peaked. She felt the unmistakable, warm dampness spreading rapidly. The cream silk of her blouse was now visibly darkened, the moisture seeping through the heavy wool of her cardigan.
Kenneth's eyes dropped. He froze. In the dim light of the desk lamp, the stains were impossible to ignore.
"Nicole... what is that?" his voice was barely a whisper.