The city’s hum in the late afternoon drifted lazily off the heated pavement, thick and lethargic, like summer itself – heavy, slow, muted. I walked home with gentle steps, carrying a strange, soft joy.
My last visit to the gynecologist had just ended: she said everything was fine, perfectly fine, and in ten days I would finally hold my little one in my arms.
Ten days! Only ten days! My heart thumped with every thought, like rereading a long-awaited letter again and again.
My bag was full of tiny notes – names for the baby, lists for the hospital, and a crumpled scrap with a short melody I might hum to lull the baby.
Each step felt light, though my body was not. The weight of the ninth month – that sacred, sweet burden – existed in every movement, but now it didn’t bother me.
The sun brushed my face, birds chattered in the distant park, and the air carried the scent of spring.
I passed a small florist and couldn’t resist: I bought a bouquet of white freesias. They say freesias symbolize purity and new beginnings.
“This suits us, little one,” I whispered to my belly, stroking the round place where my baby stirred.
Suddenly – a sharp, sudden noise. The screech of tires on asphalt. A black, gleaming car slowed beside me. The window rolled down, and a man’s voice said:
“Ma’am, did you know the scene behind looks like a Renoir painting?”
At first I didn’t understand. I looked around, thinking someone was behind me. But no – the street was empty. Only me, my freesias, and the voice that now was undeniably real.
I smiled, startled, more embarrassed than vain.
Instinctively, I showed my ring – a discreet signal for “no, thank you.” The man only smiled, arrogantly, with confidence.
“Ring or not,” he said, “with that smile, it’s just a detail.”
Now I laughed truly, though more in disbelief than joy. I turned slightly to show my belly – the full, magnificent ninth month.
“See this?” I said, half joking, half shocked. “I’m really pregnant. No dating. In ten days I give birth.”
The man paused for a moment. I thought he might blush, apologize, and leave. Instead, he smiled even wider, as if making a mysterious decision inside.
“And what does it matter?” he asked. “Dating can still exist.”
My cheeks burned. I didn’t know whether to be angry or laugh with him.
There we were, me with my belly and flowers, him speaking as if we were in a spring café, not a city sidewalk.
“You’re joking, right?” I said.
“I see it,” he replied, observing as if looking at rare art. “And congratulations. But you said ten days, right?”
“Yes,” I answered slowly, still wary. “Ten days, if all goes according to plan.”
He thought for a moment. I saw his gaze wander somewhere distant, as if calculating something. Then he murmured almost silently:
“Ten days… or rather fifteen. Yes, that will be better.”
“What?” I asked, shocked.
He leaned slightly toward the window and said calmly, as if it were the most natural thing:
“All right, then fifteen days. We’ll see each other then.”
I froze. Did he mean it? I looked at him, he looked at me, and for a moment, time seemed to stop.
Only he was there, with that half-mysterious, half-childlike smile, and the faint phrase hung between us like a dream we couldn’t catch.
“You’re… kidding me?” I whispered at last.
“No.” He shrugged. “Fifteen days will be perfect.”
I wanted to laugh. Really. The situation was so strange that laughter almost burst out, but deep inside, I felt a peculiar curiosity.
There was something in his voice, his calm, his strange confidence – like he knew something I didn’t.
“Fifteen days…” I repeated mechanically. “By then, my baby will be in the hospital.”
“Then I’ll come see you,” he answered simply.
The “I’ll see you” hovered in the air like a stone dropping into water. Tiny ripples spread inside me. My heart began to beat to a new rhythm. No fear, only strange intrigue.
He didn’t seem intrusive. More like someone sensing something in the air – a moment, a fleeting connection others might have missed.
Then he smiled. Not a predatory smile, but a quiet, human one.
“You know,” he said softly, “sometimes you see someone by chance and suddenly feel like the story begins now.”
Something stirred inside me. The flower I held trembled, a stem slipped from my fingers.
“You’re… strange,” I said, my voice trembling without knowing why.
“Perhaps,” he answered calmly. “But you’re beautiful, and sometimes the world sends messages in unusual ways.”
I stood silent, bewildered. He started the car but didn’t leave immediately. He looked one last time, distant yet observant.
“Fifteen days,” he repeated like a promise. “And until then… be well. You, and him.” – He gestured to my belly.
Then he drove away slowly.
I stood for a long time, watching the black car vanish around the corner. The scent of freesias filled the air, and suddenly everything seemed unbelievable.
As if that moment – that strange encounter – didn’t belong to the ordinary world but to a more delicate plane of reality.
On the way home, my thoughts spun. I wanted to laugh, but a magical, crackling feeling spread through me.
At home, when I placed the flowers in water, I still felt that afternoon in their scent. The sun set slowly, filling the room with golden light. I sat in the armchair, stroked my belly, and whispered:
“Did you hear what he said? Fifteen days… we’ll see, little one.”
The baby moved, as if answering. Perhaps it sensed the subtle atmosphere.
In the night’s silence, I thought of the man’s face again. He wasn’t striking or remarkable – but there was something unforgettable.
A gaze that seemed to see beyond everything – my belly, the ring, my fears.
And deep inside, I could not deny it: the moment – the few words on the sidewalk – had changed something within me. Not for him, but because it reminded me I was still a woman.
That my body, my soul, my life were not only ready for motherhood, but still alive, still feeling, still desiring.
Perhaps I’d forget him tomorrow. Perhaps I’d never see him again. But that moment, on the sidewalk with freesias and laughter, something had happened. Something small, seemingly insignificant, yet profound.
And when ten days later I finally held my baby in my arms, and the room filled with warmth, milk, and silence, I remembered the man’s words: “Fifteen days.”
On the fifth day, someone left a bouquet of white freesias at the hospital reception.
No note. Only the scent that felt familiar – and the smile I felt again inside me, as if it had come from far away, yet somehow so close.
