The first trimester passed like a fragile ritual.
Each morning, Roset sipped ginger tea before even lifting her head from the pillow. Hino would warm a damp towel to press against her neck when the nausea hit too hard, and she would text him updates during the day "Still upright," or "Made it through lunch."
They went to appointments every other week, the doctor's office now as familiar as their own kitchen. The baby was small, still just a flickering heartbeat on the screen, but it made something in Roset's chest ache every time she saw it.
They didn't buy anything yet. No baby clothes. No crib.
Just in case.
But they talked.
They talked about names. Hino leaning toward short, nature-based ones, Roset daydreaming about names that carried echoes of her old life.
They walked the city more now, slower. The cherry blossoms were starting to bloom, casting light pink shadows over every quiet street.
One Sunday afternoon, halfway through her second trimester, Roset felt a strange pressure low in her stomach.
Not pain, exactly. But something new. Heavy. Wrong.
She didn't panic. Not at first.
She drank water, lay down, waited.
But the pressure didn't fade.
An hour later, her hand trembled slightly as she called for Hino.
He came quickly, no panic in his voice, just that quiet urgency that had come to define him.
"I'm calling the clinic," he said, already reaching for his coat.
They walked to the hospital in silence, both of them pretending not to be afraid.
The doctor met them immediately.
Tests.
A scan.
Roset's heart thudded so loud she thought the machine might pick it up instead of the baby's.
But then...
The steady flicker of a heartbeat.
Still strong.
Still there.
The doctor smiled gently. "Just some early ligament stretching," she said. "Common. Painful sometimes, but normal. Nothing to worry about."
Roset let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding since the moment she saw the test weeks ago.
Hino sat down beside her, holding her hand in both of his, his head bowed like a prayer.
They took a taxi home.
Neither of them said much, but that night he wrapped both arms around her in bed and stayed there until the morning.
As the pregnancy progressed, they began to prepare more actively.
Roset started writing again, short, dreamy stories about faraway worlds and quiet lives. She posted them online under a pseudonym, and to her surprise, people responded.
Hino fixed up an old bookshelf they found in a second hand shop, and Roset placed small things on it, books from her childhood, a knitted elephant toy Mrs. Tanaka gifted her, and eventually, the first photo from their last scan.
One evening, Roset stood on the balcony, hands cradling her belly, watching Hino water the basil and check the herbs.
"I'm glad it was nothing," she said quietly.
Hino glanced up. "Me too."
"But even if it hadn't been nothing," she added, "I think we would've gotten through it."
He looked at her then, eyes soft and full. "We still will. Whatever comes."
She reached out and took his hand over the pot of basil.
The plant was growing. Slowly. Steadily.
Just like them.