Chapter 10 đ
Milim arrived at the bakery just past eight in the morningâalready much later than her usual shift. The moment she stepped through the door, she braced herself for a scolding, but instead was met with the concerned face of the store manager behind the counter.
"You alright?" he asked gently, eyes studying her pale features.
"I'm sorry, Manager. I'm late," Milim said, bowing slightly as her voice carried a note of guilt. The kindness in his voice made her feel even worse. "You can deduct it from my wages, according to the rules."
The manager waved a hand dismissively and offered a warm smile. "Don't be so serious. You're a work-study student. I wouldn't have the heart to dock your pay over something like this."
His words made Milim's cheeks flush. She had always prided herself on being responsible, and the idea of being treated with such grace, especially when she felt she hadn't earned it, made her uneasy.
"Then I'll stay late today to make up for it," she offered quickly, unwilling to accept undeserved generosity.
The manager sighed with a hint of amusement. "If you insist, do what you feel is right."
She nodded. "Thank you, Manager. I'll go change now."
Milim headed to the staff locker room, swapped into her uniform, and went to the kitchen, where she found Ayla working. She pulled a small envelope from her pocket and handed it over.
"Here's the money for the barbecue last night," Milim said softly.
Ayla gave her a side glance and smiled beneath her face mask. "Thanks. When are you starting school?"
Milim paused, checking the mental calendar in her head. "Around the 25th. Still got a few days left."
As they spoke, another female staff member passed by with a tray of freshly baked butter loaves.
"Want some?" she offered, leaning the tray toward them.
"Thanks!" Ayla grinned and snatched one eagerly.
Milim, however, stiffened at the smell. The buttery aroma mixed with the faint scent of toast made her stomach churn. Her face twisted in discomfort as nausea rose quickly.
"You okay?" the colleague asked, confused. "Aren't you eating?"
Milim shook her head and covered her mouth with her hand. "No, thank you," she said quickly.
Ayla stared at her. "You don't even want freshly baked bread? It's free, you know."
"The smell is too strong," Milim said with a frown. "Can you eat it somewhere else? It's making me sick."
"Huh?" Ayla blinked. "It smells amazing. You loved this bread last time."
Milim turned away slightly, her face pale. "I think I've been unwell lately. Greasy food makes me nauseous."
Ayla laughed. "Those symptoms⊠Are you pregnant?"
"What the hell?" Milim gave her a dry look, though her stomach dropped at the suggestion. She waved it off with a smile. "No. I'm just tired, that's all. Why else would I have been late?"
The two girls kept chatting in the back kitchen, switching between talk of college life, snacks, and everything in between. Time passed quickly. When noon came around, the bakery staff received their usual in-store mealâfried pork belly with greens, tomato-egg stir-fry, steamed fish, and melon.
Normally, Milim would go straight for the pork belly, savoring the crispy oil and savory bite. But today, she didn't even want to look at it. She stuck to the vegetables and barely finished her portion.
After lunch, she took a short break in the lounge, resting her head on the round table. The cool surface helped her clear her head. She got up half an hour later to resume her tasks, handling deliveries and customer orders with her usual efficiency.
Milim knew the neighborhood well. Being a local, she could take shortcuts and reach customers faster than most. With her warm smile and neat appearance, the manager often chose her for delivery jobs, knowing customers were always pleased with her.
But as the afternoon wore on, she could barely keep her eyes open. Her body felt heavier with each passing hour, and all she wanted was to curl up under her blanket and sleep.
The store manager noticed. "Milim, if you're unwell, take the day off," he said with concern. "Don't push yourself."
"I'm fine," she murmured, rubbing her eyes. "Just sleepy, that's all."
But as soon as she stood to wash her face, the room spun violently. Her vision blurred. She stumbled, her legs giving out, and collapsed back into her seat.
"Milim?" the manager rushed to her side, alarmed. "What's wrong?"
"I⊠I think I should leave for the day," she whispered. "You don't need to record my attendance."
"You stubborn girl," the manager muttered but helped her up anyway. He escorted her to the front and hailed a taxi. "If you're still feeling bad tomorrow, don't come in. Rest."
"Thank you, Manager," Milim said, grateful but embarrassed as she climbed into the cab.
The driver glanced at her through the rearview mirror. "Heatstroke? Should I take you to the hospital?"
Milim hesitated. What if it was more than heatstroke? Touching the envelope of her freshly paid salary, she felt a little braver.
"En⊠Take me to the hospital, please."
The driver dropped her off at the entrance and kindly asked if she needed help registering, but Milim declined. "Thank you, Uncle. I can manage."
Inside, she paid the consultation fee and waited. The doctor who eventually examined her was a gentle, grey-haired man who looked like someone's wise grandfather.
"Child," he said after reading her chart, "where are you feeling uncomfortable?"
"Dizziness, nausea, vomiting⊠I've been really sleepy and tired," Milim said, lowering her gaze.
"Are you eating less than usual?"
"I just can't stand greasy food. Even the smell makes me nauseous," she replied, wrinkling her nose.
The doctor examined her tongue, then took her pulse. A long pause followed.
"When was your last sexual activity?" he asked gently.
Milim's face burned red. "A month agoâŠ" she mumbled, mortified.
The doctor nodded solemnly. "Wait here. I'll prepare a form for a routine check-up."
Milim clutched the paper anxiously. It was a blood test. "Doctor⊠is something wrong with me?"
"It's just a routine check. Don't worry too much. Let's wait for the results," he assured her.
The test didn't take long. The result: 3255.500. Milim had no idea what the number meant. She returned to the doctor with trembling hands, her heartbeat pounding in her ears.
The doctor took one glance at the report and sighed, setting it on the glass desk. He adjusted his glasses, met her eyes, and spoke slowly.
"You're pregnant. About five weeks alongâconsistent with the date you mentioned."
Milim froze. Her lips moved before her mind could process the meaning.
"I'm⊠pregnant? Pregnant? Pregnant?"
It echoed in her head like a spell. Her knees went weak, and her breath shortened.
The doctor gave a kind but serious look. "I suspected it from the pulse. The blood test confirms it. You can still undergo a termination procedure, but as you're a minor, your parents' consent is required."
Milim sat there, stunned. Her first thought was: What will my parents say?
Her second: How much does surgery cost?
And beneath it all, a silent, terrifying question lingered.
What do I do now?