Alekos
I closed the door behind me like I was about to commit a felony, not participate in a medical miracle.
The room was… sterile. Bright. Too clean.
And small. Too small.
A chair sat awkwardly in the center, like it was judging me.
There was a counter with neatly arranged sanitizers, gloves, and—God help me—a tiny stack of magazines I wasn't going to touch even if you paid me.
What am I even doing?
I sat down, elbows on knees, staring at the wall like it held some sort of wisdom.
Okay. Okay. Deep breath.
You've got this. You've done worse things for friendship. Probably.
I rubbed my hands over my face, muttering, "This is fine. Totally fine. Just stroking my dick. For science. For IVF. For Selin."
My voice cracked at her name.
Not because I was embarrassed. But because the weight of it hit me all at once.
She was dying.
She was trying to live through this. Through me.
And suddenly, this room felt heavier than it should.
I looked at the ceiling and let out a quiet laugh.
"You really roped me into something wild, Selin."
And the moment I said her name—just like that—she filled my mind.
Her face.
The softness of it.
The freckles near her eyes she always tried to cover but I always noticed.
Her laugh—God, her laugh—bright and clumsy and contagious.
Those mismatched eyes lighting up whenever she spoke about something she loved.
Coffee. Her patients. Children.
The life she was trying to hold onto with both hands.
I love this girl.
The thought hit me like a slow, unbearable truth.
I loved her.
And I'd do anything for her.
Before I could finish that thought, I looked down.
Oh.
Oh no.
It seemed my body had… reacted.
Of course it did.
I groaned, dragging a hand over my face.
"You've got to be kidding me."
You're getting hard thinking about your best friend.
The same one who's literally lying in the other room—weak, hurting, and waiting for you to give her your sperm.
"Real classy, Alekos. Very noble of you," I muttered to myself.
But I couldn't really blame myself, could I?
Not when loving her had never felt like a choice. It had just… happened. Quietly. Slowly. Completely.
Still, I shook my head like I could knock the guilt loose.
Because this wasn't about me. This wasn't about desire.
This was about Selin.
If anyone deserved to be a mother—it was her.
And if I was the only person she trusted to give her that chance, then I'd walk through fire for her.
Or, you know… awkwardly ejaculate into a cup in a too-clean hospital room.
I stood up, grabbed the cup like it was a sacred relic, and sighed.
"…Let's get this over with," I muttered.
And as I shut my eyes and tried to push past the nerves, I made a firm mental note:
Marianne. Sibelle. This day never happened.
I stepped out of the room holding the plastic cup like it was a live grenade.
Sibelle was waiting, gloves already on, looking far too amused for someone in a lab coat. She didn't even say anything—just raised an eyebrow as I handed it over.
"You're welcome," I muttered, my voice about two octaves lower than usual. I cleared my throat. "Please never speak of this again."
"Of course not," she said sweetly. "Only every time I see you for the rest of your life."
I groaned. "You are a terrible doctor and a worse friend."
From the corner of my eye, I saw Selin—sitting on the exam bench, legs swinging slightly, trying very hard not to laugh. She caught my eye, and that little smile she gave me?
Yeah, I was doomed.
"You okay?" she asked, her tone far too casual.
"Define okay," I said, walking over to sit beside her. "Because I've just done something that involved sterile walls, a plastic cup, and way too much self-reflection."
She laughed softly—still tired, still pale, but glowing in that quiet, unshakeable Selin way. "Thank you, Alekos."
I shrugged, trying not to seem as wrecked as I felt. "I said I'd help you. I meant it."
She reached over and squeezed my hand. Just for a moment. But it lingered.
Too long for comfort.
Too short for what I wanted.
And then she let go, like it never happened. Like this whole thing wasn't slowly peeling the skin off everything I'd tried not to feel for years.
Sibelle returned a moment later, professional and efficient.
"We'll process the sample today. Embryo retrieval's soon—we'll go over everything, Selin."
Selin nodded, grateful and focused.
But I couldn't stop thinking about her fingers slipping away from mine.
And how, no matter how much I gave her, the one thing she didn't ask for…
was me.
I walked back into the hallway and nearly ran into Marianne and Sibelle standing side by side like the twin devils of my embarrassment.
I blinked. "Why are you here?" I asked Marianne.
She grinned. "Moral support."
"For me?"
"No. For myself. I came to laugh at you."
Sibelle snorted, barely keeping it together.
I stared between the two of them. "Unbelievable."
"Hey," Marianne said, hopping off the counter. "You're the one who walked out holding that cup like it was radioactive. What did you think we were going to do? Offer applause?"
"I thought you'd leave! Vanish! Respect my privacy!" I waved a hand toward the hallway. "I just… performed a very sacred act in a very sterile room!"
"Sacred," Sibelle echoed. "You were in there for eight minutes."
"It was seven and a half," Marianne chimed. "I timed it."
I buried my face in my hands. "I hate both of you."
"No, you don't," they said in unison.
I grumbled and waved a finger at them. "I'm reporting both of you to HR."
Marianne burst out laughing. "We are HR, genius."
Sibelle nodded smugly. "And we're putting this incident on your permanent record."
I groaned. "Ugh, I'll run to—" I stopped myself, realizing too late.
"Oh please," Marianne smirked. "You mean 'run to daddy'?"
That did it. They both doubled over in laughter.
"You said it once and now it's never dying," Sibelle added, wiping a tear.
I muttered something unintelligible under my breath, ears burning. "I hate this hospital."
Just then, Selin walked into the hallway, looking amused.
She stood beside me, and with that same little smirk, she reached up and patted me gently on the head.
"I officially hate this hospital," I said again, louder this time.
All three of them laughed.
And despite myself… I smiled again.
Because even in humiliation, somehow, this felt like home.
Selin
I officially hate this hospital.
That's what he said—loud, red-faced, with Sibelle and Marianne cackling behind him and me trying not to laugh as I patted the top of his head like he was some wounded knight.
But that was Alekos.
Even when he was mortified, even when the moment was unbearable—he stayed.
And that's what mattered.
Because not long after the jokes and teasing faded, reality crept back in.
Vanessa called. Sibelle returned with charts. The laughter drained, the room dimmed, and the truth settled between us again like dust.
This wasn't just a joke anymore.
This was real.
The procedures began.
Hormones.
Injections.
Appointments.
Each moment, hopeful.
Each prayer, desperate.
I watched the bruises bloom across my stomach like little battle scars—a roadmap of persistence. Every prick, every injection came with a sting that was more emotional than physical. Some mornings I sat on the bathroom floor, clutching the syringe with shaking hands, trying to convince myself this was strength and not madness.
The nurse's voice turned to static—clinical terms, hormone levels, measurements I couldn't always keep up with. My body stopped feeling like mine and started feeling like a ticking clock. There were nights I cried in the shower until the water turned cold. Nights I couldn't sleep because I was too aware of my heartbeat. Of the fragility in my chest.
And still, Alekos stayed.
He didn't miss a single appointment. He memorized the schedule better than I did. He sat beside me during every scan, every blood draw, every waiting room silence. He smiled through the awkwardness, read every protocol twice, and even held the ice pack after the shots when my hands shook too much to do it myself.
Sometimes I'd catch him looking at me when he thought I wasn't watching.
Not with pity.
But with something quieter.
Something softer.
Something that hurt a little more.
And I wondered—not for the first time—what this might have looked like… if I weren't dying.
If I hadn't asked him to love a dream that wasn't his.
If we'd had more time.
But time was the one thing we didn't have.
Not anymore.
So we moved forward. Together.
Even if the ending wasn't promised.
Even if the beginning had never been fair.
The clinic smelled like antiseptic and lavender.
Sibelle had insisted on the lavender, claiming it helped patients relax. But nothing about today felt relaxing.
It felt surreal.
The white walls. The soft beeping machines. The hum of nurses moving around like it was just another Tuesday.
I was in a gown again. Hair tied up. IV in place. The clock on the wall ticked like it was mocking me.
"Hey," Alekos whispered, leaning over the side of the bed. "You're okay."
I nodded, even though I wasn't sure if that was true. I was nervous. Numb. Too calm.
"You've done the hard part," he added. "All the shots. All the late-night sobbing over bloating and mood swings and that one time you threw a shoe at me."
"That was justified," I mumbled.
He smiled. But behind it, I saw the worry still dancing in his eyes.
Sibelle walked in, clipboard in hand. "Alright, we're ready. You'll be under light sedation. The procedure won't take more than twenty minutes."
Twenty minutes.
Months of hope, pain, and desperation—and it would all come down to twenty quiet minutes in a cold room.
Alekos squeezed my hand as they wheeled me away.
I woke up groggy. Distant. Like I was drifting somewhere between sleep and sadness.
The room was quiet, the fluorescent lights above humming faintly. My fingers twitched against the scratchy hospital blanket.
When I blinked myself back into the world, I was in recovery. Alekos was there, sitting at my side, phone forgotten in his lap.
"You're back," he said, soft and tired, his voice barely above a whisper.
I nodded, my throat dry. "Did they…?"
"Sibelle said they got six eggs," he replied. "They're working on fertilizing them now."
Six.
Only six.
I stared at the ceiling. My vision blurred—not from the anesthesia—but from everything crashing down all at once.
I turned to the side, curling into myself as tears slipped past the corners of my eyes. No sound. Just shaking. Silent grief wrapping itself around me.
Alekos reached for me. "Selin—"
"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I didn't think it would feel like this."
"Feel like what?"
"Like I'm losing. Like… I'm asking too much from a body that's already breaking."
He sat beside me on the edge of the bed and pulled me into his arms, careful not to tug the IV line.
"You're not losing," he said. "You're fighting."
"I'm so tired."
"I know," he whispered into my hair. "But I'm still here."
And he was.
I held onto him like he was the last solid thing I had left. The last place I could rest my fear without judgment.
Because at that moment—I wasn't strong.
I wasn't a doctor.
I wasn't a woman trying to become a mother.
I was just me.
Broken.
Hopeful.
Scared.
And trying so hard not to fall apart.