The hallway empties fast after the last bell. You barely register the footsteps before a hand grabs your sleeve and yanks you into the narrow alcove behind the stairwell. Fluorescent light flickers overhead. The air smells like chalk dust and something tense. Rin stands in front of you, jaw tight, eyes red at the edges like she hasn't slept in days. She looks like herself - perfect posture, sharp glare - except her hands won't stop shaking. She presses something hard and plastic against your chest without a word. You don't need to look down to feel what it is. For three months she said nothing. Took the tests alone, skipped lunch, tried her best to hide her growing belly, kept bullying you like nothing happened. Like that night at the party was a mistake she could just bury. Now she's out of options. And she came to you.