UNKNOWN GUEST

#115 A Future Reality

Natasha kept her head low beneath the hood of her jacket, the fabric casting shadows over her sharp features. The cold evening breeze brushed against her face, biting at her skin in a way that felt sharper than it should.

She walked along the narrow street, the muted glow of streetlights flickering above, casting a hazy gold across the pavement. The valley was eerily quiet, almost peaceful. The houses scattered along the hillside were tucked in for the night, their windows aglow with soft, warm light.

A few locals passed by her, murmuring in low tones, offering polite nods or silent glances. No one asked her any questions. To them, she was just another traveler—a tourist passing through the Himalayan terrain, perhaps searching for solitude or adventure. They had no idea what burdens she carried.

As Natasha reached the end of the street, her eyes landed on the small pharmacy tucked between a tea stall and a bakery. She stopped for a moment, hesitant. Her hand slipped into her pocket, feeling the crumpled bills against her fingers as if the thin paper could anchor her to reality.

The pit in her stomach churned, and for a second, she thought about turning around, retreating back to the safety of the safe house and pretending this moment never happened.

But something held her there—a gnawing certainty that she couldn't shake off. Jason. No—James. The boy who had appeared out of nowhere, somehow Steve's son, somehow hers. He existed. He was living proof of something Natasha had never dared to believe: She could have a child.

For so long, the Red Room had robbed her of that hope, telling her that her body was no longer capable of creating life. She had buried the idea, wrapped it in layers of denial, telling herself she didn't want it anyway.

And yet... this strange, fluttering feeling inside her—it wasn't nothing. She knew that now. It was the same instinct that had carried her through wars and assassinations, through betrayals and impossible missions. Her body was telling her something. But she had ignored it, refused to face it, until now—until she became too sick to ignore it any longer.

With a heavy sigh, she pushed open the door to the pharmacy, a small bell jingling overhead. The warm air inside hit her like a wave, stirring a sense of strange discomfort, as if she didn't belong here. She stood still for a moment, her boots planted firmly on the tiled floor, breathing in the faint scent of antiseptic and herbal remedies.

The woman behind the counter glanced up from her book and offered a polite smile. She looked ordinary—just a regular person going about her life, blissfully unaware that an ex-assassin was standing in front of her, battling a storm of uncertainty.

Natasha approached the counter slowly, her hand brushing the wooden surface as if grounding herself. Do it. Just do it. The words echoed in her mind, but when she opened her mouth, nothing came out. She hesitated.

"Do you need anything, ma'am?" the woman asked gently, her voice kind but curious.

Natasha opened her mouth to respond, but her voice felt stuck in her throat. The enormity of what she was about to do weighed heavily on her. Instead, she shook her head, forcing a tight-lipped smile. "No. I... Sorry, never mind." She turned on her heel, ready to leave—ready to run from this moment and everything it meant.

Her hand was already on the door handle when she stopped. God, why was she like this? She closed her eyes, exhaling through her nose. You don't run away from things. You face them.

The memory of James—the boy from the future, their son—surged through her mind like a tidal wave. It was real. He was real. And somewhere, deep down, she knew what was happening inside her was real too. She couldn't deny it any longer. This wasn't just an illness. It was something more.