Sometimes, during lunch, I caught myself thinking of her face in the balcony each morning the soft smile she tried to hide, her hair tied messily, the way she waved like she was sending hope with me.
It held me together more than she knew.
At night, we’d sit on the terrace.
She’d point at random stars and spin ridiculous stories.
“Woh dekho, do sitare paas-paas hain. Jaise hum.”
(Look, two stars side by side—like us.)
I teased, “Bas unme se ek kabhi kabhi chhup jaata hai.”
(Except one of them hides sometimes.)
She nudged me, pretending to be annoyed.
Those nights felt like healing.
But healing is fragile.
You don’t realise how fragile until something brushes against it.
Lavina
The next morning felt different
I went to the kitchen to boil milk, and the pot almost overflowed before I caught it.
My hands were shaking. Not from fear.
From anticipation. From the endless fatigue that lives between hope and disappointment.
Just as I turned off the stove, my phone rang.
“Aaj aa sakti ho? Report discuss karni hai,”
(Can you come today? Need to discuss the report,)
the doctor’s assistant said, voice brisk, routine.
Routine.
I hated that word more than anything now.
I texted Aarjak.
“Doctor called. Need to go today.”
He replied immediately, even though he was at work:
“Main aa jaaun?”
(Should I come?)
I stared at the message. My heart said yes. My mind said no.
“Tum office mein rehna. Main handle kar loongi.”
(Stay at the office. I’ll manage.)
Three dots appeared. Went away. Appeared again.
“Call karna agar kuch bhi lage.”
(Call me if you feel anything.)
I typed “haan” and sent it quickly, before I changed my mind.
I didn’t want him to see my fear today.
Or maybe I didn’t want to see his.
The waiting area was more crowded than usual. A TV on mute showed a baby product advertisement plump babies, smiling mothers, bright rooms.
The kind of images that felt like insults when your life didn’t match them.
A woman beside me was humming to the baby in her lap.
Another was arguing with her husband about the cost of tests.
A third was reading a pregnancy booklet.
Their worlds brushed mine, but didn’t touch.
They lived in a reality I could only look at from the outside.
My stomach twisted.
When my name was called, I stood quickly as if moving fast would make the news gentler.
Inside, the doctor didn’t smile.
She didn’t frown either.
She had the face of someone who delivers news for a living.
12. Something has changed
Start from the beginning
