Page 139 of Mrs. Rathore

Positive.

The word burned into my mind.

I was pregnant.

A sob escaped me, and I sank to the cold bathroom floor, covering my mouth with my hands. The tears came silently atfirst, but quickly turned into quiet sobs. I cried for the life I had planned, for the career I had fought so hard to build, and for the sudden, irreversible change that had taken hold of me.

My dance competition was in five months.

And I was… pregnant.

The timing, oh, the timing. Was this fate’s cruel joke? Was I being asked to choose? My dream or my unborn child?

My chest heaved as I curled into myself. No, I couldn’t do this. I wasn’t ready to be a mother. I never imagined myself in that role, not yet. Not when I was just beginning to live the life I had imagined.

But fate had other plans. And I had no idea how to face them.

Still, I made a decision in the haze of panic and pain that I would not give up on my dream. I couldn’t. Even if it meant letting go of what was growing inside me. The thought pierced my soul, but I couldn’t allow my life to be rewritten by a single mistake.

______

Aryan returned from duty that evening, the usual calm presence he carried wrapping around me like a warm blanket. He looked tired but happy to be home. We had dinner together. We laughed a little, talked about his deployment, and shared anecdotes from our days apart.

But I kept my secret buried inside me.

My pregnancy, our accidental pregnancy remained unspoken. I didn’t know how to tell him. I didn’t know what he would say.We had never talked about children seriously. He never brought it up, and I had assumed that meant he wasn’t interested in having children.

“You seem quiet,” Aryan said softly, watching me with those warm, sharp eyes that could read me like a book. He raised an eyebrow. “Is there something on your mind?”

I quickly shook my head and lowered my gaze to the plate of uneaten food in front of me. My stomach churned again.

“Eat, Avni,” he said, his tone suddenly firmer. He pushed my plate gently toward me. “Or do you want me to feed you with my hand?”

His words caught me off guard, and a reluctant smile broke through the storm inside me.

Without waiting for a reply, he picked up a spoonful of rice and held it up. “Sometimes you act like a stubborn little girl, you know that? I hope our children don’t inherit this side of you.”

And then he froze, realizing what he had just said.

The spoon hung in mid-air. His eyes widened slightly, and he winced. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

“You want children?” I asked, my voice a whisper, barely audible over the clink of utensils.

He looked at me, a little startled, before nodding slowly. “Yes. I do.”

A pause.

“I mean, who doesn’t?” he added with a soft, almost embarrassed chuckle. “My friends have kids already. Most of my colleagues became fathers before thirty. I’ll be turning thirty next year. So yeah… I’ve thought about it. I just never said anything because… we were figuring us out. I didn’t want to rush you. But now that we’re solid, now that I know we want to be together, I think… someday, yes. We’ll have a baby. After your competition, after your dreams. I won’t come between you and those.”

He winked. “But maybe in the next posting, we’ll be carrying a baby girl or boy.”

The room spun again.

I pushed my chair back and rushed toward the bathroom, locking the door behind me. My chest heaved as I tried to breathe.

God… he wanted a baby. He wanted this.

The tears returned uninvited, trickling down my cheeks. I never imagined Aryan as someone eager to become a father, and I never expected to feel guilt for not wanting the same thing. Until now.

---