The car glided smoothly through the early afternoon traffic, its interior wrapped in muted leather. Swastika sat straight in the backseat, her eyes drifting toward Kaushiki who sat quietly in the passenger seat beside her.

Kaushiki stared out of the tinted window, her fingers loosely knotted together. She looked pale and fragile.

Swastika softened a little.

“Don’t stress yourself so much, Kaushiki,” she said gently. “Whatever it is, we’ll handle it. You just need to take care of yourself.”

Kaushiki gave a tiny nod, swallowing.

Swastika continued, “Even if you are pregnant, we’ll manage everything properly. You are safe with us, don’t worry.”

But then, almost too casually she added,

“And… Inaayat is also pregnant.”

Kaushiki’s head snapped toward her so fast the seatbelt tugged.

“What? Inaayat… is also pregnant?”

The words slipped out of her mouth before she could steady them.

A cold wave rushed through her body.

In that split second, a vivid and unwanted vision flashed in her mind—

Nirvaan with Inaayat.

His hands on her.

His mouth on her.

His body on his, intimate and close enough to create a child with her.

Kaushiki felt her stomach twist painfully.

Her heart cracked in a deep and aching way that made her chest hurt.

Her throat tightened.

Then what am I now? What is my place? What am I even supposed to do now?

The questions echoed in her mind.

After a moment, her voice came out small and trembling:

“And… what about me, then?

If… if Inaayat is pregnant, then… what about me?”

Swastika let out a breath, eyes on the road ahead rather than Kaushiki.

“I don’t know yet,” she admitted honestly. “We’ll think about your position later. Right now, let’s just find out if you’re actually pregnant. One thing at a time.”

Kaushiki nodded slowly, her throat burning.

She turned her face back toward the window, watching the city blur past.

Her reflection on the glass looked distant and lost.

“By the way,” Swastika said, her eyes still fixed ahead as the car turned toward the main road leading out of the residential blocks, “I’m taking you to the best hospital in town. Nothing but the top specialists will handle your case.”

Kaushiki didn’t respond.

Swastika continued, almost matter-of-factly,

“Inaayat is also getting her check-ups done from the same hospital.”

The words dropped heavy in the enclosed space of the car.

Kaushiki’s fingers froze.

Her breath hitched quietly, but she kept her gaze locked on the window, refusing to let her reaction show in front of Swastika.

Swastika glanced at her briefly, then looked away again, not commenting on the sudden stiffness in the girl beside her.

The car continued toward the large intersection.



The private VIP checkup center of the hospital didn’t look like a clinic at all but more like a discreet luxury lounge. Soft beige walls, gold-trimmed frames of abstract art and thick carpets.

The moment Nirvaan walked in, a senior concierge hurried forward, bowing respectfully.

“Mr. Mukherjee, the gynecology suite is prepared for you.”

Nirvaan only gave a curt nod.

“Good. Make sure we aren’t disturbed.”

Inaayat walked beside him, her hands twisting anxiously with the diamond tennis bracelet in her wrist, her face was pale. She avoided eye contact with every passing nurse.

Inside the private suite, the chief gynecologist, an elderly man experienced in dealing with high-profile scandals, stood already waiting with two senior nurses.

Nirvaan slipped a long white envelope onto the doctor’s desk.

A very generous cheque that is enough to buy silence, loyalty and absolute confidentiality.

Without wasting a second he began,

“Doctor, I believe we discussed this. This matter stays between us. Not a single line of documentation leaves this room. Understood?”

The doctor nodded once.

“Of course, Mr. Mukherjee. Your privacy is guaranteed.”

“Good. Now please proceed fast.” he said impatiently checking the watch.

Inaayat swallowed hard as she was guided to the recliner bed. The nurse draped a soft Egyptian cotton blanket over her legs.

Nirvaan stood with his hands in his trouser pockets, jaw clenched, expression unreadable. He watched without blinking.

The gel touched her lower stomach; she flinched.

The doctor adjusted the ultrasound wand gently.

A hum.

A blur of black-and-white static.

Then a tiny flicker.

“There it is,” the doctor said quietly. “Very early. Around… four weeks at most. Extremely early stage.”

Nirvaan’s face didn’t change.

If anything, his eyes only darkened.

The doctor continued professionally,

“The pregnancy is viable, but still at an early stage where medical termination is simplest and highly effective.”

Inaayat closed her eyes, her breathing shaky.

Nirvaan spoke before she could say anything, his voice so smooth and refined it felt cruel.

“Good. We’ll proceed with the termination as discussed. I want this done today without any complications.”

The doctor nodded.

The doctor wiped the ultrasound probe, nodded to the nurse, and then turned back to them.

“Before we proceed,” he said, adjusting his glasses, “I need to run a few standard checks. Medication-based termination is generally safe, but there are conditions that make it risky with severe anemia, hormonal imbalance, clotting disorders, liver complications, or undiagnosed infections. We must rule all of that out.”

He gestured for the nurse, who immediately brought over a tray of sterile equipment including vials, swabs, a blood pressure cuff, everything laid out with meticulous precision.

Inaayat’s fingers dug into the blanket.

Her voice wavered, “D-Do we really need all this? I thought it was just pills…”

The doctor gave her a measured look.

“Mrs. Mukherjee, the pills are effective, but they do have risks. Heavy bleeding, severe cramping, infection, incomplete expulsion and even the rare possibility of needing emergency surgical intervention.”

Her breath hitched.

The room felt colder.

The nurse gently tied the cuff around her arm.

Her heart was beating too fast, numbers flashing high.

The doctor continued, tone neutral but honest,

“It is my duty to inform you of every possible side effect. Nausea, dizziness, fever, clotting, severe abdominal pain. Some patients faint from the blood loss.”

She stared at him, horrified.

Her hands trembled uncontrollably.

“I… I could faint?” she whispered.

“Yes,” the doctor said, “and in rare cases, complications can escalate if not monitored properly.”

That was all it took for the panic to crash over her.

Her eyes widened.

Her breathing turned shallow.

“W-Will I die?” she choked out suddenly.

The nurse paused, startled by her terror.

“No,” the doctor said gently, “you won’t die if it is done correctly and monitored. But you must understand the risks. That is why we have to—”

But she wasn’t listening anymore.

Her world was spinning.

Tears streamed down her face as fear swallowed her whole.

“I-I don’t want to die,” she whispered again, voice breaking. “Riv… Riv, please—”

She reached out toward him with a trembling hand.

But Nirvaan did not look at her.

Not once.

He stood there, arms crossed, jaw set and expression carved out of ice.

Nothing in him softened—not her fear, not her trembling, nor her tears.

When the nurse brought the consent papers, thick and printed with legal disclaimers, the doctor explained:

“This states that the hospital is not responsible for any risk, side effects, or complications caused by the termination. You both must sign.”

Inaayat’s breath hitched again.

“No—no wait— I’m scared— what if something happens to me? Nirvaan, please, d-don’t let me—”

Her voice cracked.

But Nirvaan’s cold eyes did not shift.

He took the paper from the doctor’s hands, glanced at it once

then picked up the pen.

His signature was elegant, sharp, and without any hesitation.

One clean stroke.

No pause.

No emotion.

“Riv… you didn’t even think for a second—”

He didn’t reply.

He handed the paper back to the doctor, his voice smooth, polished, and devoid of warmth:

“Proceed.”

The doctor placed the signed consent form on the clipboard and turned to Inaayat.

“Mrs. Mukherjee,” he said gently, “we need your signature as well. Legally it must come from you.”

Her whole body tightened.

Her hands wouldn’t stop trembling.

She looked at the form the way someone looks at a death certificate.

“I… I can’t,” she whispered, voice barely audible. “I’m scared… I don’t want to… What if something happens to me?”

The nurse stepped forward, softer this time, trying to soothe her.

“Ma’am, it’s a routine procedure. We perform hundreds every month. You will be monitored the entire time—”

But Inaayat shook her head violently.

Tears blurred her vision.

“N-No… no, please… I don’t want to sign—”

Her voice cracked, a sob rising.

She looked desperately at Nirvaan, her last lifeline.

“Riv… please tell them… tell them I don’t want to—”

His voice came out cold enough to freeze the room:

“Sign it, Inaayat. I don't have time for all this.”

She stared at him, disbelief splintering across her face.

“I… I can’t—”

He tilted his head slightly, eyes narrow, voice low but cutting like razor glass:

“Do you want everyone to know whose baby it is?”

She froze.

Completely.

The blood drained from her face.

Her lips parted but no sound came out.

The nurse, thinking she was just nervous, moved closer with the pen.

“Ma’am, please,” she said softly. “Just sign here.”

But Inaayat just stared at the paper, hands shaking so hard the pen nearly fell.

Then Nirvaan spoke again, “Don’t make a scene. Sign it.”

The authority in his tone left no room for refusal.

Her fingers curled weakly around the pen.

Her breath came out in short, panicked bursts.

Finally, with a crushed, resigned sob escaping her throat—

she dragged the pen across the line.

A shaky and broken signature.

The nurse quickly took the paper back before she dropped it.

“Thank you, ma’am,” the doctor said gently, though even he sensed the tension. “We’ll prepare the medication.”

The doctor returned after a few minutes, carrying a small silver tray.

On it lay a single pill in a sealed packet.

A nurse adjusted the privacy curtain around the examination bed, creating a quiet sectioned-off space. Another set the tray down on a glass side table.

“Mrs. Mukherjee,” the doctor said gently, “this is the first medication.”

She glanced at the pill with dread.

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed.

The doctor continued in his calm, practiced tone:

“This pill will stop the pregnancy from progressing.

It blocks the hormone that keeps the pregnancy viable.”

The doctor picked up the pill and a glass of purified water from the tray.

“It also helps soften the uterine lining, making tomorrow’s procedure safer and less painful.”

He paused, watching her.

“After taking this pill, most women feel completely normal for the first twenty-four hours. No major symptoms. Maybe slight cramping, but usually nothing more.”

Inaayat’s voice trembled as she spoke:

“Will… will it hurt later?”

The doctor nodded sympathetically.

“There may be cramping after tomorrow’s dosage. It varies. But we will monitor you closely.”

She looked at the pill again, her breath shaking.

Her eyes flickered toward Nirvaan, silently begging for reassurance.

He didn’t offer any.

Just a flat stare.

Finally, with trembling hands, she took the pill from the doctor.

The nurse held out the glass for her.

There was a moment of hesitation,

before she placed the pill on her tongue.

She raised the glass and swallowed.

The doctor waited a moment, then nodded approvingly.

“That’s good. That’s the first step,” he said, writing notes into her chart. “You’ll be monitored for ten minutes, and then you may go home.”

He turned another page.

“As for the second pill—please return tomorrow at the same time. It must be taken under supervision.”

Inaayat’s stomach twisted at the thought.

The doctor added gently:

“This is the final part of the process. After tomorrow, the body will naturally expel the pregnancy. We will ensure you are safe throughout.”

He gave a respectful nod and stepped back.

Inaayat slowly slid off the examination bed. The moment her feet touched the marble floor, her vision wavered.

A sudden wave of dizziness hit her.

She grabbed the edge of the bed, gasping.

“I—I don’t… I don’t feel good…” she whispered.

Her eyes went wide with alarm.

The doctor stepped forward immediately.

“It’s alright,” he assured gently. “This happens sometimes. It’s just anxiety. Completely normal.”

But Inaayat clutched her stomach dramatically, wobbling on her heels.

“Am I fainting? Am I dying? Why is my head spinning? I don’t—”

“You’re not dying,” the doctor said patiently. “Your blood pressure dipped a little when you stood up too fast. You need to sit, hydrate, and relax.”

Then he looked at Nirvaan.

“Mr. Mukherjee, please take her to the cafeteria. Something sweet or warm to drink will help. Some fresh air and a few minutes of rest will bring her back to normal.”

Nirvaan nodded.

“Of course,” he said.

He extended a hand toward her.

His expression wasn’t affectionate but it softened, just barely, into something calmer.

Inaayat instantly grabbed his hand with both of hers, clutching tightly as if she might collapse without him.

“Riv… I’m not feeling good… please…” she murmured shakily, leaning into him.

He steadied her and guided her out of the exam room.

“Yes, yes,” he sighed, supporting her weight more than he wanted to. “Just breathe. You’re panicking, that’s all.”

She leaned her head on his arm dramatically as they walked down the long and polished corridor.

Her nails dug into his sleeve.

He exhaled, irritated but trying to keep her moving.

“Stop overreacting,” he murmured low enough only she could hear. “You think too much, that’s why your body is acting up.”

Meanwhile, Swastika lightly squeezed Kaushiki’s arm. “Sit here and wait in the lounge, okay? I’ll go talk to the doctor.”

Kaushiki nodded, her throat tight. “Hmm.”

As soon as Swastika walked away, Kaushiki lowered herself onto one of the cushioned seats. The lounge smelled faintly of antiseptic and warm air from the AC vents. She clasped her hands together on her lap.

Her eyes wandered around, drifting from one patient to another—an elderly man rubbing his knees, a nervous teenager tapping his foot and a mother filling a form while her little son played with a toy car on the floor.

Then her gaze stopped.

A young couple sat diagonally across the room. The woman had a gentle round belly, the curve unmistakable under her pastel kurti. Her husband sat close, almost wrapped around her, one arm snugly around her shoulders while the other rested protectively over her swollen stomach. He leaned down and whispered something into her ear.

The woman giggled softly.

Kaushiki’s lips automatically curled into a smile. Something warm fluttered inside her chest.

Her hand rose on its own and settled over her own flat stomach. She caressed it absentmindedly, her thumb brushing small circles. Her eyes softened as she watched the couple for a few seconds longer, absorbing the tenderness in their small and intimate world.

A thought slipped in.

Will Nirvaan ever hold me like that?

Will he… will he be happy knowing I’m pregnant?

Her smile dimmed. She pulled her hand back into her lap, fingers curling into a fist as she looked away. Her gaze moved to the floor, then to the reception desk, then anywhere else her heart felt safer than that couple glowing with happiness.

Her gaze drifting without purpose until it froze.

Her breath caught.

From the far end of the corridor, she saw Nirvaan.

And beside him… Inaayat.

They were walking close—too close. Inaayat was practically hanging on his arm, her fingers fisted around his sleeve, her forehead leaning against his shoulder as if she couldn’t stand without him. Nirvaan bent down slightly, whispered something near her ear.

Kaushiki’s stomach twisted.

What…?

Her eyes widened, disbelief spreading over her face.

They’re here together?

Why… why does she look like that? Why is she holding him like that?

A tight sting hit her chest.

Inaayat clung to him harder as they walked, hugging his arm like it was her lifeline. Nirvaan adjusted his pace to match hers. He didn’t push her away.

Kaushiki’s lips parted in silent hurt.

Her heartbeat thudded painfully against her ribs. For a moment she couldn’t breathe and couldn’t blink. She felt the air leaving her lungs as though someone had punched her.

From afar… they looked like a loving couple.

Her eyes flickered to the pregnant woman and her husband again, still wrapped in their small cocoon of joy.

Then her gaze darted back to Nirvaan and Inaayat disappearing down the hallway.

The similarities stabbed her.

They really did look like that. The closeness, the quiet whisper and the natural intimacy.

Of course they did.

For Inaayat’s checkup… her husband would go with her.

But for Kaushiki’s?

She swallowed hard as a cold truth wove itself through her chest.

For me… it’s just Mrs. Mukherjee who arranged this entire ‘deal’.

For her… it’s her husband.

For my baby… it’s all a transaction.

And that baby…

Her eyes dropped, stinging.

That baby Inaayat was carrying... That baby is made out of love.

Kaushiki blinked rapidly as her vision blurred. She bit down on her lip to stop a sob.

When she looked up again, Nirvaan and Inaayat were entering the cafeteria,

Unaware of Kaushiki’s tear-filled eyes watching them.

Swastika returned a few minutes later,

“Kaushiki, come,” she said, “The doctor is ready.”

Kaushiki stood up quietly and followed her down the hallway, her steps slow, her mind still stuck on the image of Nirvaan guiding Inaayat into the cafeteria.

Inside the examination room, the gynecologist greeted them with professional warmth.

“Please lie down,” she said, adjusting the machine. “We’ll just confirm a few things.”

Swastika stood beside Kaushiki, hands clasped with excitement. The doctor applied the cool gel and moved the ultrasound probe over her lower abdomen. Within seconds, a small flicker appeared on the sleek screen.

“There it is, early stage of pregnancy... confirmed,” the doctor said with a smile. “Very early. Just a few weeks.”

Swastika let out a soft breath of joy.

“Oh thank God… Kaushiki, it’s real,” she whispered, her voice trembling just a little. “You’re really pregnant.”

Kaushiki gave a faint nod, her eyes fixed on the screen but her mind nowhere near that room.

She was thinking…

If I were in Inaayat’s place…

If I were his wife…

Her chest tightened as the thought unfurled.

If she had been the one standing in a clinic as Nirvaan’s wife, then Nirvaan would’ve been right here. Standing tall beside her. One hand in his pocket, the other resting gently on her shoulder. He would’ve leaned in to look at the screen with curiosity softening his eyes. Maybe he would’ve asked the doctor thousands of questions.

Maybe he would’ve smiled.

And that smile… she imagined it lighting up the room.

But he probably already did all this. . .with Inaayat.

Her heart squeezed painfully.

As the doctor spoke to Swastika about the pregnancy’s progress, vitamins, and early precautions, Kaushiki drifted further into her fantasy.

She imagined Nirvaan standing exactly where Swastika stood now—his voice low, excited, almost boyishly happy. She pictured him saying something like, “Is everything normal?” or “How many weeks is she?”

In her mind’s eye, she saw Inaayat’s face beside him…

Kaushiki blinked slowly. . . and replaced it with her own.

Just like she always did in her quiet daydreams.

She imagined him glancing at her, pride flickering in his eyes. Maybe his hand would slide down to hold hers. Maybe he would whisper something only she could hear.

The edges of her lips curved up faintly as she lost herself in the picture.

Her baby.

Nirvaan’s baby.

A life created between them.

She allowed herself a tiny smile.

Just for a moment, lost in the fantasy.