78. NAMES
2 MONTHS LATER.............
The room felt slower than usual not quiet, just softer. The curtains were half drawn, letting in a lazy afternoon light that settled gently across the bed, across my hands, across the small rise of my stomach. Eight months.
I placed my palm over it absentmindedly at first, then a little firmer.
A slight movement. I froze. "...again?" I whispered, almost smiling.
Another faint push from inside. I leaned back against the pillows, adjusting carefully, one hand still resting there like I might lose the connection if I moved it away.
"You two don't get tired, do you..." A small breath left me not quite a laugh, not quite anything, just... full. On the side table, a plain brown notebook lay with slightly bent corners. I had picked it up days ago, never opened it until now.
I reached for it slowly, pulling it into my lap, my fingers hovering over the cover for a second before opening it to blank pages waiting.
I picked up the pen. For a moment, nothing came.
Then quietly, I started writing. "To the two people who haven't even seen the world yet.
.. but already changed mine." My hand paused.
I swallowed. "...that sounds too much," I muttered, staring at the line, but I didn't erase it because it was true.
I shifted slightly, adjusting the pillow behind me as my back protested.
"You're already troubling me this much..
." I murmured, glancing down. A soft kick answered me.
I smiled faintly. "Fine... I'll write properly. "
The pen moved again. "I don't know if you'll ever read this.
Or if I'll ever show you this. But right now.
.. I just want to talk to you." My fingers tightened slightly around the pen as the words came easier.
"You're both inside me... and yet sometimes I feel like I'm the one inside something bigger.
Something I don't fully understand yet." I stopped, my throat tightening a little, leaning my head back against the headboard.
Outside, faint voices drifted in someone passing by, utensils clinking in the kitchen life going on while I sat here writing to two lives that hadn't even begun yet. "I didn't know I could feel like this. Not this protective. Not this scared." A breath hitched.
"...scared," I whispered again, because I was.
"I don't know how to be a mother. I don't even know if I'm doing things right.
Sometimes I don't eat properly. Sometimes I cry for no reason.
Sometimes I get angry... at your father for things that don't even make sense.
" A small, helpless smile slipped through. "...that's true," I murmured.
"But your father..." My hand stilled, my chest tightening as I stared at the line.
"...what do I even write," I whispered. The soft sound of the door opening came from behind me.
I didn't turn. I knew who it was. His presence had become familiar in a way I couldn't explain not loud, not forceful, just there.
"Still writing?" his voice came, calm, slightly curious. I tilted the notebook away instinctively. "Hmm." Footsteps approached, the bed dipping slightly as he sat beside me. "What are you hiding?" he asked. "Nothing."
"That's never true when you say it like that." I kept my eyes on the page. "Go do your work." "I was working." "Then go back." "I am working. This is more important." I finally glanced at him. "You just want to disturb me." "I already disturbed you," he said simply.
I narrowed my eyes. He leaned forward to peek, and I shut the notebook immediately.
"Veeransh ji." "What?" "Don't." He leaned back, raising his hands slightly in surrender, a faint smile at his lips.
"Fine." Silence settled for a moment. Then, softer, "What are you writing?
" I hesitated. "...nothing important." "Then show me. "
"No." "Then it's important." I sighed. "You're very annoying.
" "You married me." I gave him a look. ".
..not willingly." "That changed." My fingers tightened slightly on the notebook, but I didn't reply.
He didn't push. Instead, his hand moved slowly, resting over my stomach. Instinctively, my breath slowed.
"...they've been active?" he asked quietly.
I nodded. "Hmm." A small movement came under his palm.
He stilled. "...I felt that," he said, almost surprised.
I glanced at him. "...they're probably reacting to your voice.
" "Good. They should." I rolled my eyes slightly.
"Already taking your side." "They're smart.
" I almost smiled. He shifted a little closer.
"Did you think of names?" I blinked. "..
.what?" "For them." I stared at him. "You're asking now?
" "Eight months. It's a valid time." "I thought you already decided everything.
" "I did." I narrowed my eyes. "...you what?
" "I said I did." My jaw dropped slightly.
"You didn't even ask me?" "I'm asking now.
" "That's not asking, that's informing."
"Same difference." "It's not the same difference!
" He looked at me calmly. "Fine. Tell me yours.
" I huffed, adjusting my position. "Simple names.
" "Define simple." "Names people can actually say without sounding like they're giving a speech.
" He ignored that. "Names." I thought for a moment.
"...Aarav." He raised an eyebrow. "Common. " "So?"
"And?" "...Aarohi." He looked at me. "That's your name.
" "I know." "You want both babies to be you?
" "I like my name." "That's concerning." I hit his arm lightly.
"Say your names then." He leaned back, crossing his arms. "Advay.
" I paused. "...okay." "And... Vanya." I blinked.
"That's... not what I expected." "What did you expect? "
"Something like 'Rajveer Singh Rathore the Third.
'" He gave me a look. "That's very specific.
" "You sound like that." "I don't." "You do.
" He exhaled quietly, almost amused. "So?
" I thought again. "...what if one boy and one girl?
" "Then one of each." "That's not how names work.
" "You pick one, I pick one." "That's unfair. " "That's efficient." I shook my head.
"You're impossible." "You're indecisive.
" "I'm thinking!" "You've had eight months.
" "I've been busy growing two humans!" He paused, then quietly said, ".
..fair." Silence returned, softer this time.
His hand remained on my stomach. My notebook rested in my lap, unfinished, words still waiting.
He glanced at it again. "Still not showing me?
" I hesitated, then slowly opened it just enough.
His eyes moved over the first few lines.
I watched his expression change subtly the teasing gone, something quieter taking its place.
He didn't speak, didn't interrupt, just read.
My fingers tightened slightly. "...don't read all of it," I muttered.
He closed it gently. "I won't." He placed it back in my lap, then leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss against my forehead. I froze.
"...what was that for?" "Nothing." "That wasn't nothing.
" "It was." "You're lying." "Maybe." I looked at him, something in my chest feeling full again different this time, quieter, safer.
I shifted slightly, resting back. "...I wasn't done writing.
" "Then write." "You'll disturb me again.
" "I'll sit quietly." "You don't know how to sit quietly. "
"I'll learn." I gave him a doubtful look, but he leaned back beside me and, for once, didn't speak.
I looked down at the page again. "But your father.
.." This time, I didn't hesitate. "He doesn't say things properly.
He gets angry too fast. He thinks he's always right.
" I paused. "But he stays. Even when I push him away.
Even when I don't understand him." I glanced sideways. He was still there. Quiet. "And I think... you'll be safe with him." My throat tightened slightly. "So come slowly. Take your time. We're still learning how to be ready for you." I closed the notebook gently.
My hand moved back to my stomach, and his hand followed, covering mine. No words. Just warmth. And somewhere in that silence, I realized we weren't perfect, but we weren't breaking anymore either.