Chapter 52 Deck of Vardhan
Sometimes destiny doesn't knock - it walks in, sits at the dining table, and asks for forgiveness.
- Author
"Why didn't you tell me about Papa?" she asked, stepping into the washroom. Vritant followed her, his expression unreadable.
"I was practically a stranger to you," he said quietly. "Would you have believed me over your father?"
She turned on the tap, splashing water on her face to steady herself. "Didn't I come with you to New York in the blink of an eye - leaving everyone behind?" she asked, her tone sharp but trembling.
"That was you choosing freedom," he replied, his voice steady. "Not choosing me over your family. I told you about the forged letter - you didn't believe me."
"At least I wouldn't have hated my father," she whispered, wiping her face with the back of her hand.
"I knew you would hate me for this," he said, taking a slow step closer.
"Manipulating someone is one thing," she said, meeting his gaze through the mirror, "but letting her hate her own family is..."
"...cruel?" he finished softly.
She looked away, her reflection blurring behind the film of tears.
He exhaled deeply, his palm pressing against the cold marble of the counter. "And what would you have done, Hritaa? Believed the man you barely knew, or the father who raised you on promises?"
"I would've chosen the truth," she said, her voice trembling but firm.
"Whose truth?" he asked quietly, eyes locking with hers in the mirror. "Mine? Yours? Your father's? Who would've decided what's actual truth?"
The question lingered, heavy with the weight of everything unsaid.
"Villains aren't born," he continued, voice low, almost reflective. "They're made - sometimes by people, sometimes by circumstances. I'm not defending your father, but if I ever had to become a villain to protect my children... I'd do it without hesitation."
Her fingers gripped the edge of the sink. She didn't look at him when she spoke - her reflection did that for her.
"Maybe," she whispered, "but while protecting us from the world, people always blur the line and forget... they're the ones hurting us the most."
"I'm sorry..." he whispered.
"For what?" she asked sharply, stepping closer, her voice trembling but firm.
"For keeping secrets that weren't entirely yours to tell?
For hiding that my father was protecting me - that I had to wear the Vardhan name just to stay under the Shuny team's protection?
For knowing Adwait long before Iva entered the picture?
Or for pretending all this time... and choosing silence, because some truths hurt more than lies ever can? "
He looked down at her, eyes heavy with something between guilt and honesty.
"I promised you-Vardhan or not, Adani or not-you'll always be protected," he whispered.
"He was adamant, wasn't he?" she asked quietly, and he nodded.
"I assured him, again and again," he said.
"But he never trusted anyone fully when it came to you.
You were his hidden heiress, kept away from threats, from the dirt of our world.
But he's still your father, Hritaa. He knew marriage isn't just sindoor and mangalsutra-it's everything that comes with it.
You think he'd give his daughter to just anyone?
He spied on me for years. His methods were wrong, I admit that. But his intent? Always you."
She took a shaky step forward and wrapped her arms around him, resting her head against his chest. "I would've done whatever he asked me to," she whispered, "if only he'd told me the truth."
"Maybe he couldn't," he murmured, his chin resting on her head. "Distance doesn't just measure miles, Hritaa. It measures fear."
"But I-" she started, and he gently cut in, lifting her chin with a finger.
"Would you have married me willingly? Left your world in the U.S. behind?" he asked.
She hesitated... then shook her head.
"That's what he knew too," Vritant said softly. "Sometimes love forces silence-especially when it comes dressed as protection."
??? V ? A ???
"Adhrita beta, you don't need to go to the hospital," Shaurya said at the breakfast table, concern lacing his tone.
"I know, Papa," she replied gently, "but I can't just leave my work. I promise I'll take care of myself."
She took a sip of milk and instantly made a face, earning a chuckle from him.
"Vritant is going to pick and drop you?" he asked, and she nodded obediently.
"Adhrita, before you go to the hospital, come to my room," Dadi said from the head of the table.
"Ji, Dadi," she smiled.
After breakfast, she went to Dadi's room. The old woman was waiting with a small knife in her hand.
"Keep this for nazar," Dadi said, her voice firm but affectionate. "And don't tire yourself, samjhi?"
Adhrita nodded and hugged her tightly.
As she stepped out, Aasha Tai was waiting in the corridor.
"Madam has asked for you," she said, and Adhrita walked toward Vedashree's room.
Vedashree was pacing slowly, deep in thought, but stopped when she saw her daughter-in-law at the door. She opened a drawer and took out a small black thread.
"Hath pe bandh lena," she said, offering it to her.
Adhrita glanced at Aasha Tai for a moment, unsure.
"It's for your and the babies' safety," Vedashree clarified, and before Adhrita could respond, she gently tied it around her wrist herself.
Adhrita smiled faintly - but the color suddenly drained from her face. A wave of nausea hit her out of nowhere.
"Adhrita?" Vedashree's voice softened in worry as she rushed toward the washroom, covering her mouth.
Within seconds, the sound of retching echoed from inside. Vedashree followed her, holding her hair back and rubbing her back softly.
"What did you eat?" she asked, her tone equal parts anxious and maternal.
"Paratha... with aachar," Adhrita managed to say, rinsing her mouth and splashing cold water on her face.
Vedashree helped her back to bed, and Aasha Tai quickly brought a glass of water. Adhrita took a small sip and leaned her head against Vedashree's shoulder, exhausted.
"Twins pregnancy is tough," Vedashree murmured, brushing a few strands of hair from her face.
"How did you manage?" Adhrita asked softly.
"With Shaurya's help," Vedashree said, a wistful smile tugging at her lips. "Vedant and Vritant both gave me tough time."
Adhrita chuckled faintly. "How will I manage? I'm scared."
"Main hoon na... nothing will happen to you," Vedashree said, instinctively tightening her arm around her.
"Pakka na, Mumma?" Adhrita whispered before realizing what she'd just said.
"Pakka, meri jaa-" The word slipped out of Vedashree's mouth before she could stop herself.
And just like that, the room went still.
For a heartbeat, neither of them moved - two generations, two women, one accidental truth hanging between them.
??? V ? A ???
"I still don't understand why you have to go to the hospital today," Vritant said, one hand on the wheel, his tone edged with concern. "At least take a day off, Hritaa. Rest for once."
"Actually, I need a file to study," she said, her gaze fixed on the passing road.
He frowned slightly. "You could've told me. I would've brought it for you."
"No..." she interrupted too quickly, and he immediately turned his head to look at her, suspicion flickering in his eyes.
"What are you hiding?" he asked, narrowing his gaze.
"Nothing," she said softly, forcing a small smile. "Just hormones."
He exhaled, half-convinced, half-amused. "Right. Hormones."
When they reached the hospital, he parked outside her building. "Three hours," she reminded him as she unbuckled her seatbelt.
"I'll be right here," he said, still watching her closely as she stepped out of the car.
Adhrita walked through the hospital corridors quietly, greeting a few familiar faces before entering her cabin. The familiar scent of disinfectant and paper greeted her. She closed the door behind her, exhaled, and walked to the small temple in the corner.
She bowed before Goddess Amba, her lips moving in a silent prayer. Then, reaching behind the idol, she carefully pulled out The Bhagavad Gita.
Her fingers brushed against the hidden compartment she had crafted long ago - and inside, neatly folded between the pages, was The Lotus File.
Her heart quickened. She slipped the Gita carefully into her bag, hiding the file within.
On the other side of the city, beneath the surface of Delhi's quiet night, the Hall of Fame buzzed faintly with the sound of generators and restrained fear.
Vritant walked through the corridor - every echo of his steps making the guards stiffen. He entered the isolated chamber where Dr. Aman sat tied to a chair, his wrists red from the rope burns.
Vritant pulled a small folding blade from his pocket and sat opposite him, silent for a long moment. Then, with clinical precision, he began carving a miniature horse out of a block of wood.
"For today's art piece," he murmured, his tone almost casual.
Aman watched, trembling. The scraping sound of the blade against wood was the only thing filling the room - sharp, rhythmic, deliberate.
After a few minutes, Vritant smiled faintly and looked up.
"Next thing I'll be carving..." he said softly, lifting the blade, "is you."
Aman flinched, his breath quick and uneven. The stories about this place weren't rumors - they were gospel. The Hall of Fame, where screams went in and silence came out.
"Please... please let me go," Aman begged. "I didn't do anything."
Vritant's gaze darkened. He placed the blade gently on the table and stood.
"You had three hours, Doctor," he said coldly. "Now time's up."
"Rawat!" His voice echoed like a commandment.
Rawat entered instantly, holding a gun in one hand and a small packet of white powder in the other.
"Throw him the gun," Vritant ordered. Rawat tossed the gun on the floor near Aman's feet, then held the packet up.
"If I give you this drug," Vritant said, walking closer, "your mind will tear itself apart. You'll hallucinate until you can't tell your reflection from your fear. And by morning, you'll shoot yourself."
He smiled, calm and effortless. "But since you're my guest, I'll let you choose."
"Please!" Aman stammered, his voice breaking. "I'll tell you! I got a letter - there was money with it. It said everything would be done offline. I was told to leave Goa and join Vardhan LifeCare before your fiancée did. My job was to... to share her schedule."
Vritant said nothing, his silence more dangerous than any word.
"I received money every month," Aman continued, desperate now. "That's all I did, I swear! I didn't know anything about the riots or attacks. Everything was offline - I never met anyone."
Vritant leaned forward, resting both hands on the table. His tone dropped into a smooth, venomous whisper.
"Scratch your brain a little harder, Doctor. Sometimes guilt hides in the folds of memory."
Aman's lips trembled. "That's all I had to do. I swear on my life."
Vritant straightened, pocketed the blade, and said with a faint, sardonic smile -
"Don't worry, Doctor. Your life isn't worth swearing on."
Then he turned to Rawat. "Keep him alive. Fear is more useful than confession."
He left the Hall of Fame, the echo of his own footsteps chasing him into the car. The city lights blurred past as he drove through the near-empty highway, his thoughts sharper than the night air.
After the roka, only Papa and I knew about Hritaa joining Vardhan LifeCare... he thought, his fingers drumming against the steering wheel. Then how the hell did Aman know?
A humorless laugh escaped his lips - cold, cutting.
"There's always a family," he murmured bitterly. "No conspiracy is complete without one."
??? V ? A ???
Adhrita lay sprawled across the bed, her head resting on his lap, while Vritant absentmindedly ran his fingers through her hair. The room was quiet except for the soft hum of the night lamp.
"But why do you want to go to Mriga Trishna now?" he asked, his voice low and calm.
"Because it's my home," she murmured, eyes half-closed.
He chuckled softly. "Jaan, there's no light there. Give me a day, okay? I'll fix it and then we'll go."
"But you always lit candles for me," she said stubbornly.
"Yes, jaan," he said, brushing a strand of hair away from her face, "but those were scented candles. And right now, your royal highness is sensitive to smell, remember?"
She pouted, realizing he made sense, then reached for his hand, tracing the lines across his palm, her thumb brushing over the rough patches of skin.
"What do you even do in that office all day?" she asked teasingly.
"I go there to do carpenter work," he deadpanned.
She laughed softly, her voice like a hum against the silence. "Your hands are getting rougher day by day."
He smiled faintly, hiding what he knew - why his hands were like that.
"I'll use your moisturizer," he said dryly. "Lavender-scented, right? Just what I need to ruin my masculinity."
She giggled and shifted, snuggling closer. "I'm not sleepy," she whispered.
He arched a brow. "What now? You want to play games?"
"Yes," she said, sitting up with a mischievous grin. "Let's play cards."
He sighed, a mix of resignation and fondness crossing his face. "Try to sleep, Hritaa. You need rest."
"I want to sleep," she said, touching her belly gently, "but I think these two don't."
He stared at her for a moment, then shook his head with a quiet smile. "Unbelievable," he muttered under his breath.
Still, he got up, went to the drawer, and pulled out his old, worn deck of cards - the one that had seen too many games, too many nights, too many stories.
He tossed the deck lightly onto the bed. "Fine," he said, settling beside her again.
She picked up the deck and began shuffling it lazily, the soft flutter of cards filling the silence. It was the same old set - his set. As her fingers moved through the stack, she paused.
Two cards were missing.
The Seven of Diamonds and Seven of Hearts.
Her eyes softened. Then she noticed something else - the Ace of Hearts had her name, Adhrita, written in small, neat handwriting. A slow smile crept up her lips.
She glanced at him. "Two sevens missing?" she asked, brow raised as she dealt the first hand.
He looked at her quietly, his voice dropping to a whisper.
"To honor two missing people," he said.
The words hung heavy in the room, a ghost of grief brushing past both of them. And just as quickly, he flicked a card onto the bed and broke the weight in his tone.
"Anyway," he said, smirking, "I won."
She frowned, her lips curving into a small pout. "You're a professional gambler, of course you'd win. Cards are yours, rules are yours - what's mine, then?"
He leaned forward, his gaze steady but amused. "Can Vritant play without his Ace?"
He held up the Ace of Hearts - her name gleaming under the soft lamplight - and slid it toward her.
She smiled, tracing her name with her thumb. "Then where's my Ant?" she asked, rifling through the deck again, searching.
"Look carefully," he murmured. "You'll find me somewhere between the cards."
She scanned each one, but he'd hidden it well - or maybe it wasn't there at all. Finally, she sighed, defeated.
She set the deck aside, then moved closer and rested her head on his shoulder.
"Tell me a story..." she whispered, her voice soft as the sea breeze outside.
He smiled faintly, his hand coming to rest over her stomach - protective, grounding, full of quiet love.
"There was a gambler..." he began, his tone mock-serious.
"Antttt..." she groaned, half a scold, half a laugh.
He chuckled, brushing his thumb gently across her belly.
"...who lost everything," he continued, his voice now softer, "and somehow ended up winning two lives instead."
Adhrita's breathing had softened, her hand still resting protectively over her stomach. The lamplight painted faint gold lines across her face. Vritant watched her in silence - the only kind he knew how to offer.
He leaned forward, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek, and pressed a slow kiss to her forehead.
"Sleep, Hritaant," he whispered - the word half-name, half-confession. "You ended my story just to begin another."
Vritant thought she had fallen asleep. His voice dropped to that low, thoughtful murmur he used only when the world wasn't listening.
He began telling a story - half for her, half for the two little lives that had already started shaping theirs. His words floated between fiction and memory, threaded with the kind of emotion he never let anyone see in daylight.
"There was once a kingdom built on a deck of thirteen cards...
At the top sat the King and Queen - powerful, proud, both protecting their empire differently. One ruled with silence, the other with words. And between them were two princes - the Sevens - twins born of the same heart.
But fate... doesn't like symmetry.
The twins were stolen by shadows one night - dragged away by men who spoke in guns and faith. Only one returned. The other became a ghost - the missing seven.
The Joker, a man who laughed even when he bled, helped the surviving prince escape.
He said, 'One day, you'll build your own deck. Just make sure you know who shuffles it.'
So the prince grew. The Jack, wild and loyal, taught him to race with death.
The Shield, learned to block bullets before they came.
The Watcher, wrote every move before it happened.
The Whisper, told him the secrets people died keeping.
The Diplomat helped him play games without blood - though the prince always preferred scars.
The Healer tried to fix what was left of his mind, and the Mirror - made sure the world only saw what he wanted it to see.
Then came the Ace.
The one card he never planned to hold, the only one that could beat his silence.
Together, they rebuilt what was broken - the missing twin, the divided kingdom, the shattered prince.
Now, every night, when he touches the deck, he knows- the King and Queen still stand apart, and the Seven still waits in heaven's lost hand.
But the Ace... the Ace sleeps beside him, reminding him that not every game ends in loss."
After a while, his voice faded, and silence took over. He closed his eyes beside her, the soft rhythm of his breathing melting into the night air.
Adhrita stirred slightly, her eyes fluttering open. She turned her head, studying his face - peaceful, unguarded, utterly hers. Her hand slipped instinctively over her belly, a smile tugging at her lips.
"Thanks, my midnights," she whispered softly, "for not letting mumma sleep."
??? V ? A ???
Next morning, Adhrita woke to find that Vedashree had already left for the office. The house felt calm, the kind of quiet that carried echoes of old stories.
She walked toward her mother-in-law's room and gently pushed the door open, sneaking inside. The scent of sandalwood and old files lingered faintly in the air. She looked around-no one was there.
Her gaze fell on the wall lined with family photographs. Frames of different sizes, some fading, some new-but each telling the same story of legacy. Her eyes stopped on one set of pictures: the twins. From infancy to around twelve years old, their smiles unchanged, their bond unbroken.
Then a memory struck her months ago, when Vedashree had asked her to fetch the house keys, she had glimpsed this very photo. She walked closer now, her eyes narrowing at the details she hadn't noticed before.
The twins were holding playing cards - sevens of hearts, clubs, diamonds, and spades - all turned upside down.
Each card had been scribbled with something faintly visible even through the years: 7ritant, 7ardhan, 7edant, 7ardhan.
Her breath hitched.
"The missing sevens... were Vedant Vardhan," she whispered, almost to herself.
She turned to leave, clutching the thought close, but stopped short-Aasha tai stood by the door, holding a tray.
"Woh, mummy..." Adhrita began quickly, caught off guard.
"Tai left for the office," Aasha tai said gently, her eyes warm. "What happened, beta?"
"I... couldn't sleep last night," Adhrita said softly. "I wanted to ask..."
Before she could finish, Aasha tai smiled knowingly.
"I'll prepare your milk from today. When tai was pregnant, I took care of her too."
Adhrita's eyes softened, her voice a whisper of gratitude.
"Thank you, tai."
??? V ? A ???
Adhrita sighed as she walked back to her room, her heart still racing.
She had lied to Aasha tai-something she never did-and the guilt felt heavier than it should.
"How does Vritant do this so easily?" she muttered under her breath. "I really need to learn from him."
"Learn what exactly?"
The voice brushed past her ear like a low breeze, and she startled, spinning around.
There he was-Vritant-standing by the doorway in nothing but a pastel pink towel, droplets of water sliding down his neck, hair damp and reckless.
Her heart skipped a beat. "Ant, please..."
He tilted his head with a grin. "What Ant please?" he teased, closing the space between them.
Before she could respond, he leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to her cheek, leaving a faint trail of water.
"How are you?" he asked, his tone warm but playful.
"How can I be," she sighed dramatically, "when I have to handle three Vardhans at once?"
He smirked. "Aah, Mrs. Vardhan is learning." He pecked her lips, soft and smug.
She rolled her eyes and pinched his cheek. "You need to sharpen your sarcasm-it's getting dull day by day."
He laughed as she picked up the Bhagwat Gita from the dresser.
"Where to, Ace?" he asked, watching her closely.
"Somewhere you can't enter," she said, flashing him a mischievous smile before walking away.
Downstairs, she entered the house temple, the faint fragrance of camphor and jasmine greeting her like an old friend. She folded her hands and whispered, "Sorry, Bhagwan ji, this is the only place he won't follow me into."
Then she sat down cross-legged and gently opened the Bhagwat Gita. Hidden between its pages were the sheets of the Lotus File. Her fingers brushed over the paper, and she pulled out her pen.
One by one, she began writing the sequence:
Each card carried a story.
A life.
A secret.
"Who's Joker?" she whispered to herself. "Who whispers, and who shields?"
Then it clicked.
Shield was Rawat.
A - Ace - that was her.
K - King - Shaurya. (papa)
Q - Queen - Vedashree. (mumma)
She paused, thinking hard. "J..." she murmured.
And then she remembered the day she went with him to the racetrack. He had called someone Jack.
"J means Jack," she wrote down carefully. Then added Neil beside it. The ones who were always around him. And then - one more name whispered in memory.
The invisible thread in his web.
The one who fed him the truth.
Her mind was racing when she heard footsteps - slow, careful, and familiar. Dadi.
Adhrita quickly slipped the pages back between the sacred text and placed the Bhagwat Gita near the goddess. By the time Dadi entered, she was sitting calmly, hands folded in silent prayer - the picture of serenity hiding a storm.
??? V ? A ???
Vritant leaned back in his chair, the faint hum of the city beyond the glass walls fading beneath the pulse of his next move. He dialed a number, calm and deliberate, like a man adjusting chess pieces.
"Hello, CM saab," he greeted, his tone smooth-almost polite.
"Vardhan saab..." came the slightly wary voice of Abhijeet Bapat, the Chief Minister of Maharashtra.
Vritant's lips curved. "Aapki seva ka time ho gaya."
There was a pause on the other end, the weight of those words not fully sinking in until he added,
"You'll declare my name for the upcoming election."
For a full second, silence reigned. Then-
"What?" Abhijeet managed, disbelief laced through his voice. "Vardhan saab, you're a businessman, not-"
"Say it," Vritant interrupted, voice dangerously calm. "I'll be the candidate for the next CM seat."
And before Abhijeet could stammer another excuse, Vritant disconnected the call.
He picked up his next number without pause. Aaradhya.
"Bhaiya!" she greeted, cheerful and unsuspecting.
"Neil will send you the slogan and photo. Start the broadcast before the other networks get a whiff of it," he said flatly.
"Broadcast wha-?"
"I'll be contesting for the next Chief Minister's seat," he said-and cut the line before she could process it.
The silence that followed was broken only by the soft click of his lighter and the low flame dancing before him.
"Rajneeti nahi, RashtraNeeti," he murmured, the reflection of fire glinting in his eyes.
Then, with that half-smile that made even his calm sound dangerous.
Vritant leaned back in his chair, the room still lit by the bluish hue of the monitor. He stared at the slogan he had just drafted - "Maa ka sapna, beta ka sankalp."
The line lingered in the air, carrying that perfect blend of devotion and irony that only he could pull off.
He read it out loud once, his voice dry but amused. Then, a slow smirk curved his lips as he added under his breath,
"Humara neta kaisa ho... PM ke bete jaisa ho."
He couldn't help it-he laughed. A low, unrestrained laugh that filled the silence of his study, dripping with sarcasm, pride, and that signature Vardhan arrogance.
Neil entered just then, holding a stack of files, looking mildly alarmed.
Vritant looked up at him, still chuckling.
"Relax, Neil. Even democracy needs a sense of humor."
He stood up, stretched, and poured himself a glass of water- still laughing softly to himself like a man who just made the system his personal punchline.
??? V ? A ???
Vritant came home late that night, loosening his tie as he stepped into the dimly lit room. He paused at the sight in front of him - Adhrita sitting cross-legged in the balcony, playing with Karma.
"Had dinner?" he asked, tossing his tie and bag onto the sofa.
She turned, her smile faltering the moment she saw him. He bent down, pressed a kiss to her forehead - and that was all it took. She suddenly wrapped her arms around him and broke down, silent sobs shaking her shoulders.
"Hritaa..." he whispered, pulling her closer. "Is it hurting?"
She shook her head, still clutching him.
"Had dinner?" he asked again, softer this time. She nodded against his shirt.
"Then what happened, meri jaan?"
And just like that, her small sob escaped. "I'm hungry again," she mumbled, voice trembling, still buried in his neck.
He blinked, then chuckled quietly and scooped her up in his arms. She hid her face against his chest as he carried her downstairs, like she always did when she didn't want him to see her cry.
He set her gently on a chair at the dining table. "I'll bring you something," he said, already turning toward the kitchen.
"I don't want that food..." she murmured, her tone small and shaky.
He turned back immediately, studying her face - she looked embarrassed, vulnerable, almost like a child caught being emotional. Without a word, he picked her up again and placed her on the kitchen slab, brushing her tears away with his thumb.
"Tell me what you want to eat," he asked, cupping her face.
"Sev tamatar," she whispered.
"What?" He blinked, unsure if he heard right.
Her lip quivered. "I know it's stupid, but... I just... I miss mumma." Tears spilled again, slow and heavy.
"Hrituu," he said softly, stroking her hair, "it's not stupid." He smiled faintly, brushing her cheek. "You're craving sev tamatar ki sabzi - so that's what we'll make. Easy."
He rolled up his sleeves, grabbed a few tomatoes, and started chopping while she sniffled, watching him in silence.
Just then, Aasha tai walked in and froze. "Arre, what happened?"
"Tai, bhukh lagi thi," Adhrita said, her voice small, almost shy.
Aasha tai smiled knowingly. "Sit, baba. I'll make the rotis."
Vritant nodded, helped Adhrita down from the counter, and led her to the dining table. Within minutes, the warm smell of ghee and tomatoes filled the kitchen.
When the food was ready, he served her and started feeding her himself, patiently, one bite at a time.
"I'm sorry," she whispered between bites.
"For what?" he asked, amused.
"I know I'm behaving irrationally," she murmured, chewing quietly.
He smiled faintly and said, "I'll be careful next time."
She frowned, confused, but he didn't explain - just wiped the corner of her lip and gave her the next bite.
After dinner, he took her hand and led her out to the garden. The air was cool and smelled faintly of wet earth.
"I want to sleep," she said, sitting lazily on the bench.
"Walk for fifteen minutes," he insisted, tugging her up gently.
She sighed dramatically but slipped her hand into his. "Fine. But you're walking with me."
He chuckled and wrapped his arm around her shoulders as they walked under the moonlight - slow, unhurried steps, her head resting on his shoulder, the world shrinking to the sound of their quiet laughter and the rustle of leaves around them.
He carried her back to their room and gently laid her on the bed. She was half-asleep already, her breathing still uneven from the tears and late-night hunger. He sat beside her until her breath settled into a calm rhythm, then quietly reached for his phone.
The glow of the screen lit his face as he typed, "how to help pregnant wife sleep peacefully" - scrolling through endless articles about trimester care, food cravings, and emotional swings.
His eyes drifted from the screen to her - her face soft, peaceful now, framed by strands of loose hair.
When she stirred faintly in her sleep, he immediately put the phone aside and patted her head gently, whispering, "Shh... sleep, jaan."
He adjusted her blanket so it covered her properly, then placed his palm lightly over her stomach. His fingers trembled a little, like he was touching something fragile and sacred all at once.
"Don't trouble your mumma," he murmured softly, his voice carrying the faintest smile. He began to pat her tummy in slow, rhythmic motions - as if lulling not just her, but the tiny lives inside her, back to sleep.
The room was silent except for the hum of the night air, her steady breathing, and his whispered promise that only the unborn could hear.
Maybe this is how the universe teaches a control freak - one emotional bite at a time.
────────── ?? ? ?? ──────────