"I'm not supposed to get a job and help you out with the money and financial issues because apparently, it might be bad for the baby, or something. But on the other hand, I have to go for my very first ultrasound, on my own, on a freaking bus?"

When we first came here last month, I remember looking up for a female gynaecologist in the area for hours in the yellow pages and directories. Maybe it had something to do with my upbringing, but I am really not comfortable with a strange man looking and protruding inside my vagina for introspection of how healthy my uterus is. So, I have scheduled an appointment with a female doctor for this evening itself.

"I mean, humph, when you put it like that..." he sighs, as he picks up his bag-pack, hangs the left strap on his right shoulder in a disarray and then further on struggles to get the right strap on his left shoulder. "I'll catch up with you in the doctor's clinic itself, then we can come back home together."

Vic has stopped smiling, or in fact, even stopped living his life much, ever since we have eloped here from our hometown. He is constantly out, looking for a job, or in between odd jobs to keep this small, one room apartment going. And with the baby just around the corner, the pressure and the frustration is pent up and wounding up his mind. It usually is not even letting him sneak a well-done good night's sleep. Many a times he just keeps rolling over beside me, in the bed. Lack of sleep and pressure have hence made him whacked out of his senses and exhausted even during most of the day time. After all, how much of a well respectable and highly paying job can a high school dropout get these days? Employers either look for an experienced worker, or someone with a top-notch qualification in the particular field.

"We will probably get to know about the gender of the baby today. Isn't that exciting?" I intentionally squeak my voice and look at his face, expecting to find even a speck of enthusiasm in those tired eyes of his, while I assist him in getting the bag properly on his back.

"It is exciting Mehr. And I hope our baby is healthy and beautiful, just like you are. I'll catch up with you just before your visit this evening, I promise." he turns around to look at me, his eyes seeming softer now.

"What do you want? A boy or a girl?" I ask him after he plants a peck on my chapped lips and is pace walking towards the main door.

He pauses, turns his body about 45 degree and his face 90 degree from his front, and says, "maybe a girl? But whatever, any gender would work for me and would be loved equally."

"Victor! 5 PM!" I shout one last time as he walks out of the door and shuts the door in a hurry. I know he heard it as he made a quick eye contact with a slight nod just before he closed the door shut, in under a second.

The days have gone by real slow ever since we have moved in here. It has been hard on the both of us. I am responsible for all the chores that have to be handled at home, like – buying the groceries, paying the bills with the money he brings in after working his ass off in those menial jobs all day, handling the taxes, cooking, doing the laundry, cleaning and sweeping around our tiny little apartment, that finally felt more like home than my old one ever did, ever since I was born.

I feel free despite of everything, I feel like I am finally home. But Victor has changed so much. He comes back from work, devours even the last crumb in an absolute cricket silence environment, and simply collapses on the bed like a dead body soon after watching a game on TV.

I sometimes ponder over if things would have been different if we had not gotten pregnant this young.

Victor would have been able to finish his graduation and maybe continued with his rock band from school to become a huge Grammy winning rock star, just like he had always aspired to be. He could have been the one for whom an audience of hundreds and thousands would have gathered just to get a slight peek of him, amongst the sweaty and angsty faces all around each one of them. He could have serenaded to the crowd on a stage with his band members, while the crowd harmonised with his voice, all those voices in the crowd filled with love and enthusiasm for their favourite band or artist, performing in front of them on the stage, very much live. I had seen that same enthusiasm in his voice when he talked about Guns n Roses before. Now he doesn't even talk to me much.

He used to flow to the music in his days when they all performed on the streets and in various events around.

Music spoke to him, better than I was ever able to.

I put in the latest mix cassette in the player and kick off with the work routine of the day with scrubbing, while humming along to Losing my Religion by R.E.M.

...That's me in the corner
That's me in the spotlight
Losing my religion
Trying to keep up with you
And I don't know if I can do it
Oh no, I've said too much
I haven't said enough...

After I had swept the floor clean and dusted everything off, did the dishes and the laundry, bought the groceries for about a week from the nearby store, just walking distance from our building, just about in the corner of the street we lived on, I have a feeling that I can catch a short breather for a while.

I look at the loud clock the hanging on the wall, with a tattered and fading old peach coloured wallpaper, it shows 2:30. I have about an hour and a half to get ready for the appointment.

I crash on our small hand me down sofa and turn on our small yet coloured television that we had brought on a garage sale that was held by those two college boys who used to live in this flat that we live in now, just before us. They were moving to another state and sold us the TV for a discounted rate of seventy percent, considering we moving-in into their old apartment, after all and they were just in a hurry to get rid of their stuff.

I tune in to this sitcom, that is really popular these days, and I can assure that it is well worth the hype. I had gotten hooked to it in under a month of us shifting. It was a NBC show, called Seinfeld.

I used to sneak a peek at a few more TV series and films when Abbu was not home. Ammi let me get away with a lot of stuff when he was not around, the kind of stuff he would call "uncultured and poison to minds".

He believed that watching American or Western Television and movies motivated a disruption in the values and religions of the world or something, as Westerners and those characters encouraged "rebellious and uncultured behaviour", in his own words. He believed they had no moral values or beliefs.

Contrary to my father's beliefs, it was fun to watch a set of friends, of both genders, together, having fun in Manhattan, in the New York city, the city of dreams. Jerry and his two closest friends, George and Elaine, discussing politics, their relationships and hanging out together all the time.

I was living an American dream ever since I had met Victor. He made me want to dream and yet, I took his dream away.

It is going to get easier, somehow. Today is not that day maybe. Or in fact, maybe it is. Just like we did not foresee the fateful pregnancy, we do not know what fortune we might stumble upon any day now.

"We don't understand death. And the proof of this is, that we give dead people a pillow." The crowd cheers at the stand-up comedian Jerry Seinfeld, as I suddenly snap out of my trance and hear a loud ringing sound in the background of the laughter coming from the television.

I rush to the ringing telephone and pick up the receiver to catch an acquainted voice on the other end of the line.

"Mehreen?"

"Yes, Mrs. Johnson? How are you?" I say, recognising the voice of the nice aged lady, who lives alone in the apartment just beside ours.

"I am fine, my dear child. Are you not alright, though? Were you not home a while ago?"

"I am perfectly fine and healthy Mrs. Johnson. Oh yeah, I had gone to the supermarket down the street. What happened?" I question, wondering if a package that I came for us.

"A few men knocked on your door for a few times and then when they got no response, they knocked on ours to inquire about you."

She still called everything that she owns as 'ours'. At first, I was confused by who did she mean by "our", then I later realised that the other part of the ours is her dead husband. And no, she is not delusional. She just believes that what was his, is still his and hers even if he might be dead.

Focusing on the question at hand, "About us? Me and Victor?"

"Yes, dear."

"Who were those people? What did they want from us? Did they tell you anything?"

"They kept calling themselves your family, Mehreen. They said that they were here to rescue you or something. I remember you talking about eloping from your houses to come here, so I kept my mouth shut and refused to even recognise you." Mrs. Johnson knows about the whereabout of our situation since a few days now. I knew she could be trusted.

"Thank you so much Mrs. Johnson. Can I ask come over and discuss the details about this particular incident just as soon as I am ready for my first ultrasound appointment with the gynaecologist, that is this evening itself?"

"Yes, yes. You are always welcome here, my child."

I put down the receiver. Thoughts are starting to crowd my mind now.

Who were these people, really?

Was it my father involved in all of this?

How did he find me? Ah small world!

If it was him, will he give up this easily?

Will he finally kill me when he finds me?

Should I even be going out today for the scheduled appointment? Is it even safe for me to go out there?