Aditya.

I woke up to the sound of Zoya’s scream, piercing through the quiet of the night. My heart stopped for a split second before adrenaline took over.

“Adi! Aditya!” she cried out, her voice filled with agony and panic.

I shot out of bed, disoriented, but the sight before me jolted me fully awake. Zoya was clutching her stomach, her face twisted in pain, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her other hand was gripping the edge of the bed so tightly her knuckles turned white.

“Zoya! What’s wrong? What happened?” I asked, my voice trembling as I rushed to her side.

"Something’s not right,” she gasped, barely able to get the words out. “It hurts..."

By the time we reached the car, Zoya had already lost consciousness. Her head lolled weakly against my chest as I carried her, my entire body trembling. The sight of her pale face, the way her hand dangled lifelessly—it was enough to terrify me beyond words.

“Zoya, stay with me. Please,” I begged, my voice cracking as I placed her gently into the passenger seat, fastening the seatbelt as quickly as my shaking hands allowed.

As I sped toward the hospital, the worst-case scenarios flooded my mind. My eyes flicked between the road and her limp form beside me.

Blood was seeping through her nightgown now, staining the seat. My heart clenched painfully at the sight.

“Zoya,” I whispered, barely able to hold it together. “Just a little longer, okay? We’re almost there. I promise.”

But she didn’t respond. Her breathing was shallow, her face drained of all color. I reached over to touch her hand—it was cold, far too cold.

By the time we reached the hospital, I slammed on the brakes, not caring how haphazardly I’d parked. Jumping out of the car, I ran to her side, throwing the door open and lifting her into my arms.

"Help! Someone, please help!” I shouted as I rushed through the emergency entrance.

Nurses and doctors sprang into action, rushing toward us with a stretcher. “What happened?” one of them asked as they wheeled her away.

“She’s pregnant—she’s ....bleeding,” I stammered, trying to keep up with them as they moved.

“Sir, we’ll take it from here. Please wait outside,” one of the nurses said firmly, blocking me from entering the treatment room.

“No, I can’t—” I started to argue, but the doors slammed shut before I could finish.

I stood there, frozen, my hands stained with Zoya’s blood, my mind reeling. It felt like the world was collapsing around me, like everything was slipping out of my control.

Minutes turned into what felt like hours as I paced the waiting area, my heart pounding, my hands clenching and unclenching at my sides. Every time someone walked past me in a white coat, my stomach twisted in anticipation, hoping they would have answers.

Finally, a doctor approached me. Her face was grave, and I braced myself for the worst.

“Mr. Hooda?”

“Yes,” I said, my voice barely audible.

“I’m so sorry,” she began, and those three words struck me like a hammer, sending shockwaves through my body. My knees buckled, and I gripped the edge of the cold, sterile counter to steady myself. “Your wife has suffered a miscarriage. The bleeding was severe, but we’ve managed to stabilize her. She’s unconscious now, but she’s out of immediate danger.”

I swallowed hard, the words hitting me like a punch to the gut. Miscarriage. The weight of it settled over me like a suffocating blanket.

“My...baby?” I asked, my voice breaking.
I could feel the heat of tears pooling in my eyes, blurring my vision as I searched the doctor’s face for a glimmer of hope.

The doctor’s eyes softened, filled with compassion. “I’m sorry. We did everything we could, but it wasn’t enough.”

My chest heaved as I struggled to breathe, the reality of it crashing down on me. The baby was gone. Zoya had been so excited, so full of dreams for our little family. And now…

“Can I see her?” I managed to ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

“She’s resting now,” the doctor said gently. “You can see her, but she’ll need a lot of care and support when she wakes up. This is a difficult loss for both of you.”

I nodded, my legs feeling like they might give out beneath me as I followed her to Zoya’s room.

When I stepped inside, my heart shattered all over again. Zoya lay on the hospital bed, pale and lifeless, tubes and monitors surrounding her. She looked so small, so fragile.

I walked over to her, sinking into the chair beside the bed. Taking her hand in mine, I rubbed it gently, trying to warm the coldness that had settled there.

“I’m so sorry, Zoya,” I whispered, tears streaming down my face. “I should’ve done more.... I’m so, so sorry.”

I leaned forward, pressing my lips to her hand, my tears falling freely. My tears had long since dried, but the weight in my chest hadn’t lifted. It pressed against me like a boulder, heavy and immovable.

The baby was gone.

The words echoed in my mind, each repetition sharper than the last.
How was I supposed to say it out loud? How could I look into her eyes and tell her that the little life we’d created was no longer with us?

A soft rustle pulled me from my thoughts, and my heart jumped into my throat. Her fingers twitched against mine, and her breathing shifted, becoming uneven. Slowly, her lashes fluttered, and then her eyes opened.

For a moment, she just blinked, her gaze unfocused as she tried to make sense of her surroundings. When her eyes landed on me, they softened, a faint, confused smile tugging at her lips.

“Adi…” Her voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.

“I’m here,” I said quickly, squeezing her hand. “I’m right here, Zoya.”

Her brow furrowed as she looked around the room. “What… happened? Why am I… in the hospital?”

The question hit me like a punch to the gut. I swallowed hard, my grip tightening on her hand as I tried to find the words. “Zoya, you… you weren’t feeling well last night. I brought you here to make sure you were okay.”

She frowned, her hand instinctively moving to her stomach. Her eyes widened, and panic flashed across her face. “The baby…”

I froze, my breath catching in my throat.

“Adi,” she said again, her voice rising, the fear in it slicing through me. “What about the baby? Is… is everything okay?..."

My throat closed up, and I felt like I was drowning. How was I supposed to do this? How could I break her heart?

“Zoya,” I began, my voice shaking. “Listen to me—”

“Adi, no,” she interrupted, her grip on my hand tightening. Her eyes were wild now, tears pooling in them as she shook her head. “No, don’t… don’t say it. Please, don’t say it.”

I stood, cupping her face with both hands, forcing her to look at me even as her tears spilled over. “Zoya, I’m so sorry,” I choked out, my voice breaking. “We… we lost the baby.”

Her face crumpled, and a broken sob tore from her lips. “No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “No, no, no… Adi, no!”

She tried to pull away from me, but I held her tightly, my own tears streaming down my face. “I’m sorry,” I repeated, my voice trembling. “I’m so sorry, Zoya. I tried, I—”

She pushed at my chest weakly, her sobs growing louder.

“It’s not fair,” she cried. “It’s not fair, Aditya! I did everything right. I was so careful. Why… why did this happen?”

Her words shattered me. Each tear that streaked down her face felt like it was carving into my soul. Seeing her in this much pain, knowing there was nothing I could do to take it away—it was the most helpless I had ever felt.

But she wasn’t hearing me. Her sobs grew louder, her body trembling violently in my arms as she pushed at my chest, weak but desperate.

“Zoya,” I murmured, tightening my hold on her trembling frame. “Zoya, please… I’m here, okay?"

Before I could finish, she stiffened in my arms, her sobs suddenly cutting off. Her body went limp, and I felt her weight sag against me.

“Zoya?” My voice rose in panic as I pulled back to look at her. Her head lolled to the side, her eyes fluttering closed.

“Zoya!” I called again, shaking her gently. “Hey, no, no, no… Zoya, wake up!”

She didn’t respond. My heart pounded in my chest, fear gripping me like a vice. I laid her down gently on the bed and scrambled to press the call button for the nurse.

“Help! Someone, please!” I shouted, my voice echoing in the sterile room.

Within seconds, the door burst open, and a nurse hurried in, followed closely by the doctor.

“What happened?” the doctor asked, quickly moving to Zoya’s side.

“She was crying,” I said, my voice frantic. “She was talking to me, and then she just… she just passed out. Please....”

The doctor nodded calmly, checking Zoya’s pulse and examining her vitals. The nurse adjusted the IV drip and brought over a small oxygen mask, placing it gently over Zoya’s face.

“Her body is under immense stress,” the doctor explained, his tone steady but serious. “Between the emotional trauma and the physical toll of the miscarriage, she’s completely exhausted. Her body is essentially shutting down to force rest.”

I ran a hand through my hair, pacing the small space at the foot of the bed. “Is she… is she going to be okay?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

The doctor looked up, meeting my gaze. “Physically, she’s stable for now. But emotionally… that’s going to take time. She needs rest, Mr. Hooda. Her body and mind have been through a significant trauma. Right now, the best thing you can do is be here for her and give her space to heal.”

“Space?” I repeated, my voice rising. “How am I supposed to give her space when she’s like this? She’s barely holding on!”

The doctor stepped closer, his expression softening. “I understand your concern. But recovery—especially from something like this—requires patience. You need to be strong for her, even when she can’t be strong for herself.”

The thought of her battling this alone—it was unbearable.

“Thank you,” I said quietly, my eyes never leaving her.

The doctor placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “We’ll keep monitoring her. If there’s anything you need, don’t hesitate to ask.”

As the doctor and nurse left the room, I sank back into the chair beside Zoya’s bed. I reached for her hand, threading my fingers through hers.

“I’m here, Zoya,” I whispered, brushing my lips against her knuckles.

She didn’t stir, but her breathing seemed a little steadier, her chest rising and falling in a slow, even rhythm.

~
Zoya had been back home for almost a week now, but it didn’t feel like home anymore. It felt like a shell, a hollowed-out place where her silence echoed louder than any words ever could. She barely left the bedroom, barely acknowledged me, and when she did, her eyes were empty—haunted.

I tried everything. Gentle conversations, her favorite food, even sitting quietly beside her, hoping my presence would ease the ache, but nothing worked. She was pushing me away, building walls I couldn’t seem to break through. And it was killing me.

“Adi,” Mom said softly one evening, her hand resting on my shoulder as I stared into my untouched cup of coffee. “Give her time.”

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “How much time, Maa? She doesn’t talk to me, she doesn’t look at me—she doesn’t even let me hold her. I feel like I’ve already lost her too.”

Her expression softened, but her tone was firm. “She’s grieving, Aditya...."

"Maa..." My voice broke, frustration and helplessness bubbling to the surface.

Mom squeezed my shoulder. “Sometimes, the best support you can offer is patience.... Don’t push her. Just be there. She’ll come back to you when she’s ready.”

I nodded reluctantly, though every fiber of my being screamed to do something, anything, to fix this. But maybe Mom was right.

Maybe I just needed to wait.

But how could I leave my Zoya alone? ....

The kitchen was quiet that evening, save for the rhythmic chopping of vegetables. Zoya sat on the chair by the counter, her face pale and her eyes distant.

She had barely spoken but something was different. She was watching me, her gaze sharp and piercing, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was about to snap.

As I stirred the pot, trying to sound casual, I asked, “Dhara was asking about you earlier. I told her you’d call when you’re ready.”

She didn’t respond immediately, and when she finally did, her words were ice-cold. “You wanted this, didn’t you?”

I froze, the wooden spoon slipping from my fingers and clattering against the stove. Slowly, I turned to face her, my heart pounding. “What are you talking about, Zoya?”

Her eyes, usually so warm and full of life, now burned with anger and pain.

“You didn’t want this baby. You didn’t want my baby....”

“Zoya…” I stepped closer, my voice steady but my chest tight with panic. “That’s not true. You know that’s not true.”

She stood abruptly, the sound of her chair scraping against the floor sharp enough to make me flinch. Her eyes blazed with a mixture of pain and fury, tears threatening to spill but stubbornly held back.

“Don’t lie to me, Aditya!” she shouted, her voice cracking under the weight of her emotions. “You said it yourself—kids were supposed to come later. You had a plan, didn’t you? Girlfriend, fiancée, wife, and then… then kids. You never wanted this, and now…” Her voice broke completely, her shoulders trembling as she hugged herself tightly, as if trying to hold her entire world together. “You didn’t want my baby. You didn’t want our baby.”

Her words hit me like a physical blow. I felt the air leave my lungs, my chest tightening in a way that made it hard to breathe.

“Zoya,” I said, my voice low and trembling as I stepped toward her. “How… how can you even think that? How could you say that to me?”

“Because it’s true!” she screamed, taking a step back, her arms tightening around herself. “..why else ...we did everything....why...else ...."

"Zoya..." The word left my mouth like a growl. I ran a hand through my hair, gripping it as I tried to keep my composure. “Zoya, that was my baby too! Do you have any idea what you’re saying?”

My voice cracked as I practically shouted the words, my emotions boiling over. I couldn’t believe she thought I didn’t care, that I wasn’t as devastated..

Her breath hitched, and for a moment, she looked startled by the force of my words. But then her face crumpled, her anger dissolving into something raw and unguarded. Her knees buckled, and I instinctively rushed forward, catching her before she fell.

She clung to me, her fists weakly pounding against my chest as she broke down completely. “Why, Aditya? Why did this happen? What did we do wrong?”

I wrapped my arms around her tightly, holding her as if I could somehow shield her from the pain. “We didn’t do anything wrong,” I whispered, my voice thick with emotion. “It’s not your fault, Zoya. It’s not my fault. It’s just… it’s cruel, and it’s unfair, and I hate it too. But please, don’t push me away. Don’t do this to us.”

Her sobs grew louder, more unrestrained, as she buried her face in my chest. “I’m sorry,” she cried, her voice broken and full of regret. “I’m so sorry, Aditya. I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean any of it.”

I pressed my lips to the top of her head, tears streaming down my face as I rocked her gently. “I know,” I murmured, my voice soft but steady. “I know, Zoya. It’s okay...I know..."

We cried. Neither of us could hold it in any longer, the pain breaking through every wall we had tried to build around it. I felt my knees weaken, and before I even realized it, we were sinking to the ground together, tangled in each other’s arms.

Zoya clung to me like I was her lifeline, her sobs wracking her body as she finally let everything out. Her head rested against my chest, her fingers clutching my shirt tightly, as though afraid I might let go. The sound of her crying, raw and unfiltered, pierced through me, shredding whatever was left of my composure.

I pressed my lips to the top of her head, my tears falling silently into her hair. “Let it out, love...,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “Don’t hold it in anymore.”

Her sobs grew louder, her pain pouring out in waves. “It was our baby, Adi,” she choked out, her voice breaking. “Our baby… and I couldn’t keep it safe…”

I closed my eyes tightly, my own tears slipping down my face as I shook my head. “No, Zoya. Don’t do that. Don’t blame yourself.."

Her hands clutched at me desperately, her voice a mix of anger and grief. “But I can’t stop thinking… what if I had been more careful? What if—”

“Stop,” I said, my voice cracking as I held her face in my hands, forcing her to look at me. Her tear-filled eyes met mine, and the anguish in them broke me all over again. “Zoya, listen to me. None of this was your fault. None of it. You didn’t do anything wrong. Please, love, don’t carry this guilt. I can’t bear to see you like this.”

Her lip quivered, and fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. My fingers brushed through her hair soothing her.

Her arms tightened around me, and for the first time in weeks, I felt a tiny sliver of relief—she was letting me in again. She was finally letting herself feel. And no matter how long it took, I would be there for her, for us, because I couldn’t imagine facing this pain without her by my side.

~~~

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