Love Me

53

Three months later

ROSHNI'S P.O.V

I stood in front of the mirror, adjusting my kurti as I got ready for college. Honestly, I had no interest in going, but Daksh—left me with no choice. My reflection caught my eye, and I sighed dramatically.

“I think I’ve put on weight…” I murmured, gently placing a hand over my tummy. Then I smiled at myself.

“But my baby doesn’t want his mom to diet. So for now I will just gain weight and roll around like a ball. No dieting,” I declared proudly, patting my stomach.

Just yesterday, I got the highest marks in maths. I was expecting praise, maybe even a treat, but Daksh had simply said, 'If you had concentrated properly on your paper, you would’ve topped the entire college, not just your class.'

He can never be satisfied. It’s okay, baby, Even if you score the passing marks, I will celebrate you with cake, not like your father who won’t even let me have an ice cream without a lecture.

I started braiding my hair, excitement bubbling in my chest. Tomorrow is special day. After four long months… I would finally get to see my baby during the ultrasound.

“How will my tummy look after a few months?” I wondered aloud. My eyes landed on the pillow lying on the bed. Grinning, I tucked it under my top, making my belly look round. Turning side to side in the mirror, I gasped dramatically at my imaginary bump.

“Let me show Daksh,” I said and waddled out of the room like a very pregnant woman. Ever since Ayaan declared it unsafe for me to take the stairs often, we had shifted our room downstairs.

“Daksh, look!” I called out as I entered the living room.

He looked up from the couch where he was watching the news. His eyes immediately fell on my fake bump. Instead of laughing, he smiled with gentle amusement and motioned me to come to him.

I exaggerated my steps, placing a hand on my back as if the weight of the “baby” was too much.

“I think it’s time for your delivery,” Daksh said with a perfectly serious expression as he took my hand.

“My water just broke, and it’s hurting, my dear husband,” I said, struggling to hold back my laughter.

“Then let me help you deliver the baby,” he said, reaching for the waistband of my pants with wicked intent. In one swift motion, he tugged, and I squealed, pushing his hand away as I burst into giggles.

“I think the baby still has some time,” I said in fake contemplation.

Daksh placed his hand gently over the pillow-bump, his face turning serious. “Okay then, let me cut your tummy and get the baby out.”

“What?” I gasped, eyes wide. “They cut the tummy? No! Don’t lie!”

“They do,” he said with a straight face.

“No! I read about pregnancy. They don’t cut open tummies. You’re lying!” I accused, stepping back protectively and covering my fake bump with both hands.

“You’ve only read one article. They cut your tummy, take the baby out, sew it back up. Just six months of healing. Don’t worry—I’ll hire a nurse to do everything for you,” he said with such seriousness that I couldn’t tell if he was joking.

Tears pricked my eyes. “You’re lying! The baby comes out from down there. I read it on my phone! They don’t cut tummies. I don’t want anyone to cut my tummy!”

Daksh immediately softened and pulled me into his arms. “Hey, hey… don’t cry. I was just joking. No one is going to cut your tummy, okay?”

He gently lifted the pillow from under my top and cradled it in his arms. “My baby girl is so cute,” he said lovingly.