The golden rays of the afternoon sun filtered through the bedroom curtains, casting a soft glow on the polished floor. In front of the tall mirror, Meerab stood, tugging and pulling at the pastel-colored suit that she had recently received from the tailor. Her expression, usually so confident and sharp, was now clouded with insecurity.
Her fingers traced the fabric over her slightly rounded belly. The changes in her body—the visible bump, the tightness around her hips, the way her clothes fit differently—had stirred up emotions she hadn’t expected. Being six months pregnant had its challenges, and today, those challenges seemed to hit her harder than usual.
“Why did I even think this would fit me?” she muttered, glancing at the long tunic that was just a little too snug around her middle.
She stepped back from the mirror, letting out an exaggerated sigh of frustration. Murtasim, who had just returned from an important meeting, entered the room, catching sight of her standing there in front of the mirror, looking thoroughly upset. He paused at the door, his eyes softening at the sight of her. Pregnant or not, Meerab had a certain glow about her that Murtasim could never quite put into words.
“You look beautiful,” he said, his voice teasing as he stepped into the room. He had no idea what was about to hit him.
Meerab barely glanced at him, her arms folded over her chest as she turned to face him fully. “Do I? Do I really look *beautiful*, Murtasim?” Her tone was sharp, and Murtasim’s grin faltered slightly.
“Uh... yeah?” he said, his voice trailing off as he realized she wasn’t in the mood for playful banter. His gaze flickered to the mirror and then back to her. He swallowed hard, sensing the weight of her stare.
“Tell me honestly,” she demanded, her hands now on her hips. “Do I look... fat?”
Murtasim’s stomach dropped. He had walked into a minefield, and the first step was already wrong. He knew this wasn’t just a question—it was a test. A *very dangerous* test. A million alarms went off in his head. *Choose your words carefully*, he told himself.
“Well...” he began, scratching his neck, “I mean... you’re pregnant, Meerab. So, you know... you’re not fat. You’re just... *full*.”
*Full?* Meerab’s eyes widened. “*Full*? Are you calling me a stuffed paratha, Murtasim? Am I full like I’ve eaten too much?”
Murtasim blinked, realizing the first bomb had gone off, and it was his own doing. “No, no! That’s not what I meant! I mean you look... healthy! Yes, healthy!”
*Healthy?* Meerab’s eyebrows shot up higher. “So now I’m a cow grazing in the fields?”
“No! No! That’s not what I meant either!” He waved his hands frantically, desperate to fix this. “You’re glowing! Yes, that’s it. You’re glowing, like the... uh... like the moon!”
Meerab’s lips twisted into a scowl. “The *moon*, Murtasim? Are you seriously comparing me to a big, round, glowing orb?”
Panic set in as he realized every word was making things worse. Murtasim’s brain raced for an escape route, something to say that would put out the flames he had unknowingly started.
“Well, not just the moon,” he said quickly. “You’re radiant! Like... uh... like the sun!”
Meerab narrowed her eyes, crossing her arms tightly across her chest. “So now I’m *huge* and *blinding*? That’s what you’re saying?”
Murtasim’s heart sank deeper as he saw her expression shift from hurt to downright fury. Desperately trying to dig himself out of this metaphorical hole, he reached for another compliment.
