The Second Bloom • 18+

14. Wanting him (Malini's POV)

Two months passed by since he returned back home that night.

I can't be more grateful.

He genuinely is a gentleman. He takes care of me. Holds me close, every morning, every night.

He comes back home early, only to spend some time with me.

He doesn't only mention that he loves me every night, he proves it too, by helping me, supporting me.

Yet, it's just one thing that we don't talk about.

MY baby.

I barely think he'll ever— ever accept the baby as his own.

I'm not in a position to force him too. He does a lot without mentioning.

The morning sun filtered through the thin curtains, casting soft patterns on the wall, and I am slowly awakened to the familiar sensations of pregnancy.

It's now the third month— two and half month, and with each passing day, I feel my body transforming in ways I never imagined.

The first thing I notice is the slight heaviness in my lower abdomen.

It's a gentle reminder that there's a life growing inside me, nestled safely within my womb.

The feeling is both exhilarating and overwhelming, truly.

I place my hand on my belly, and though it's still too early to show, I can almost sense the tiny changes taking place.

I smiled and marvelled at how something so small could have such a profound effect on my life.

I've heard that during this stage of pregnancy, my body will be producing higher levels of hormones, or something like that as they call it.

I often find myself feeling fatigued, and simple tasks like getting out of bed or preparing breakfast seem to require twice the effort.

I used to wake up eager to tackle the day, but now, I sometimes need a few extra moments to muster the energy to face the morning.

I know there's problem in my life.

Still, I picture tiny fingers and toes, and I smile at the thought of a child running around, bringing joy to our lives.

A pang of anxiety accompanies these thoughts.

What will our child be like?

What if it has Amrit ji's deep black eyes or my dark hair?

I just hope it's nothing like him.

Not even a bit.

Infact, I rise up every morning and pray to God for a girl child, a ditto copy of mine.

Maybe there's some other reason for this constant prayer too, which I don't want to mention now, but it it.

My breasts are tender and sensitive these days, the kind of discomfort that seems to ebb and flow throughout the day. I can't bear the thought of wearing anything tight, even the softest fabric can feel abrasive against my skin.

I sigh, thinking about how my body is changing, preparing itself for the challenges ahead. It's a sign of growth, I remind myself, even if it sometimes feels overwhelming.

Then there are the cravings.

Just the other day, I found myself inexplicably drawn to the smell of fresh coriander, longing for the taste of my mother's spicy vegetable curry.

It's funny how something as simple as food can evoke such deep nostalgia, reminding me of my childhood and the warmth of home.

But with cravings come aversions too, the thought of certain foods turns my stomach.

I never imagined I'd develop such strong reactions to what I eat, and I wonder how much of this is due to the hormonal rollercoaster I'm on.

Emotionally, I feel like I'm on a tightrope.

Some days, I'm filled with hope and joy, dreaming of the future, while on others, I feel an overwhelming sense of doubt and fear.

It's a strange juxtaposition of feeling so alive yet so vulnerable.

I glance over at Varun, who is still sleeping peacefully.

You know what's strange? Somedays, I feel his hardness against me while he is asleep. Or at nights when he holds me. Or even when I'm sitting on his lap randomly.

But he NEVER — never asks me that whether we should consummate or not.

I don't know why.

I wonder what it would be like for him to control his urges.

I understand. If he would talk to me about his needs, I would understand, because it's been three months of our marriage, and I hardly think any men would be able to control that long, when he stays so close to his wife.

Hell, even my ex-husband didn't, even though we had no such thing as 'love' between us.

Here we are. He loves me. I love him.

But he never takes a step.

I cannot. It feels strange. What would he think? That I'm... I'm hungry for him.

I don't know why but it feels embarassing to address that I feel those bodily needs too sometimes.

As if, these pregnancy thing has increased it even more. I feel that need, that hotness inside me. I feel that when his hardness accidently brushes against my core. I feek that when his hand accidentally brushed against my tender breasts, and when my nipples rubs against his chest while I sleep in his arms.

I want him to do things to me. With me.

But I can't say him.

It's so worst some times.

Like right now.

He is hard. So hard, I can feel it like a knife groping me in my butt.

His hand is around my breasts, holding me loosely, but it does something to my core.

I moved slightly, intentionally. My breasts moved along with me and his fingers brushed against my nipples making me moan mutely.

I turn around, to feel his erection on hitting against my core.

Suddenly, he stirred.

He stirred and I freezed.

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