"You're going to be my present and my future. You're going to hold all my babies because I'm going to be the lucky man to marry you. You're going to love me again, Maryam Khan. Slowly and then all together. And I will watch you as you do."
Imran and...
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From the corner of my eyes, i notice bhaiya step out of the kitchen with a hot water bag and make a dash for the stairs.
I scan my gaze around the living room where I sat with baby Muskaan, bouncing off my locked ankles. Her hearty squeals filled the otherwise quiet of a Sunday afternoon around me as she wrapped held on to her pudgie little fingers around my giant ones.
Mummy and daddy were in the room taking their daily post lunch nap. Maryam was at her mother's and was supposed to get home in a couple of hours.
Baji was missing, probably upstairs in her bedroom and I suppose that's were bhaiya headed too.
Water bags, in a house with women, meant only one thing.
It's that time of the month.
A thought popped in my mind. Pulling out my phone, I unlock it and swipe to that particular app that tracked Maryam's cycle.
It's good to have a tracker, especially when you're sexually active. But why do I have it on my phone?
To keep my horny self at bay.
It happened that one night when I was pumped and excited to make love like it was my first time. I found Maryam laying in bed, wrapped in a duet with her eyes closed.
Me being the man I am, jumped right in, showering her with kisses and caress. It was only when she groaned and had to push me off, yelling about her cramps, did I realise how terrible of a man I was. Providing her comfort was out of the window when I didn't know when she usually get her periods.
Since that day, I've tracked her cycle, probably more than herself and mentally preparing myself to deal with the mood swings, cravings and cramps.
Best husband ever, right? No doubt about it.
The tracker showed she was nearing her bleeding time. As I swipe right to see the previous entries, I notice something that made me frown.
She missed her last cycle. The last time she had her period was 60 days ago. Does that mean. . .
My heart skipped a beat.
Could it be. . .
No. After the last time, I didn't want to get my hopes high.
I shut my eyes in recollection.
The first time she was pregnant we almost got divorced had it not been for the miracle that transpired over night.
The next time we conceived, the joy of parenthood was short lived after only a couple of weeks, we lost that baby too.
We didn't talk about a child after a long time post the second miscarriage. Maryam was swaying on the border of the dark side again but this time I was quick to step in, and whisk her into our sanctuary.
