Amontillado

Prologue: "Mujhe Nahi Marna!"

Abhira rubbed her belly, fazed. She could not hear Armaan's voice from the kitchen, his ramblings about a case in an attempt to distract her from their environment. She could not listen to the slight chirps of the birds that usually lounged by that stupid garden the Poddar matriarch loved. She could not listen to the cooker's whistle go off. She could not hear anything.

All that rang in her head was the doctor saying, "You are pregnant, Abhira."

She was six weeks pregnant, to be exact. The fetus growing within her was a miracle baby by clear definitions, but carrying the baby to term would be fatal for her due to a myriad of reasons. Her health could go south at any time, and that meant she could die. Her body could not even afford a miscarriage, a cruel mark that she, indeed, could become pregnant.

Shouldn't Abhira have been happy?

Shouldn't she have been determined to carry the baby to term?

Shouldn't she believe in Bhagwan Ji and know He would never take her child away?

Instead of everything she should have felt and thought, she felt nothing. There was emptiness, a disconnect with her baby. She was not rubbing her belly with maternal instinct or anything that remotely screamed loving. She felt nothing, knowing someone was growing within her, now as tiny as a pomegranate seed.

Abhira felt like a failure, utterly selfish for not being able to show an ounce of loyalty to the child who was her blood. In a way, this child symbolized her and Armaan's relationship and love—love that preceded a lot in her life.

Kyu, she lamented. What was she feeling dread? Anger? Pain? Why was she so soulless when it came to this news when she was the life of the party at any given chance, even during every obstacle life threw at her?

"Abhira," She finally broke out of her reverie and looked up at Armaan, who held a tray full of food. She could already feel bile rising in her throat at the sight of the biryani, but she mustered a smile even as something within her whispered, "Selfish."

"Armaan," She said, and Armaan frowned, sitting beside her on the couch. "Theek ho?"

"No," she wanted to say but nodded instead.

"Dekho, aaj maine biryani banaya hain," Armaan said and looked down at the tray he swiftly placed on the coffee table before them. "At least, try kiya hain. Tho please don't make fun of me."

"Too late," Abhira said, looking down at the haphazardly placed onions on top of the biryani and laughing. The smell of the spices did not help her, but she was too scared to tell Armaan anything about this baby—the baby she could feel nothing for.

"Tumhari jaan bahut khatre main hain, Abhira," She remembered the doctor's words and the huge words she used to describe the myriad of complications. With utter distaste, Abhira realized her body was weak. She was underweight, fatigued, and teetering on an uncertain stage of life all alone without the guidance of an elderly or someone trustworthy who was not Armaan.

Armaan may have been thirty-three—eleven years older than her—but how was she to share that she felt so tired, so tired that she had no love left to give a baby that would ultimately kill her?

With her smile intact, she looked at her husband, who she loved more than life. She would tell him tomorrow morning. Abhira only had him, like he had only her. She could not hide anything from him, not even her contorted feelings for this little life. Perhaps he would understand.

If not, Abhira would be lost once again.

***

When Abhira and Armaan retired to their bedroom that night, Abhira clung to Armaan, her head buried in his neck as they lay down. Armaan laughed but indulged Abhira's embrace, protectively pulling her into himself.

"Abhira, is everything alright?" Armaan murmured, and Abhira nodded, pushing her head further into his neck as if it would protect her from everything, even her thoughts. She felt Armaan stiffen; a part of him probably wanted to retaliate and question her further. But Armaan believed in space and time, so he let her be, choosing to have a peaceful night of good sleep after everything that happened at the Garba celebration. The fact that Abhira could have gotten hurt by an attacker freaked him out more than he could voice.

Armaan would keep Abhira safe, always. Planting a small kiss on her shoulder, he wrapped his arms around her and drifted to sleep, knowing his wife was safe and sound. Abhira also fell asleep soon after, content being with her husband. She would tell him tomorrow morning. She really would.

Some time surely passed, and Abhira was not cognizant really. She was in a deep sleep, but a part of her was hyperaware of the tumultuous emotions she had repressed over the days. She could feel a sense of dread wash over her, a cold fear crawling up her spine. Abhira was still sleeping, but images of so many things plagued her.

Her mother-in-law, clad in a purple saree, welcomed her and took her nazar, whispering, "Meri bacchi." Armaan saw her with fear as Abhira murmured she was pregnant. Abhira dreamt and dreamt. Kaveri wished her the best and said her baby was the waaris of the Poddar family. With bitterness that a sleeping Abhira could not identify, Abhira imagined a son growing up without her, who looked just like Armaan and was treated like him: an outsider on average days and family on days that needed his genius and instincts.

That very same bitterness concocted an image of Armaan choosing the baby over Abhira, leaving her to bleed in the OR. It felt like a noose around her neck, the last image scaring her so much. In that dream or image or whatever it was, she could see herself standing in a beautiful blue sari, wearing the jhumkas that were gifted by Armaan a few days before their wedding. That small bump terrified Abhira, but what gutted her was the blood that coated the fabric of the sari. Gushing from the between of her thighs, she was bleeding to death, but there was no one there to help her. She could hear murmurs.

"Baby ze zyaada kya ho sakti hain, Armaan?" Vidya's voice was heard.

"Choose the baby." Kaveri's demand resounded.

"Mujhe meri sapnon se zyaada aur meri Mumma se zyaada kuch nahin, par aaj se tum bhi meri liye sab kuch ho, Armaan," She heard her own murmur.

"Abhira Sharma Poddar, iss shehr ki best corporate lawyer," Another voice filled with pride was heard.

She heard Armaan's gut-wrenching scream, "Abhira, please don't leave me."

Was she going to die?

That question haunted her, and she jolted awake, screaming.

"Abhira!" Armaan also woke up, panicking. Abhira was long gone, lost to the fears deep-seated in her being. She did not want to die. She did not want to die.

She. Did. Not. Want. To. Die.

"Mujhe nahi marna!" She screamed, clutching the front of Armaan's sleep shirt. "Armaan, mujhe nahi marna!" 

***

A/N: The show is pissing me off so much. There is always so much pressure in the idea of carrying a miracle child to term in society. Still, there is nothing noble about carrying a baby and hurting yourself, knowing you may not survive the journey. The complications on the show, which make no sense to me, make me think it is not even as endo as I initially thought. It looks pretty severe, and the fact that Abhira feels like having this baby will solve everything or is worth risking her life for makes me so sad for her. So I had to write this :)