ISHQ IBAADAT 💗

42. PAIN AND CURE💗.

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Author POV.

The doctor's office was silent-too silent-except for the faint hum of the AC and the rustle of the papers in her hand. She adjusted her glasses and looked at Vidhyut with hesitant eyes, her voice dropping low, almost like she was afraid her words would shatter him.

"Your wife... can't be pregnant, Vidhyut. She can never become a mother."
(Her tone softened, her hand clutching the x-ray copies tightly as if they weighed the world.)

The words struck him like a thunderbolt. His chest tightened, his heartbeat staggered. For a moment, he felt the ground vanish beneath him. His hands gripped the armrest of the chair so tightly his knuckles turned white. His heart shattered into a million sharp, merciless pieces.

But he didn't let his face crumble completely. No... not here. Not in front of someone else. Yet his body betrayed him-tears pooled in his eyes and began spilling silently, tracing down his cheeks without permission.

The doctor's voice broke through the heavy air again, softer this time.
"There can be many complications if she tries... it's because of her old wounds, Mr. Raisinghania."

Vidhyut blinked rapidly, his throat bobbing as he struggled to swallow the storm of emotions. He was sitting on the chair in front of her, but his body felt heavy, chained, like he couldn't move. His palms rubbed against his knees restlessly, trembling slightly.

"W...wh...what are you saying, doctor...?"
(His voice cracked, broken, raw. Each word dragged itself out of his chest, laced with disbelief and unbearable pain.)

The doctor's eyes softened, her voice steady yet filled with sympathy.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Raisinghania. But it's true. Because of those old injuries, her womb is weak... she can't conceive. If she tries, it could risk her life."

Vidhyut's jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached. His breath grew uneven-short, harsh gasps escaping him as he struggled to hold his grief inside. He shut his eyes tightly for a second, and in that darkness, memories of her-her smile, her laughter, her dreams of being a mother-flashed before him. Each memory stabbed him deeper.

His fists balled against his thighs, veins straining against his skin. He wanted to scream, to rage against fate, against God, against the cruelty of life. But all he could do was sit there, broken, his tears dripping onto his hand.

The silence between them was suffocating.

The doctor slid the reports across the desk gently, as if afraid even the sound of paper might wound him further. "Please... take care of her. Don't let her stress about this."

He nodded faintly, but his eyes remained distant-like he was here in body but gone in spirit. His lips quivered, but no words came out. Inside, a storm was tearing him apart, but outside... he wore a mask of forced strength, because he knew when he returned home, she would look into his eyes and ask questions.

And he could never... never let her see his pain.

Flashback.

"Vid... Vidhyut..."
(A scream tore through the silence-loud, pained, desperate. It was her voice. Adhya's voice.)

Vidhyut froze mid-step, his entire body going rigid. His heart stopped for a beat, then thundered violently in his chest. He spun around, panic flooding his veins, his eyes darting everywhere.

"Adhya?"
(He called out, his voice trembling, but all he heard back was another broken cry of his name.)

Without wasting a second, he ran-his footsteps heavy and wild, echoing through the corridor. And then... he saw her.