"You said you don't hate me. So, can't we start a new chapter?" she said trembling, her eyes filled with hope.
He laughed loudly. "Aliya Emdad are you a stupid or just pretending to be. Listen to me carefully. Yes I don't hate you. Actually I feel...
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Two Months Later
Just a few more days, and we’ll finally be able to hold our babies in our arms. Our excitement knew no bounds–neither did my worries.
It had been a difficult pregnancy for my All. She endured so much hardship throughout this journey, yet she always kept a smile on her face. Carrying twins wasn’t easy, especially for someone as physically weak and anemic as her. But she chose to face it head-on, holding my hand in hers as she said, "I’ll deal with anything for my babies because I know you’re beside me."
My first priority had been ensuring she didn’t grow too weak. So, when her morning sickness faded, she did her best to eat healthy. She was now on maternity leave, and I had also left my job as a curator to take care of her properly. The museum owner– that old man with a soft spot for me hadn’t wanted me to leave, but I found a temporary replacement before stepping away.
And another thing. My All, a devoted coffee lover, had given it up entirely the moment the doctor said it wasn’t good for the babies, considering her condition.
When I asked, "Don’t you crave coffee?"
She smiled and said, "I crave the well-being of my babies more than a drink."
Her words had left me stunned.
My All would be the best mother to our princesses.
To support her, I gave up my favorite masala tea. When she found out, she looked shocked, but I just smiled and said, "Since you’re sacrificing for our little ones, it’s only fair if I do the same." Then I kissed her belly, letting my love for them all pour through my touch.
To be honest, these past months of parenthood have strengthened our bond more than ever. __________________________
I was thinking about all this while preparing Fuchka–a Bengali street food that’s spicy, tangy, and sweet....for my pregnant wife. It was 3:25 AM, and about half an hour ago, she woke up and said she was craving fuchka. But, of course, there was no shop selling fuchka in California at this hour.
So here I was, making it myself.
Meanwhile, my little rabbit was curled up comfortably on the couch, watching her favorite K-drama and munching on green mango pickles–ones our moms had sent from back home.
Twenty minutes later, I carried the plate of Fuchka to her, only to find her eyes brimming with tears.
"What happened, love?" I asked, immediately concerned.
"I’m so sorry for giving you so much trouble. I shouldn’t have asked," she murmured.
I sighed and knelt beside her, taking her hands in mine. "All, for the nth time, stop saying sorry. I’m just taking care of my wife and our babies. There’s no room for 'sorry' or 'thank you' between us."
