Here After!

52. Here After, We Begin

Anu stirred in the early hours of dawn, her body heavy with the weight of time, love, and the quiet expectancy of life about to bloom. The room was still, save for the rhythmic rise and fall of Giri's breath against her back. His arm lay draped across her, a familiar weight—a silent promise that had remained through every storm they had weathered.

She didn't move immediately. Instead, she let herself sink into the moment, into the warmth of his hold, the scent of home that lingered between them. A soft smile curved on her lips as her fingers traced the swell of her belly. Two more days. Maybe three. Or maybe today. Any moment now, their little one would arrive, turning them from two into three.

A slow exhale left her lips as memories swirled around her like soft waves meeting the shore—gentle yet persistent. The life they had built, the love they had fought for, the heartbreaks, the healing—it all led to this moment.

She remembered the quiet ache of waiting. The months, the years when hope had felt like sand slipping through her fingers. The countless nights she had spent staring at the ceiling, wondering if the emptiness in her arms would ever be filled. The way she had learned to carry her longing, first as sorrow, then as resilience.

And Giri.

She thought of the man who lay beside her now, holding her even in his sleep, as if his soul had memorized the shape of her. She thought of the spaces between them—the distances once carved by silence, regret, and hesitation. And yet, here they were. Together. Always finding their way back.

She let out a quiet chuckle. If someone had told her years ago that she would be here—nine months pregnant, counting down the final hours before meeting their child—she might not have believed them. And yet, life had a way of surprising even the most stubborn hearts.

Pregnancy had been a beautiful, terrifying transformation.

There had been nausea that made even the thought of food unbearable. Exhaustion crept into her bones. Mood swings turned her into someone she barely recognized.

And Giri had been there, through it all.

He had woken up early to make ginger tea when nausea hit her before sunrise. He had kept snacks beside the bed, knowing she'd wake up hungry in the middle of the night.

He had sat beside her after long workdays, massaging her swollen feet. And when her emotions spiraled—when she snapped at him over the smallest, silliest things—he had never once lost patience.

Instead, he had only smiled, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and said, "You're growing a whole human, Anu. You're allowed to feel everything."

And she had.

Work had been another battle. The pressure, the deadlines, the silent expectation that she should keep up despite her body's exhaustion. There had been days she had come home and collapsed onto the couch, drained beyond words.

One evening, Giri had taken one look at her and silently pulled her into a hug. He hadn't asked what was wrong. He hadn't tried to fix it. He had just held her.

And in that moment, she had let go.

She buried her face in his shoulder and cried, releasing the weight of stress, exhaustion, and silent fears.

Later that night, she found him sitting on the couch, a pregnancy book in his hands.

She had chuckled. "Didn't take you for the reading type."

Giri had grinned. "Well, one of us has to know what's happening to you."

That night, she had realized—this wasn't just her journey. It was theirs.

She had swatted his arm, but in that moment, she had fallen in love with him all over again

As her belly grew, so did Giri's excitement.

He had always spoken of wanting a baby girl. A "little Anu," as he had once said, "with your eyes and your stubbornness."

But something had changed after they had confirmed the pregnancy.

One day, out of nowhere, he had started calling the baby "Ponnan."

She had laughed at first, nudging him. "You sound so sure it's a boy."

At first, he had brushed it off. But one night, as they lay in bed, she had finally asked, "What if it's a girl?"

Giri had been quiet for a long moment before turning to her. His fingers had moved gently over her belly, a silent connection.

"I don't know why, Anu," he had murmured. "But I feel like it's him. Our Ponnan. Like he came now, at this moment, as a blessing. As your strength. As mine."

Something in his voice had anchored her.

And from that moment on, the name had stayed.

Their families had wrapped them in love—Geetha Amma fussing over her diet, Anish teasing Giri about fatherhood, their home slowly filling with baby clothes and tiny blankets.

And now, here they were.

Two more days. Maybe three. Maybe today. Anu pressed a hand to her belly. The baby shifted beneath her touch as if responding.

Carefully, she untangled herself from Giri's hold and walked to the window. The sky was stretching into morning, golden and full of promise.

Behind her, she felt the bed shift. Giri's warmth followed.

He wrapped his arms around her from behind, his chin resting on her shoulder.

"Couldn't sleep?" he murmured.

She leaned into him, their fingers lacing over her belly. "Just thinking. About everything."

Giri pressed a soft kiss to her temple. "You're ready, aren't you?"

She turned in his arms, meeting his gaze. The quiet certainty in his eyes settled something deep within her.

She exhaled a soft laugh. "I don't think anyone is ever really ready."

His hands moved gently over her belly, over their child waiting to arrive.

"Well," Giri murmured, "we'll figure it out. Here after."

She smiled, resting her forehead against his.

"Here after, we begin."

Outside, the sun stretched its golden arms across the sky. And somewhere, in the hush of morning, a new life waited to begin—along with theirs.

                             

         🌸💫 𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝒶𝒻𝓉𝑒𝓇, 𝓌𝑒 𝒷𝑒𝑔𝒾𝓃. 💫🌸