Aarti's POV:

Maaji and papa ji have returned from the wedding this morning and Raghav ji has left for school.

While we were eating, my mother-in-law suddenly spoke, her words like a sharp whisper cutting through the silence.

"Renu ko shaadi ke baad dekha tha. Wo tumse ek mahina baad shaadi hui thi, aur ab wo paanch mahine ki pet se thi. Kya tumhe koi dikkat hai, Aarti? Kya tum bhi maa nahi ban sakti?"

(I saw renu at the wedding. She got married a month after you, and now she is five months pregnant. Is there any problem with you, Aarti? Can you not become a mother?)

The words stung me deeply. I tried to swallow the lump in my throat, but it was impossible. The moment hung in the air, like a cloud that threatened to burst.

I felt a sharp pain in my chest. What was she trying to imply? Was I incomplete? Was I the one with the problem? I couldn't look up at her, feeling suddenly suffocated by the pressure of expectations. I could hear my mother-in-law's words echoing in my mind.

The fear, the guilt, the overwhelming weight of everything I couldn't say to Raghav ji - it all rushed in. Was this it? Was I the one to blame for not being able to give him a child? The thought of disappointing him was unbearable, and I couldn't push it away.

Tears began to sting my eyes, but I quickly blinked them back. I didn't want to show how vulnerable I felt.

The weight of my mother-in-law's words continued to press down on me, and I couldn't ignore the growing anxiety in my chest. I needed someone to speak to, someone who could offer me some clarity or at least some comfort.

I decided to visit Daima.

When I reached her home, I didn't waste any time. I told her, "Daima, meri shaadi ko ab chhe mahine ho gaye hain, lekin main ab tak maa nahi bani. Kya yeh koi dikkat hai?"

(Daima, it's been six months since my wedding, but I am not pregnant yet. Is there something wrong with me?)

Daima listened carefully, her gentle eyes studying me as I spoke. Without saying much, she guided me to lie down .

She examined me quietly, her hands steady with the expertise that only time could have given her. When she finished, she looked at me and said softly, "Aarti, tumhare liye maa banna mushkil ho sakta hai, ya phir thoda der ho sakta hai. Tumhare sharir mein kuch dikkat hai, lekin sab kuch waqt ke saath theek ho sakta hai."

(Aarti, it may be difficult for you to become a mother, or it might take time. There are some difficulties in your body, but everything may happen with time.)

Her words hung in the air, and I felt a sharp sting in my heart. Was it true? Was I really unable to give Raghav ji a child? I could feel the fear rising in my chest .

____________________________________

My heart ached with a pain I didn't know how to express. Daima's comforting words about how things could take time did little to soothe the overwhelming guilt that crushed me.

How will I tell Raghav ji that I can't become a mother? Just thinking about it hurts so much. I wanted to do everything for his happiness, but...

I couldn't look at him. How could I face Raghav ji knowing that I was failing him in the one thing every wife was expected to do? What if he couldn't forgive me? What if he started seeing me as incomplete, as not enough?

If I can't become a mother, will he leave me? And what if he starts thinking about marrying someone else? Will I ever be enough for him?

I stayed quiet, my voice fading with every passing day, the pressure of their expectations and my own feelings of inadequacy weighing on me like a heavy burden.

Every time I thought about it, the fear gnawed at me. Women around me always spoke of how their husbands would find another woman to marry if they couldn't bear children. "Tumhe jaldi bacha chahiye," they'd say. "Agar tum nahi de sakti toh kya hoga?"

(You need a baby soon, What will happen if you can't give him one?)

Their words echoed in my mind. Was this what awaited me if I couldn't conceive? Would Raghav ji eventually grow tired of me? I had heard these stories from so many women - wives who lived in constant fear of being replaced.

Raghav's POV:

Coming home early today, I expected to find Aarti as usual - her soft smile lighting up the house. But today, the house felt different. The air felt thick, filled with unspoken words.

I found her sitting near the window, staring outside. She didn't even look at me as I entered. There was no warmth in her eyes, no usual twinkle. I called out her name, but there was no response.

I called her gently ,"Jaan, kya ho gaya hai? Tum bilkul badal gayi ho. Kuch baat hai, batao."

(Jaan, what happened? You've changed. Please, tell me what's going on.)

But she didn't answer. She kept looking outside, her face unreadable. I walked over to her, my heart pounding, afraid that I was losing her in some way I didn't understand.

I sat beside her, trying to reach her, but she remained silent. Her hands, usually so lively and gentle, were clenched in her lap. I noticed the way she seemed to shrink away from me, as though my presence was too much for her.I spoke to her again

"Jaan, tum mujhse kuch toh baat karo. Main tumhara saath hoon."

(Jaan, please share something with me. I am here for you.)

But she shook her head, her lips trembling. She didn't say anything. There was only silence between us. Her silence was louder than any words.

Aarti's POV:

I wanted to tell him. I wanted to scream out my fears, to beg for his understanding. But I couldn't. Every time I tried, my throat closed up, and I felt like I couldn't breathe. How could I explain to him that I couldn't give him the one thing every family needed from an women?

What can I say to him? If I can't become a mother, does that mean I am nothing for him? Will he leave me?

The fear of being replaced, of being deemed inadequate, was overwhelming. The thought of him finding another woman, someone who could give him what I couldn't, felt like a dagger in my heart.

Where will I go if he leaves me? I will have nothing left...He has become my everything

I stayed distant. I spoke less. I didn't laugh anymore when he tried to engage with me. I felt trapped in my own body, where every silence between us felt louder than the words I couldn't speak.

The tears that I held back for so long finally started to fall. I didn't want him to see them, but they came anyway, slipping down my cheeks.

He asked again his voice trembling

"Aarti jaan, tum kyun ro rahi ho? Kya hua?"

(Aarti jaan, why are you crying? What happened?)

His words were soft, but they didn't comfort me. They only made me feel more distant. I needed him to understand that this was something I couldn't change. That I couldn't give him a child

I stood up, my chest tight with the weight of unspoken words, and walked away from him.

"Main thoda akela chahti hoon, Raghav ji."

(I need to be alone for some time, Raghav ji.)

I didn't turn to look at him, but I could hear the pain in his voice as he softly called my name.

"Aarti..."

I closed the door behind me, and for the first time, I felt completely alone. The weight of my own inadequacy, my fear, and my silence crushed me. I didn't know how long I could carry this burden.

How long can I hide all this? How long can I keep my tears hidden?

For now, I didn't have the answers. All I had was the pain and the growing distance between us.