MIHIKA'S POV :

The air in our bedroom smelled perpetually of jasmine and the faint, cold scent of Ekansh’s expensive cologne. I lay propped up against a mountain of pillows, the velvet coverlet pulled up to my waist. I felt like a beautiful, unwieldy ship sailing into the final, terrifying harbor of pregnancy. My petite frame was stretched tight, a canvas for this profound, exhausting creation. My ankles were swollen, my breath was perpetually shallow, and yes, my face was puffy, a fact Ekansh denied with frightening sincerity, but which the mirror confirmed every single, tear-filled morning.