Aarohi had been putting off the appointment for months. The persistent ache in her lower abdomen, the irregular periods, the occasional sharp twinges that made her wince when she sat too long—she knew she needed to see a gynecologist. But the thought of spreading her legs for a stranger, even a doctor, made her cheeks burn. She was 24, still shy about her body, raised in a conservative family where “women’s issues” were whispered about. Finally, the pain got bad enough that she booked the slot with Dr. Vikram Mehra—highly recommended, private clinic in Bandra, evening hours so she could go after work.

The clinic was small, upscale, quiet. Soft lighting, potted plants, no other patients waiting. The receptionist smiled politely and led her straight to the examination room.