Twelve weeks.

Aarohi’s belly had begun to show a soft, undeniable curve low in her abdomen that no loose kurti could fully hide anymore. Her breasts had swollen dramatically now a heavy 36E, veined and tender, areolas wide and dark, nipples constantly erect and leaking thin, sweet milk at the slightest provocation. She had to wear nursing pads in her bras now, but even they soaked through by midday. The constant drip, the ache, the sensitivity it all reminded her every second: she was carrying Dr. Mehra’s child.