AUTHOR'S POV

The clock read 12:37 a.m.

Raya sat alone on the velvet mattress, hugging a pillow to her chest like it could hold her together. The night was quiet, except for the hum of the air conditioner and the distant thunder outside. Her bare legs stretched out on the bed, her feet cold, her body warm-too warm.

She wore a cropped cotton top, thin as breath, riding high enough to reveal the gentle roundness of her five-month belly. Her shorts were low, loose on the hips. She didn't bother with a bra. Didn't bother with decency. For who? For what?

Dhruv hadn't been home in days.

She rubbed her belly with one hand, the other clenching around the pillow. The baby kicked gently, like a reminder she wasn't entirely alone. But she was. In the house. In the bed. In her heart.

The silence was a different kind of violence.

She hadn't cried. Not tonight. Tonight, she was angry. Angrier than she remembered being in months. She wasn't the weepy, hormonal cliche people expected pregnant women to be. She was furious. Burning from the inside out.

She didn't even hear the door unlock.

But when it opened, when she saw his silhouette in the doorway, something primal snapped.

She grabbed the ceramic vase from the nightstand and threw it. It shattered inches from his face.

"Where the fuck have you been?!"

Dhruv froze.

Still in scrubs. Still smelling of antiseptic and hospital corridors and other people's emergencies.

"Raya-"

"Don't 'Raya' me! I swear to God, Dhruv, I want a divorce!"

Her voice cracked, her chest heaving. The pillow fell from her hands.

He stepped inside slowly, closing the door behind him like he was locking them inside a warzone.

"I didn't mean to be gone this long. The surgeries stacked up. The last one ran into complications. I-"

"You always have excuses. You're always saving someone. Just never me."

She wasn't yelling anymore. That made it worse. She sounded tired. Hollow.

"You think I don't want to be here? With you?"

"Then why are you never here?"

He looked at her like she was a wound he didn't know how to stitch.

She stood up slowly from the bed. The fabric of her top clung to her belly. Her eyes burned holes into his skin.

"I'm carrying our child. I can barely sleep. I ache. I cry for no reason. I crave things I don't even understand. And I want you. I want your hands. Your warmth. And you give it to everyone else but me."

He swallowed, stepping closer. "Raya..."

"Don't." Her voice wobbled. "Don't come closer if you're just going to leave again."

He stopped.

Then, she winced.

Her hand flew to her belly. "Shit-"

"What happened?"

"Kick. Hard one."

He dropped to his knees in front of her, hands gently pressing over her belly.

"Hey... hey, baby. Calm down. Mama's just mad at Daddy for being a dumbass."

Her breath hitched.

His ear pressed to her stomach. He kissed the skin softly.

"I missed you," he whispered.

She threaded her fingers through his hair, eyes closing.

"I threw a vase at you."

"You missed."

"Next time, I won't."

"I'll deserve it."

Her lips quirked. Just barely.

"I hate you," she whispered.

He looked up at her, eyes tired but soft.

"You love me."

"That's the problem."

He rose slowly, his hands still on her waist. Their bodies barely touched, heat radiating between them. The storm outside cracked softly.

"Do you still want a divorce?" he asked.

"Not tonight," she said.

Then she kissed him.

It wasn't a kiss of forgiveness. It was a kiss of need. Of loneliness. Of missing him so badly her bones ached.

His arms wrapped around her, pulling her flush to his body. Her belly pressed between them. Her lips trembled under his. His hands moved up her back, down to her thighs.

"You smell like mangoes," he murmured against her mouth.

"You smell like blood and disinfectant."

"Want me to shower?"

"I want you to touch me. Now."

He didn't argue.

He kissed her again, slower. Thicker. Letting the silence stretch as their mouths danced. His hand slipped under her top, fingers brushing the underside of her breast.

She gasped softly.

"Is this okay?"

She nodded, but her voice was stronger. "Yes. Don't stop."

When he lifted her top, he paused. Her breasts were fuller, rounder. Her nipples darker. He took one gently into his mouth, swirling his tongue.

She arched.

Then he pulled back, confused.

"You're... lactating."

She blinked. "What?"

He licked again. A faint taste. His eyes widened.

"You didn't know?"

"No. I... Dhruv-"

"Shh. It's normal."

He bent again, suckling softly, reverently. Her breath stuttered. Her hands flew to his head, holding him there.

He groaned against her skin. "You taste like life."

She moaned. "You're going to make me cry."

"Good. Then I'll lick those tears too."

His mouth worshipped her. Soft sucks. Gentle licks. Hands cradling her belly while he fed from her like she was holy.

Raya's eyes fluttered shut. Her thighs clenched. Her heart cracked open.

This. This is what she missed.

Him. Here. Devouring her like she mattered.