The hospital room felt sterile, the air thick with the scent of disinfectant. Vikrant stood frozen, his eyes glued to the doctor’s lips as her words echoed in his mind. Pregnant. Four weeks. The room spun, his grip tightening on the cold metal railing of the hospital bed. Seema lay pale and still on the examination table, her legs still spread, the thin hospital gown doing little to conceal her vulnerability. The doctor’s voice was calm, almost detached, as she explained the situation, but Vikrant’s mind was a storm. He wasn’t her lover. He wasn’t her husband. He was just a man who fucked her—roughly, relentlessly, without a thought for consequences. And now this.

“You need to be careful,” the doctor repeated, her gaze firm. “umm Don't use her more for sex , don't exhaust her with physical intimacy for at least three months if you avoid it will be good. Her body is already under stress, and the inflammation… it’s severe. Any more pressure could cause serious harm.”