The news of her pregnancy spread like a fragrance in spring - soft, slow and impossible to contain. For Sarvari, the first months were a blur of wonder and careful steps. At her parent’s home, she was fussed over as though she were made of glass. Her mother hovered constantly, adjusting pillows beneath her back, scolding her if she tried to lift even the lightest pot, and filling her plate with milk, ghee, fox nuts and almonds. Her father, quiet and reserved, often lingered longer than usual at the threshold of her room, his eyes betraying a pride he rarely voiced.

For Sarvari, it was a strange mixture of joy and vulnerability. Her body, once so still and empty, was now alive with quiet changes. The gentle swell of her belly, the faint flutter that she sometimes thought she imagined, each sign was both reassurance and a reminder of how much was at stake. She prayed with a sincerity deeper than ever before, her fingers moving over the mala beads at night while the oil lamp flickered beside her bed.