Two more months passed and finally, one night her water broke. The night smelled of antiseptic and sweat. The narrow hospital corridor was filled with the low hum of ceiling fans and the occasional clatter of footsteps. Sukhraj stood stiff outside the delivery room, his shirt crumpled from the hurried ride, palms pressed against his knees. He had fought wars, marched through snow and fire but nothing had ever made his chest pound like this.

From inside came the muffled groans of Sarvari. Each sound pierced him deeper than any bullet ever could. His fists clenched helplessly. He wanted to barge in, to hold her hand, to shoulder even half the pain she bore but he was only allowed to wait, to pace, to wrestle with his own fear.