Author's POV

"Siya"

She froze at the sound of her name.

It was a whisper, barely there — but it was his voice saying her name for the first time since the accident.

When she turned, his expression was uncertain, almost shy.

“Siya,” he repeated, softer this time, testing the weight of it. “Can we… be friends again?”

The room tilted. Again. The word hit harder than it should have. He didn’t know what he was asking — didn’t know that they’d already crossed every line friendship had.

She swallowed, forcing a smile that trembled at the edges. “Of course, sir,” she said, the last word catching in her throat.

His brows furrowed faintly. “Just Aadarsh. No 'Sir' Friends don’t do that.”

Her heart cracked — but she nodded anyway. “Okay… Aadarsh.”

He smiled then — the kind of quiet, genuine smile she’d missed every day for months.

And just like that, she lost him all over again — this time to the sweetness of starting from the beginning.

It had been three weeks since Aadarsh had asked her to be his friend again.

In those quiet weeks, a fragile peace had settled between them a rhythm of polite smiles, shared coffees, and unspoken memories. But when she was alone, the ache returned stronger than ever. Her heart still reached for the husband she had lost — the same man who now smiled at her like a stranger trying to be kind.

Siya was nearing the end of her First Trimester of pregnancy. Her body had begun to change, the small swell of her stomach becoming harder to hide each day. Sometimes, when she placed a hand over the gentle curve, she would whisper softly, “Your papa used to talk to you every night. He’ll come back to us… he will.”

But outside those walls, she became a different version of herself. Loose kurtis and flowing dupattas had become her armor — hiding not just her growing bump, but the questions that came with it. Neighbors were curious, as they always were in crowded buildings. A young woman living alone, expecting a child, no husband in sight the whispers had already begun.

She ignored them. She had learned how to smile and walk past the pity in people’s eyes. What she couldn’t ignore was the fear that clung to her heart every time Aadarsh came near her at work.

He noticed everything. The way she winced sometimes when she stood up too fast, the way her hand rested over her abdomen without thinking. And each time, she held her breath, terrified that he would ask the one question she had no strength to answer.

If he asks me whose baby this is… what will I say?

After a week-long business trip, Aadarsh returned to the office on a bright Monday morning. The air felt lighter, familiar — until his gaze caught her.

Siya.

She was standing near the conference table, speaking to one of the junior architects, sunlight pooling around her like it had been waiting for her return too. Her dupatta was draped carefully across her front, but when she turned to reach for a file, his eyes froze.

The faint curve of her stomach was visible — subtle, gentle, but unmistakable.

For a heartbeat, everything around him faded. The low hum of chatter, the rustle of papers, the sound of his own footsteps — gone. All that remained was the realization pressing hard against his chest.

She’s… pregnant.

He blinked, looking away quickly, forcing air into his lungs as if that simple act could steady the storm suddenly tearing through him. A part of him wanted to smile for her — to be happy that she wasn’t alone, that someone out there loved her. But another part, the quiet, hidden part, burned with something he didn’t want to name.

Over the past few weeks, he had found himself thinking about her more than he should. The way her laugh softened a room. The calm she brought wherever she stood. The strange sense of comfort her presence gave him — a comfort that didn’t need reason or memory. He’d brushed it off each time, convincing himself it was just friendship. Gratitude, maybe.

But now, standing there, watching her cradle a file close to her chest as if to hide that small bump, he felt that fragile illusion break.

She’s taken, he told himself. She belongs to someone.

The thought was a blade, clean and quiet.

He forced a smile when she finally noticed him, waving slightly, her eyes lighting up in that soft, unguarded way she had. She didn’t know what he had just seen — what he had just felt. And he didn’t intend to let her.

“Welcome back, Aadarsh,” she said, her tone warm, familiar.

He nodded, slipping his hands into his pockets to hide their slight tremor. “Good to be back,” he replied evenly.

But as he walked past her toward his cabin, one truth echoed in his mind steady, cruel, and impossible to ignore.

Siya had noticed it the moment he came back from his trip — the distance.

Aadarsh no longer stopped by her desk. No morning coffee, no small smiles in passing. His tone had grown clipped, polite. Professional. The warmth that had started to bloom between them had vanished like it had never been there.

For a few days, she tried to tell herself it was nothing — that maybe he was busy, tired, adjusting. But by Friday evening, when he walked straight past her in the parking lot without even a glance, something inside her snapped.

“Aadarsh!”

He stopped mid-step, shoulders stiffening. Slowly, he turned, his expression unreadable.

“Why are you ignoring me?” she demanded, breathless from the quick steps she’d taken to reach him. “Did I do something wrong?”

He blinked, startled by her tone. “I’m not ignoring you, Siya,” he said evenly.

“Yes, you are,” she said, voice trembling with emotion she could no longer hide. “You barely look at me now. You don’t talk unless it’s about work. Did I cross a line?”

He sighed softly, looking away. “You didn’t. I just—”

He stopped, searching for words that didn’t sound like jealousy.

“I realized you have a life outside of this office. I don’t want to intrude.”

Before she could respond, he started walking away.

Her pulse spiked. “Aadarsh!” she called again, hurrying after him. “Stop walking away from me!”

Her voice echoed in the quiet lot — sharp, desperate. He turned just in time to see her stumble. Her foot twisted on the uneven ground, and she let out a soft cry of pain.

“Siya!”

He reached her in two long strides, catching her before she hit the pavement. His arms wrapped around her instinctively, pulling her against him. Her breath hitched as the warmth of his chest met the curve of her stomach.

Then he felt it.

The small, firm swell pressing gently against him.

For a second, neither of them moved. The world stilled. His eyes widened, realization dawning — not just of her condition, but of something deeper, something that tugged fiercely inside his chest.

Without thinking, his hand slipped lower, resting carefully over her bump. He felt the faintest flutter beneath his palm, and a rush of protectiveness surged through him so suddenly it almost hurt.

“Siya…” he whispered, voice raw, disbelieving.

She trembled, her breath shallow. Tears filled her eyes as she placed her hands over his, her fingers cold against his warmth. “Aadarsh,” she said softly, her voice breaking. “Baby…”

The single word shattered him.

He didn’t know why his throat burned, or why his heart twisted the way it did — but he pulled her closer anyway, one arm firm around her back, the other still resting protectively on her stomach.

“Hey, hey,” he murmured, voice low, trying to steady her trembling. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

Her forehead rested against his shoulder as silent tears slipped down her cheeks. For a moment, she wasn’t his assistant, and he wasn’t her boss. They were just two souls standing in the middle of a quiet parking lot a man who didn’t remember and a woman who couldn’t forget.

Aadarsh helped Siya into the car, one arm steady around her shoulders as if she were made of glass. She tried to protest, but the look in his eyes firm, protective, wordless silenced her.

The drive began in silence. The only sound was the low hum of the engine and the faint rhythm of rain beginning to fall against the windshield. Siya stared out of the window, cradling her ankle, her other hand resting unconsciously over her bump.

Aadarsh glanced at her from the corner of his eye. The city lights blurred past them, painting her face in streaks of gold and shadow. He had questions too many but he didn’t want to pry. Still, one slipped out before he could stop it.

“You never told me you’re married, Siya,” he said lightly, a half-smile tugging at his lips as if trying to make it sound casual. “You hid it pretty well.”

She didn’t answer. Her gaze stayed fixed outside, eyes glassy, her jaw tight.

He cleared his throat, trying again — gentler this time. “So… what’s the name of the lucky guy? The baby’s father, I mean. Must be something, huh?”

She froze. The soft rhythm of her breathing faltered. For a heartbeat, it felt like even the rain outside had stopped.

“Siya?” he said, glancing over, worry creeping into his tone. Her face had gone pale, her hand clutching her bump protectively.

“Hey.” He reached out, giving her shoulder a small shake. “Did I say something I shouldn’t have?”

She turned her head slowly, meeting his gaze. Her eyes glistened, and when she spoke, her voice was quiet — steady, but threaded with heartbreak.

“My husband…” she said softly, her thumb brushing gentle circles over her stomach, “doesn’t know I’m pregnant.”

The world seemed to still around them. Aadarsh’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “He doesn’t know?” he echoed, confusion clouding his features. “How could he not—”

“Please,” she interrupted, her voice breaking. “Please don’t ask me anything about him.”

He stopped immediately. The plea in her tone, the tears she was fighting to hold back — it said more than any explanation could.

The rest of the drive was wordless. The sound of the rain filled the car, a quiet rhythm against the silence between them.

When they reached her building, he turned off the engine but didn’t move. She was already unbuckling her seatbelt, fumbling for her bag.

“Siya,” he said softly, “you don’t have to handle everything alone.”

She forced a smile — small, fragile, brave. “I’ve been doing it for a while now,” she said, opening the door.

He wanted to say something else — anything — but she was already halfway out. The rain caught her hair as she stepped into the dim light of the street, and for a fleeting moment, he thought she looked like a memory slipping away.

He didn’t know her story.

But as she walked toward the stairs, her hand protectively over her belly, one truth struck him harder than he expected.

Whoever that man was — the husband who didn’t know, the one who had left her to fight alone —

Aadarsh suddenly hated him.

🧡