Chapter 5: The Waiting Room
The hospital walls became too familiar — the smell of antiseptic, the murmurs in the hallway, the soft beeping of machines. Meera had been admitted for over a week now, her movements restricted, her meals timed, her blood pressure constantly monitored.
Each day was a waiting game.
Every time the nurse walked in with a chart, Meera’s heart skipped. Every time the doctor adjusted her medication, she wondered if her baby was okay.
The date of delivery loomed closer — yet felt unreachable.
One evening, as rain tapped gently against the windowpane, Meera sat up with effort and looked out. The world moved on — cars honking, people rushing, life unfolding — while she sat in stillness, waiting to bring life into the world.
Aarav arrived a little late that evening, his shirt damp from the drizzle. He brought her favorite food — idlis from the South Indian shop near their home.
“I miss you,” Meera said softly.
“I miss you too,” he replied, taking her hand. “But we’re almost there. You’re doing so well, Meera.”
The nurses often commented on how brave she was, but inside, Meera felt far from strong. She missed walking freely, her home, her work, even the chaos of her school staffroom. But most of all, she missed feeling like herself.
The only thing keeping her going was the sound of the heartbeat during the scans. That tiny thump-thump. A rhythm that echoed hope.
The doctor scheduled her delivery for the following week.
“It’ll be a C-section,” she said. “We don’t want to wait any longer. The baby is ready.”
Meera nodded.
That night, she wrote in her diary — a habit she had almost forgotten:
> “To my baby, we’re almost at the finish line. I hope you’re not scared. I am. But I’m also ready. I don’t know what kind of mother I’ll be — but I promise to try every day. You are my reason now.”
