Kavya’s POV:

The silence in the room had a weight to it, the kind that pressed into her bones and curled itself into the pit of her stomach. It was thick, suffocating, and inescapable. The walls around her, once painted a soft cream, now seemed to close in a little more with each passing day. They bore witness to her nightmares, her silent tears, and the quiet lullabies she whispered to the life growing within her.

Days bled into nights, and nights into days—marked only by the arrival of food left quietly on the floor by the maid. She never spoke, never looked Kavya in the eye. The woman’s silence was perhaps her way of coping, but to Kavya, it was another needle stabbing at her already fragile sense of worth.

The only other person she saw regularly was John—Kiran’s bodyguard. He was a man of stone, with a build that could tower over any threat and eyes that revealed nothing. Yet, something about him seemed off. He never spoke harshly to her, never raised a hand, and occasionally, she noticed his jaw twitch when Kiran yelled or hurt her. It wasn’t sympathy—at least not overtly—but it was enough for Kavya to wonder if there was a sliver of humanity left in that granite form.

What saved her sanity through it all was the flutter of life she felt inside her. The child. Her child. Her baby was the only ray of light in her endless tunnel of suffering. It was the only thing that gave her purpose now.

Kavya would sit for hours, legs curled beneath her, palm resting gently against her slightly rounded belly. She had memorized the rhythm of the movements, the way the tiny being would shift or kick, reminding her that she wasn’t alone.

“Amma loves you,” she would whisper, her voice breaking around the words. “Amma will get us out of here, baby. I promise.”

She didn’t know if she believed it herself, but her baby needed to hear those words. And maybe, in some way, she needed to hear them too.

But peace never lasted long.

The door burst open one morning with a force that rattled the weak hinges. Kiran stormed in, his anger trailing behind him like a storm cloud ready to strike.

She stood slowly, already bracing herself for whatever he was about to throw her way. She refused to give him the satisfaction of fear, though her knees trembled beneath her.

"You've got guts to get pregnant with that bastard's baby, huh?" He spat, each word laced with venom. His eyes scanned her figure with disdain. "No worries. The doctor is here. Our lineage won't carry his blood."

For a moment, the air was sucked out of her lungs.

She had known this was coming. She knew it from the second she saw the fury in his eyes after the doctor’s appointment. And yet, hearing it aloud—hearing the sentence he had written for her baby—made her heart twist in agony.

Kavya’s lips parted, but no words came out. Her throat felt raw, like she had been screaming internally for days.

Kiran left without waiting for a response, leaving a trail of fury in his wake.

The door reopened minutes later, and the doctor stepped in.

She was a woman in her mid-forties, eyes lined with the weariness of experience, dressed neatly in a white coat. Her face was carefully schooled into a blank mask, but Kavya noticed the way her gaze lingered on her flat belly, the subtle purse of her lips.

She began preparing her tools, methodical and calm. The clicking of metal instruments on the table sounded louder than thunder in the dead silence. Kavya’s eyes widened with each movement, her breathing shallow.

Her knees gave out slightly as she was led to the bed.

The IV drip was set up. The cold antiseptic swab grazed her skin.

But then, the doctor leaned in, voice low and hurried. "After some time, act like you've gotten your period."

Kavya blinked up at her in disbelief. Her breath caught in her throat. Her eyes filled with stunned, desperate hope.

Why was this stranger helping her?

She had no time to question. She gave the smallest nod she could muster, her body trembling.

The drip continued. Time crawled.

When Kiran returned, she was already lying back on the bed, tears streaking silently down her face—tears Kiran took as pain and surrender.

"Is everything done, doctor?" he asked, his tone satisfied.

“Yes. In a few hours, she’ll be clean,” the doctor said, her voice steady.

He gave a smirk that made Kavya’s stomach turn. “Good. She deserves worse.”

He left without another word.

The moment the door clicked shut behind him, Kavya exhaled. Relief didn’t come—not fully—but for the first time in days, she felt a glimmer of control.

Following the doctor’s instructions with meticulous care, she used the sterile pads left behind to create the illusion of blood. She even tore a strip of fabric from her old dupatta to soil, mimicking the aftereffects. Every detail mattered. She couldn’t afford a single mistake.

When the maid returned to clean the room later, she glanced briefly at the stained linen and nodded silently. The act had worked.

Kiran didn’t return for two days. He had likely moved on to some other sick scheme.

Kavya’s reprieve gave her time to think.

Her belly was still small enough to conceal. She calculated the weeks carefully. She might have a little more time before suspicion arose again.

She began her mission: escape.

Each day, she moved a little more. She observed the maid—her schedule, her reactions, her hesitations. Kavya began to engage her in soft, polite conversations.

At first, the woman said nothing. But one afternoon, when she brought food, Kavya softly said, “Do you have children?”

A pause. Then a quiet reply: “Two sons.”

Kavya smiled gently. “I hope they never have to suffer like I have.”

The maid hesitated, met her eyes briefly, then left without a word.

But the next day, she left an extra roti on the plate.

It was the beginning of something.

John was harder to read. He always stood with his arms crossed, his face unreadable. But Kavya noted the way he averted his eyes when Kiran screamed at her. The way he tensed when he saw her bruises.

One day, she tried. “John… do you think locking up your own sister is the mark of a man?”

He didn’t reply. But he didn’t glare either. His fists clenched at his sides.

That was all the answer she needed.

Hope was fragile, but it was growing.

As the days stretched on, Kavya built her strength, physically and mentally. She practiced quiet steps, hiding noise. She studied the latches on the windows and even considered using the broken handle from a drawer to try and pick the lock.

Everything she did was for her baby.

Her child gave her strength when her body ached. Her child gave her courage when fear crept in.

One night, as she curled up under her thin sheet, cradling her belly, she whispered again.

“We’ll leave this place. I’ll take you somewhere safe. We’ll be free, baby. I promise.”

And this time, she truly believed it.