CHAPTER 14: BEFORE THE FALL

CHAPTER 14: BEFORE THE FALL

Arjun's Point of View

It had been five years since I married Pia.

Five years of memories stitched together like old film reels—each frame lit with her laughter, her warmth, her presence. Pia had a way of grounding me when the world spun too fast, and yet, she could be the storm that shook me to my core.

Ours was an arranged marriage, but it never felt forced. Somewhere between the formal introductions and hesitant beginnings, we became best friends. And then, lovers. She saw me—not the businessman, not the son of two renowned doctors—but the man underneath. The broken, unsure, hopeful man.

The second year of our marriage brought us news that changed everything.

Pia was pregnant.

It was early morning when she found out. I was brushing my teeth when I heard her gasp.

I rushed to the bathroom door. "Pia? Are you okay?"

She came out holding a small stick in her hand, her lips parted in disbelief. "Arjun… I think—I think I'm pregnant."

For a second, I stood frozen, staring at her, then at the test. The word 'positive' stared back at me.

And then I laughed—a deep, disbelieving laugh. "You're pregnant?"

She nodded slowly, eyes wide. "Yes."

I pulled her into a tight hug, lifting her off the ground, spinning her in circles as she clung to me.

"We're going to be parents," I whispered against her hair. "Can you believe it?"

Her soft voice answered, "I'm scared, Arjun."

"I know," I whispered. "Me too. But we're in this together."

The following weeks were filled with planning and joy. We visited doctors, started reading parenting books, and argued playfully about names.

"I want a traditional name," Pia insisted one evening, lounging on the couch with her feet propped up.

"And I want something modern," I teased. "Our kid is going to be a rockstar."

She chuckled. "A rockstar with a Sanskrit name?"

"Exactly."

I bought her weird food at odd hours. She painted the nursery walls herself because she didn't trust anyone else to get the shade right. She'd fall asleep with her head in my lap while I read out loud to the baby growing inside her.

It was beautiful.

Too beautiful.

Then came that day. The one I would replay in my head over and over, looking for signs—anything that might have told me something was about to go terribly wrong.

It was a Saturday. Pia had plans to meet her college friend Nidhi at the mall. She was six months pregnant—round-bellied and glowing.

"You sure you don't want me to come?" I asked as she adjusted her earrings.

She smiled, walking up to me. "I'll be fine. I'm not made of glass, Arjun."

I rested my hand over her belly. "Maybe not, but you're carrying something very precious."

"I'll be careful," she promised, standing on her toes to kiss my cheek. "You worry too much."

"Text me when you get there."

"Yes, sir," she said with a playful salute.

And then she was gone.

I got caught up in back-to-back meetings. Hours flew by. I didn't notice the time until my phone buzzed with an unknown number.

"Hello?"

"Is this Mr. Arjun Mehra?"

"Yes. Who is this?"

"This is Inspector Joshi from the City Police Station. I'm calling about your wife, Pia Mehra."

The name hit like a punch to the gut.

"What about her?"

"There's been an accident. She was found unconscious near Sector 32 Crossing. We've taken her to City General Hospital. I suggest you come quickly."

I dropped the phone.

The sound echoed in the conference room. Heads turned. But I couldn't explain. I couldn't breathe.

I sprinted to the car, barking orders at my driver.

"Take the inner lanes. Drive faster. Don't stop at the signals!"

The streets blurred into chaos. My heartbeat roared louder than the horns around me. I kept picturing her face, her smile, her swollen belly.

Please be okay. Please be okay. Please…

I reached the hospital in what felt like years.

"Pia Mehra," I told the receptionist. "She was brought in after an accident."

"Emergency ward, second floor," she said, pointing. "They're attending to her now."

I ran up the stairs two at a time. My chest ached with fear.

Outside the emergency room, a doctor approached me.

"Mr. Mehra?"

"Yes. I'm her husband. Is she okay? Is my wife okay?"

He looked grim, but calm. "Your wife is stable for now. She suffered a concussion, some external injuries, and shock. Other things can be evaluated once the test results come. But she's responding to treatment."

I exhaled, tears rushing to my eyes. "Thank God. And the baby?"

His face changed. A slight hesitation. A pause long enough to make the world still.

"I'm very sorry," he said softly. "We couldn't save the baby."

"No…" I stepped back.

"I'm sorry," he repeated. "There was a lot of internal trauma. The baby didn't make it."

My knees buckled.

I stumbled into one of the chairs in the hallway, the words echoing over and over in my ears.

We couldn't save the baby.

Just this morning, she was humming in the kitchen. Just this morning, I kissed her goodbye.

We couldn't save the baby.

And in that moment, something in me shattered.