The icy wind of Manali tore through the night, whispering through the towering pines, but I didn't feel it. Not truly. Not in the way I felt the storm raging inside me. I had been wandering, the snow crunching beneath my boots, my breath curling in soft, trembling clouds. The news still echoed in my mind like a cruel joke.
Pregnant.
The word was heavy, suffocating, a noose tightening around my throat. My steps faltered, and then—I stopped. Right there, in the middle of the deserted street, beneath a dim streetlight that flickered uncertainly. I tried to breathe, but my chest felt like it was caving in and then, without warning, it happened.
A choked sob escaped my lips. Then another. And another. Until I was crying, loud and broken, my voice tearing through the silence of the mountains. I didn't care if someone heard. I didn't care if the cold wind carried my pain into the empty streets.
Tears spilled down my cheeks, hot against the freezing air. My hands clutched at my sweater, at my stomach, as if trying to hold myself together—but it was useless. The weight of everything—fear, helplessness, loneliness—crashed down on me, and I sank to my knees in the snow.
The world blurred. The fairy lights in the distance became nothing but streaks of color, distorted by my tears. The mountains stood tall, indifferent to my suffering, watching as I broke apart beneath their shadow. I cried until there was nothing left inside me but exhaustion. Until the night swallowed my sobs and all that remained was the distant howl of the wind.
And then—finally— I wiped my face, took a shuddering breath, and forced myself to rise. The cold wrapped around me, relentless and unforgiving. But I was still standing and somehow, I kept walking. Not just from the cold, not just from the walk, but from the storm raging inside me. My cheeks were still damp with tears, my breath unsteady as i fumbled for my keys.
My fingers were stiff, and numb from the Manali winter, but somehow, I managed to push the door open. The warmth of home should have been comforting, but instead, it felt hollow. Empty. I shut the door behind me and leaned against it, squeezing my eyes shut. Maybe if I stood there long enough, the walls would close in around me and hold me together. But they didn't. Nothing did.
With shaking hands, I pulled out my phone. My father's name flashed on the screen as I pressed the call button. It rang once. Twice. Then, the call disconnected. Frowning, I tried again. This time, a message popped up.
"I had to leave urgently for Mumbai. Take care, beta. We'll talk soon."
I stared at the screen. My vision blurred, not from the cold this time, but from something heavier—something deeper.
I was alone. A bitter laugh escaped my lips, though there was nothing funny about it. I let the phone slip from my fingers onto the floor. The house felt larger than ever, the silence deafening. I wrapped my arms around myself and let out a shaky breath. I wanted to scream. I wanted to curl up and disappear.
But there was no one here to hold me. No one told me it would be okay. A single tear slid down my cheek again. And for the first time, I realized—I had never felt this alone in my entire life.
The silence of the house pressed in around me like an unbearable weight. The walls felt too close, yet the space felt endless—vast and empty, like the void inside me. I sat on the cold floor, staring at my phone screen, my breath was shallow. My body felt numb, but not from the cold anymore. From something darker.
What am I going to do?
My eyes flickered toward the window. Outside, the snow fell in soft, delicate flakes, covering the world in white. The mountains stood tall, silent, indifferent. Would anyone care if I disappeared? Would anyone? The thought came unbidden, quiet at first, then louder. What if I just... let go?
I swallowed hard, my pulse quickening. I could step outside, walk into the cold, and keep walking until my body gave up. It would be painless, wouldn't it? Just drifting into sleep, letting the freezing wind take me away, Or maybe something quicker.
My gaze fell to the kitchen, where sharp objects lay in drawers. I imagined how easy it would be. Tears welled up again, but this time, they didn't fall. I felt... empty. The pain had turned into something else. A quiet numbness.
I clutched my stomach, not out of love—but from a sickening sense of betrayal. The irony was cruel. Inside me grew a constant reminder of the one person I wished I could forget.
Vedant.
Even thinking his name made my jaw clench, and my heart tighten with a venom I'd never known I was capable of. I had given him everything—my trust, my vulnerability, my love. And in return, he had left me with nothing but silence, broken promises, and now... this.
I loved him with the kind of purity people write about—the kind of love that made me believe I was finally safe, finally seen. Every word Vedant spoke had felt like truth. Every touch is like a promise. I had believed in him. In our love.
But now?
Now the memory of his hands on my skin made me want to crawl out of it. I hated how I had loved him. How I had given him the best parts of myself—trust, innocence, hope. And he had taken them without a second thought, left me to carry the consequences alone. My love for Vedant had been pure. But in its ashes, I saw something twisted. Something ugly. And it lived inside me now, feeding off of my shame. I couldn't do it. I wouldn't.
This child—this thing—was not born of love. It was born of confusion, lies, and my moment of weakness. How could I possibly carry something that would look like him? Speak like him? Smile like him? Every kick, every flutter, every heartbeat would be a cruel echo of Vedant. A ghost I'd never escape. I stood in front of the mirror.
"I don't want this," I whispered through gritted teeth, staring blankly at the mirror. My reflection looked foreign—eyes swollen from crying, soul hollowed out from regret. "I can't let him haunt me for the rest of my life. Not like this."
There was no joy in this pregnancy. No soft dreams of tiny feet or lullabies. Only dread. Only rage. Only the bitter taste of a love that had turned to ash. I didn't need anyone to tell me what the right decision was. It wasn't about what people would say. It wasn't about shame. It was about survival—on my own. And I knew, deep down, that keeping this child would be the slowest way to die.
My phone buzzed suddenly, shattering the stillness. I flinched.
A message. My fingers hesitated before picking it up.
"Hey, just checking in. How are you?"
It was anup. A voice from the outside world. Someone who didn't know what I was going through but cared enough to ask. I stared at the message, my chest tightening. I could ignore it. I could disappear Or...
My fingers hovered over the keyboard. And then, almost without thinking, I typed:
"I don't think I'm okay."
I hit send.
The wind howled outside, but for the first time, a tiny flicker of warmth stirred inside me. Maybe—just maybe—I wasn't as alone as I thought. I didn't know how long I sat there, curled up on the cold floor, staring at nothing. Time felt meaningless. The weight in my chest pressed harder, heavier, making it difficult to breathe. The message on my phone screen blurred. I hadn't replied. I hadn't moved. I wasn't sure I even could.
Outside, the wind howled through the empty streets of Manali, rattling the windowpanes. The world carried on, indifferent to my pain. Then—
Ding-dong.
The sound barely registered at first. My dazed mind struggled to process it.
The doorbell?
I blinked. Slowly, I lifted my head. Ding-dong. Louder this time and More urgent.
My pulse stuttered. For a long moment, I just sat there, frozen. No one was supposed to be here. I was alone. Unless...
I forced myself up, my legs unsteady as I walked toward the door. Each step felt heavy as if my body was resisting movement. My fingers trembled as I reached for the doorknob. I hesitated but then, finally, I opened it.
A gust of cold air rushed in, biting at my skin. And standing there, wrapped in layers against the freezing night, was—Someone who had come for me. His face was etched with concern, his breath visible in the cold air. "Harshita... are you okay?"
The question shattered something inside me. My lips parted, but no words came out. And then—without thinking, without hesitation—I stepped forward and collapsed into his arms. For the first time that night, I didn't feel completely alone.
"Anup..." my voice was barely a whisper, a breath of pain escaping my lips.
He caught me instantly, his arms wrapping around me, steady, warm—real. The moment I felt his embrace, the dam inside me broke. I sobbed, gripping his jacket, my entire body trembling. Anup held me without a word, his hands gently rubbing my back, letting me cry. He didn't ask questions, didn't pull away. He just stayed.
Minutes passed, or maybe hours—I didn't know. My body shook with every sob, every breath ragged and broken. I clung to him like he was the only thing tethering me to the earth. Finally, when the storm inside me quieted just enough, I pulled back slightly, my eyes swollen, and my face drenched in tears. "I—" my voice broke. I sniffled, trying to find the words.
Anup cupped my face gently, his thumb brushing away a stray tear. "Harshita, what happened?" His voice was soft, and careful, like he already knew I was standing on fragile ground. I swallowed hard, my throat aching. And then, with a deep, shuddering breath, I whispered, "I'm pregnant."
Anup's body tensed for just a second, but his eyes didn't change. He didn't step back. Didn't let go. I forced myself to look at him, searching for judgment, disgust, for anger. But all I saw was concern.
My voice cracked as I continued, "I— I don't know what to do. I didn't want this. I—I messed up." My breath hitched, and I shook my head. "I'm not a good girl, Anup. I made a mistake. A huge, terrible mistake."
My words hung in the air, fragile and raw. The weight of my confession crushed me, and I waited for him to say something—anything—that would confirm my worst fears. But Anup didn't let go. He didn't look away.
Instead, he exhaled, his grip on me tightening slightly. "Harshita..." His voice was steady, but there was something else in it too—something strong, unwavering. "You are not a bad person."
I shook my head, fresh tears spilling down my cheeks. "You don't understand—"
"I do," he interrupted gently, his fingers still holding my face. "You're scared. You're hurting. And you feel alone." His eyes searched mine, "But you are not a bad person. You are human."
My lips trembled. I wanted to believe him, but the guilt inside me felt too big, too overwhelming. "But—"
"No buts," Anup said firmly. "We'll figure this out. Together."
A fresh sob escaped me. Together. He wasn't running. He wasn't pushing me away.
I buried my face in his chest again, letting out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. And Anup just held me, steady as the mountains around them, as the cold Manali night pressed in.