"Her reports are normal. There should be no problem in conceiving. I would suggest you try naturally for some time. If needed, we can always look at other options."

The doctor's voice was pleasant. Measured. The kind of voice that delivered difficult things in rooms with good furniture and assumed you would receive them the same way.

I received them differently.

No conversation. No warmth.

He got physical only for child. Not even for his pleasure. Not mine.

No condom. Not once. Not from the beginning.

He never wanted me.

"Aapko sirf baccha chahiye hamse?"
(You only want a child from me?)

He looked at me for a long moment.

Then he hummed.

"We don't even talk.  Mai kya hu apke liye?"
(……What am I to you?)

"Aur kya banana hai tunhe?" he said.
(And what else do you want to become.)

A pause. Then — "Jhansi ki Rani."

"I am nothing to you. Nothing but a — a sex toy. And a child-producing machine."

Something shifted in his face. Barely.

"Kitne bacche paida kiye hain tumane?" he said. "Jara batana."
(How many children have you produced? Do tell me.)

"What is my fault in it?"

"You made me undergo every test. What about you?"

The silence that followed was the kind that had edges.

"Should I marry another woman," he said, very evenly, "and prove to you that I am not impotent — by impregnating her?"

I kept looking at him.

......................

Excited?

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Ahh…I mean, click the next.

Hope you will like this story. Not a typical romantic story of 90's as I can't relate to those things, but... I can't tell you much. Read yourself.

Thank You 💜

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