I am Ishrat.
After returning from Mumbai, I started feeling different — unusually tired, nauseous in the mornings, and my periods never came. Deep down I already knew, but when I finally took the pregnancy test in the bathroom one quiet afternoon, the two pink lines confirmed it. Sadab had made me pregnant.
I couldn't hide it for long. My body was changing, and my mother noticed. One evening, when she asked me why I looked so pale and was vomiting, I broke down and told her everything — the trips, the study sessions, the unprotected sex, everything.
She became furious. She slapped me hard across the face, then beat me with her hands while crying and shouting, "How could you do this, Ishrat? We trusted you!" I was sobbing on the floor when her anger finally cooled. She sat down, exhausted, and asked quietly, "From when was all this going on?"
I told her the complete truth — starting from Class 10, the proposal on his birthday, Shimla, Manali, Mumbai, and how we had been doing it almost daily without protection for a long time. She listened without interrupting, then let out a long, heavy sigh.
Without saying another word, she picked up the phone and called Sadab's mother.
The next few days were chaotic. Both families met. There was shouting, crying, and blame from both sides. But because I was pregnant and we were both eighteen now, everyone agreed there was only one respectable way forward: we had to get married quickly and quietly.
I wanted to marry Sadab one day, but not like this — not so soon, not because of a forced situation, not while I was still in shock about becoming a mother. But what could I do? I had no choice.
The wedding was arranged within three weeks in a simple ceremony at a local hall. Only close family members attended. I wore a red lehenga that felt too heavy, and Sadab looked handsome but tense in his sherwani. We took the pheras, exchanged garlands, and became husband and wife.
That night was supposed to be our first night as a married couple.
After the guests left, we were alone in the small room prepared for us at Sadab's house. He was still angry. Not because we had married each other, but because his father had beaten him badly with a belt after the truth came out. Sadab's back still had red marks.
"He beat me like a dog because of you," he said bitterly, his voice low and sharp.
Hearing that, I couldn't help but let out a small, nervous laugh — maybe from tension, maybe because the whole situation felt absurd.
My laugh made him even angrier. His eyes darkened. "You're laughing? Fine. Then I'll punish you tonight," he said and started pulling me towards the bed.
"Sadu… wait," I said quickly, stepping back. "I am pregnant with your child. The doctor said the first three months are delicate. Please… for the baby's safety, don't touch me like that right now."
The moment I said those words, his expression changed completely. The anger vanished. He looked shocked, then a big smile spread across his face. He gently pulled me into a hug and kissed my forehead.
"My child…" he whispered happily. "Ish, I'm going to be a father."
From that moment, he became loving and careful. He didn't try to touch me intimately at all that night. He made me lie down comfortably, brought me water, and kept his hand softly on my belly, talking about names and how he would take care of both of us.
But I felt weird and a little empty inside. Today was our first night as husband and wife, and because of the pregnancy, I couldn't give myself to him the way a new bride should. It felt wrong, like something important was missing on such a special day.
Then I made a decision.