Swara’s due date was dangerously close now, close enough that every passing hour felt heavy and uncertain. Her body was exhausted. Her back ached constantly, her legs swelled by evening, her breath came in shallow waves, and sleep had become a distant memory. The baby moved relentlessly inside her, sometimes gently, sometimes with sharp, sudden kicks that made her gasp and grip the bedsheet. There were nights when she sat upright for hours, unable to lie down because the pain refused to settle, and days when even sitting felt like a battle. Through all of it, Ranvijay stayed awake. He barely slept anymore. Dark circles had formed under his eyes, his temper had grown unpredictable, and his patience was hanging by a fragile thread. But he did not care. His comfort meant nothing to him now. His only concern was Swara. Watching her struggle like this was tearing him apart, and the helplessness was slowly turning into anger and anxiety.