The monsoon had retreated, leaving Kharwa lush and green, the fields heavy with ripening paddy that swayed like emerald waves under the returning sun. Inside the haveli the air felt thicker now, warmer, scented with the faint sweetness of ripe mangoes piled in the kitchen and the herbal oils Aarohi rubbed into her skin each evening. Her pregnancy had advanced noticeably—her belly now a proud, rounded swell that pressed against the folds of her saris, her breasts fuller and heavier, nipples darkened and exquisitely sensitive. Walking made her hips sway more naturally, and she often rested one hand protectively beneath the curve, feeling the first faint flutters of movement inside her like tiny butterflies testing their wings.
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