Asifa lay alone on the hotel bed, her body engulfed by a profound, all-consuming weakness. A deep exhaustion, different from any she had felt before, clung to her bones. Waves of nausea washed over her, and a dull ache permeated her entire frame. 😰
Where has Hasan gone? He left in such a hurry this evening, completely forgetting about me. She clung to the fragile hope of his swift return.
Another wave of nausea hit, stronger this time. She stumbled to the bathroom, collapsing by the toilet as her body convulsed. After the violent episode subsided, she gripped the wall, pulling herself up with difficulty. A nagging suspicion, dark and cold, began to take root in her mind. She placed a trembling hand low on her abdomen. 🤢
Is this why I'm feeling so terrible?
A plan formed through the haze of her discomfort. She would collect a sample, get it tested. She needed to know. Later, after managing the task, the cold, clinical truth arrived, confirming her deepest fear. 😵
I was right. Oh god, I'm pregnant. Hasan's child.
She returned to the bed and sat heavily, the weight of the revelation pressing down on her. The man who used her body without care, who saw her as a temporary distraction, had now left a permanent mark within her. Staring into the empty room, Asifa was left to grapple with a terrifying future, her mind racing with a single, overwhelming question: What do I do now? 😪