Epilogue
Armaan
Seven days. It took seven agonizing days before the doctors finally cleared our daughter to leave the NICU and come home with us.
Seven days of watching her through the glass, of sanitizing my hands obsessively before being allowed to touch her tiny fingers, of sitting beside Viya's hospital bed while she recovered from surgery and cried because she wanted to hold her baby.
But today, finally, we were taking her home.
I stood in the NICU, looking down at the impossibly small bundle wrapped in soft pink blankets. She was so tiny. So fragile. Her entire hand could barely wrap around one of my fingers. Her eyes were closed, her little chest rising and falling with each breath.
My daughter.
The nurse smiled at me as she carefully placed the baby in my arms.
"Support her head, Mr. Khanna. Just like that. Perfect."
I had held her before, of course. Had spent hours in the NICU learning how to feed her, change her, comfort her. But this felt different. This was me taking her out of the hospital. Taking responsibility for this tiny life completely.
The weight of it was terrifying and exhilarating all at once.
I walked carefully to where Viya was waiting in a wheelchair. Hospital policy required she be wheeled out even though she was walking fine now. She looked up at me as I approached, and the moment her eyes landed on the baby in my arms, tears began streaming down her face.
"Come here, Ruhi," she whispered, reaching out. "Come to Maa."
We had decided on the name together. Ruhi. It meant soul, spirit. And she was the soul of our family now.
I carefully transferred our daughter into Viya's arms, and I watched my wife's face transform with pure, overwhelming love as she held our baby for the first time outside the NICU.
"She is so beautiful," Viya said, her voice breaking. "So perfect."
"She looks like you," I said, crouching down beside the wheelchair so I could look at both of them together. "Same nose. Same lips."
"She has your eyes."
"Poor thing."
Viya laughed through her tears and looked up at me.
"Are you ready for this? To take her home? To be parents?"
"Absolutely not," I admitted. "I am terrified. But we will figure it out together."
The drive home was the slowest I had ever driven in my life. Every bump in the road felt like a potential disaster. Every car that came too close made my heart race. Viya sat in the back with Ruhi's car seat, one hand resting protectively on our daughter's tiny chest the entire time.
When we finally pulled into the driveway, I saw that the entire house had been decorated. Strings of flowers hung from the entrance. Diyas were lit along the pathway. And everyone was waiting.
Dadi stood at the door with the aarti thali ready, tears already streaming down her face. Papa was beside her, looking more emotional than I had seen him in years. Aryan was there with a huge grin. Mamta ji and the rest of the staff were lined up, all trying to catch a glimpse of the baby.
And Puneet was there too.
Of course Puneet was there.
I felt a familiar surge of irritation. This man just would not leave my wife alone. Was always hanging around, always finding excuses to visit, always inserting himself into our lives.
But I looked at Viya, saw how happy she was to see her friend there, and forced myself to let it go.
For today, at least, I could tolerate his presence.
