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The next day, I was still in that same chair when I saw Puneet walking down the corridor. He spotted me and his expression hardened, but he did not say anything. Just walked past me to Viya's room.
The nurse let him in without question.
I sat outside and listened to the low murmur of voices from inside the room. Heard Viya's soft voice, still weak but talking more than she had with the doctor. Heard Puneet's responses, gentle and supportive.
He was in there for half an hour while I sat outside like a stranger. Like someone who had no right to be there.
When he finally emerged, he looked at me with something between pity and contempt.
"You should leave," he said bluntly. "She does not want to see you. She does not want anything to do with you or your family. I will take care of her."
The audacity of this man. The sheer guts to stand there and tell me to leave my own wife.
I stood up, my hands clenched into fists at my sides.
"I am not going anywhere. I will be here until my wife is well enough to go home. I do not care if she does not want to see me. I am not leaving her."
Puneet studied me for a long moment, then shrugged.
"Suit yourself. But you are wasting your time. She is done with you."
He walked away, and I sat back down in that chair.
And I stayed.
Days turned into a week. A week turned into two. Two weeks became a month.
Thirty days of sitting outside that hospital room. Thirty days of watching doctors and nurses and Puneet go in and out while I remained in the hallway.
Dadi came every day, bringing food and clean clothes. She would sit with me for a few hours, sometimes crying, sometimes praying, always asking if Viya had agreed to see me yet.
The answer was always no.
Papa and Aryan came when they could, offering quiet support and words of encouragement that felt hollow in the face of Viya's absolute rejection.
Uncle Vinay came once and tried to go in to see her. The nurse told him the same thing she told everyone. Viya only wanted to see Puneet.
I watched my wife slowly recover without being able to help. Without being able to comfort her. Without being able to tell her how sorry I was, how much I loved her, how much I needed her.
The baby was growing. The doctors said everything was progressing normally. But I was missing all of it. Missing the chance to be there for her during the pregnancy. Missing the chance to be the husband and father I wanted to be.
Tomorrow was her discharge day. I had already made all the arrangements. Her room at home was ready. The car was waiting. I had hired additional help, bought every possible thing she might need during her recovery.
But I knew she would not come home with me. Puneet had made that clear during his daily visits.
Still, I had to try. I had to see her, had to talk to her, had to make one last attempt before she walked out of this hospital and possibly out of my life forever.
Today, I gathered every ounce of courage I had and walked to her door. The nurse tried to stop me, but I held up a hand.
"I am her husband. I have the right to see her. I will only be a moment."
Before the nurse could argue, I opened the door and stepped inside.
Viya was standing near the small closet, folding clothes and placing them carefully in a bag. She was moving slowly, still favoring her left side where her ribs were healing. She wasthinner than I remembered, her face pale, dark circles under her eyes.
But she was still the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.