Ananya

They told her she would be compensated, not remembered.

That after nine months, she could walk away — money in hand, dreams within reach, no questions asked.

But no one warned her what it would feel like… to carry a heartbeat that wasn’t hers.

To be alone in a hospital room, clutching the first proof of life inside her — while the people who paid for it didn’t even call.

She stared at the sonogram, fingers trembling as the doctor’s words echoed in her ears:

“Congratulations, the implantation was successful.”

It should’ve felt like victory. But it tasted like silence.

Like she was a mistake they already wanted to erase.

So she smiled. Lied again to her family. Went home.

And held the growing secret inside her like a promise — or a punishment.

Rishaan

He hadn’t even asked for this.

The baby. The surrogate. The drama.

It was his brother and sister-in-law’s idea — the last desperate chance after every fertility specialist had given up. He was just the one footing the bill. Signing the papers. Ensuring everything was “handled.”

And it was.

Procedure done. Legal work pending. The surrogate — selected, approved, anonymous.

Exactly how he liked things. Distant. Efficient.

He didn’t care who the girl was.

Didn’t want to know her story.

Didn’t believe in emotional liabilities — not anymore.

But something about this felt… unsettled.

He told himself it was stress.

That the guilt gnawing at him was unnecessary.

He didn’t know her name.

Didn’t know that one day, her name would be the only one his heart would remember.

Because she wasn’t the chosen one.

She was the one destiny refused to forget.

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