Bahar drinks a glass of water. A soft sensation starts to stir inside her. Still within her regular cycle, yet this time, it feels different. She gets out of bed, careful not to wake Rasam, who is sleeping beside her. She goes to the en-suite bathroom, guided by the thin light filtering through the curtains.
She stands in the small, neat space and looks at the cabinet. Her fingers hover over the handle. Tension tightens her chest. The last pregnancy test waits inside. Should she use it now or wait until morning?
She has taken several pregnancy tests in the past two days, hiding them from Rasam to keep him from worrying. She begins to lower her light cotton shorts but then pauses. She pulls them back up, straightens her back, moves to the washing cabinet, and reaches into the hidden corner of the second shelf, where the test lies.
She sits, her eyes locked on the small plastic device that will soon show either two hopeful lines or a single line of disappointment. She has left nothing to chance in her journey toward motherhood. She has timed her ovulation with precision, taken multivitamins religiously, and spent endless moments lying flat, wishing the little swimmers to succeed. Now, everything rests on this moment, this tiny device, to confirm if she is pregnant.
For another woman in a different bathroom, one line might feel like a blessing. She might have a list of reasons – philosophical doubts, financial struggles, cultural conflicts, political worries, and moral questions – why having a baby isn’t the right choice. For her, that single line would mean freedom and peace of mind.
But for Bahar, a positive result would be the dream she’s held onto for years.
Now, she stands here with hope flickering in her heart, aware of the doctor’s warnings and the relentless ticking of time against her age.
The minutes drag on, each second feeling endless.
A single line slowly appears, timid, reluctant to be seen.
She throws the stick into the open bin and turns on the faucet. The sound of running water fills the bathroom. Soap pools in her palms as she washes her hands, the lather swirling away the last traces of her fragile hope.
She stops halfway through drying her hands, her eyes drifting to the bin. Leaning closer, her eyes widen as she notices a faint second line, barely visible, as if unsure of its own existence.
Her heart pounds in her chest as she hurries to the bed. She bends over, her voice trembling, “Rasam.”
Rasam sits up, the shadows of worry deepening on his face. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
Tears pool in Bahar’s wide brown eyes, her voice breaking as she speaks. “I think… I think I’m pregnant.”
“What? Are you sure?” He sits up and pulls her into his arms. He kisses her softly. “Azizam,” he whispers. “Come here. Lie with me.”
She moves closer, her tall body fitting against his. His breath warms the back of her neck. “I love you,” he says.
***
Bahar walks into her manager’s office. The smell of coffee and ambition is thick in the air.
Mia, polished and confident, greets her with a warm smile. “Good morning, Bahar,” she says.
Bahar sits down, crossing her slim legs under the desk. Her eyes flick over the neat stacks of papers and the twin Mac monitors on the desk.
“Good morning,” Bahar says.
“Oh, you’ve cut your hair! Short hair suits you,” Mia says.
“Really? Thanks,” Bahar replies with a smile. “I needed a change.”
“Nice, how are the two new projects going?” Mia asks, leaning in slightly, her eyes fixed on Bahar with curiosity.
“They’re going well. We’re still in the early stages, lots of meetings and planning, but everything’s on track.”
“That’s great to hear,” Mia says, nodding. “As in previous years, we won’t fill out the career progression form yet, we’ll just go through the questions together. This gives us time to talk about your goals and plans for the year.”
“Sounds good,” Bahar replies, taking the list of questions Mia hands her. “Actually, I’d like to take on a project manager role for the Biomedical Imaging Solutions.” Bahar’s voice is firm with determination. “It feels like the right step to build my leadership skills.”
Mia smiles. “That’s a great idea. I’ll support you however I can. But there’s something exciting I need to share, and it might change your plans.” She pauses, a spark of enthusiasm in her eyes. “The committee has been discussing new strategic goals, and I convinced them you’re the perfect fit for a big opportunity.”
Bahar’s eyes widen. “Really? What is it?” she asks.
“It’s the Principal Lead in Engineering,” Mia says. “It’s a major role where you’ll oversee multiple teams working on our current projects. You’ll also need to travel to meet stakeholders, including a few trips to Europe each year.”
Bahar leans forward, her face lighting up with excitement. “Wow, that’s amazing!” she says.
Mia’s smile widens. “I knew you’d be excited. This is a big step and shows how much we trust your abilities.”
“I… I don’t know what to say,” she says slowly. “It’s an incredible opportunity.”
“It’s a lot to think about, I know,” Mia says, leaning back in her chair.
“Can I get more details about the job?” Bahar asks, adjusting her glasses that press uncomfortably against her nose.
“Of course,” Mia says with a smile, glancing at her watch. “I’ll email you the job description soon. I’ve got another meeting now, so let’s revisit this next week. That’ll give you time to think about the offer and finalize your responses to the career plan. We can review everything together before submission.”
“Perfect,” Bahar replies with a nod. “I’ll think it through and answer the questions this week or next.”
Bahar moves through the busy office, sidestepping desks and colleagues deep in their work. At her hot desk, she sinks into the chair, adjusts her glasses, and exhales deeply.
Around her, the office hums with its usual rhythm, muted conversations and the steady tapping of keyboards. But her mind is elsewhere, circling around one thought: is it really there?
She closes her eyes, imagining the bond she’ll share with her baby, the moments of love and care waiting for them.
She grabs her phone and types a message to Rasam: Guess what? Mia just offered me the Principal Lead position.
Wow! That’s incredible. What’s the job about? Rasam replies within seconds.
She smiles at her phone. Not sure yet. I’ll let you know tonight. I still don’t have the job description. Also, I’m thinking of telling Mom about the little thing.
Her phone buzzes almost immediately. Maybe we should keep it quiet a bit longer?
Yeah, maybe, she replies, pausing for a moment. But I don’t think I can wait anymore.
Whatever makes you happy, azizam, Rasam writes back.
Bahar looks around the office, her gaze flitting from one focused coworker to the next. Certain that no one is paying attention, she opens ChatGPT. Her fingers type quickly: What are the chances of a second miscarriage? The question sits on the screen, small and significant as she waits for a response. Her heart races fast as she reads ChatGPT’s response:
She opens another browser tab, her fingers hesitating for just a moment. What if I’m five weeks pregnant and feel no symptoms, not even any nausea? she types into Gemini AI.
Yeah, maybe it’s a good thing, she thinks. Especially during meetings when the nearest bathroom feels like a ten-minute hike.
Her phone buzzes with a message from Shima: Can’t wait to see you at the party on Saturday!
I won’t miss it! Looking forward to it, Bahar types back.
She spots Frances heading her way out of the corner of her eye. Quickly, she clicks away from Gemini AI, pulling up an Excel sheet and pretending to study it with focus.
Frances stops by her desk and taps her shoulder lightly. “I can’t wait to catch up with you at the bar,” she says.
“Oh the bar, how’s everything?” Bahar asks.
“Well, it’s my daughter again,” Frances says softly. “She’s been so quiet and distant these past few months.” She pushes her hair back, and Bahar notices the smooth green polish on her nails. “No matter what we try, she just seems… unhappy. She even takes her dinner to her room to avoid sitting with us.”
Bahar tilts her head. “That sounds like normal teenage behaviour, doesn’t it?”
Frances shifts her weight, the soft tap of her sandals breaking the silence. “I honestly don’t know anymore,” she says with a tired sigh. “Anyway, I’ll catch you later.”
“Sure thing,” Bahar replies, giving her a small, understanding nod.
She texts Rasam as soon as Frances walks by: It’s our monthly bar meeting before heading home. I was looking for an excuse to skip today. But Frances wants to talk about her life, and I don’t want to let her down.
***
Her colleagues are already ordering drinks—rosé, Heineken, bright passionfruit cocktails, white wine.
Bahar tries to take in the bar’s cozy charm, the warm glow of soft lights, scratched wooden tables, and mismatched chairs that feel inviting.
She stares at the menu, pretending to decide.
“How did your career planning meeting with Mia go?” Frances asks as they step up to order.
The sharp scent of Frances’s perfume, something too strong, hits Bahar hard.
“Can I have orange juice, please?” Bahar asks, her voice shaky. “It went fine. I need to fill out the career plan form by next week.”
Frances glances at her, eyebrows raised. “Not drinking your usual?”
“Not today,” Bahar responds, forcing a smile.
At the mention of her choice, another colleague glances over. Bahar catches the curious look, as she pushes her glasses higher on her nose.
They settle at a small table in the far corner of the bar.
Around them, glasses clink, bursts of laughter erupt, and a steady hum of conversation fills the space. Bahar hears none of it. The noise blurs into a distant buzz as her thoughts close in. What if they know? The thought won’t leave her alone, pressing down on her like a weight. She shifts in her chair, suddenly feeling out of place.
Her colleagues talk animatedly— complaining about slackers, guessing who the new lead electrical engineer might be, and opinions on the latest company restructuring.
Bahar stays quiet, her eyes settle on a pair of purple earrings worn by a colleague. They catch the light with every slight movement, shimmering like tiny secrets.
What do these people hide? she wonders. Behind the confident smiles and easy laughter, what stories weigh on them? What struggles do they hide behind their shimmering exteriors? I hope those stories are good ones, she thinks.
Two hours later, their colleagues say their goodbyes and head out. Bahar and Frances remain at the table. Frances sits quietly for a moment, her face tense, before finally speaking.
“My daughter came out to us as a lesbian,” she says, her voice low. “Then, a few weeks later, she said it was just an experiment and that she’s still straight.” She pauses, a deep sigh escaping. “Now she doesn’t spend time with us anymore. She’s ignoring school, skipping her music classes … I feel like I’m losing her. It’s been a rollercoaster.”
“That sounds really hard,” Bahar says.
Frances runs a hand through her dark hair. “It is. Being a parent is the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”
Bahar nods gently. “I can only imagine.”
“Hopefully, you’ll understand what I mean in the near future,” Frances says.
Bahar catches the knowing look in Frances’s eyes.
“I might,” she replies.
Frances lowers her glass of rosé and dips a chip into the bowl of dip. She pauses, then looks up, her gaze narrowing slightly. “Can I ask you something?”
Bahar shifts in her seat, “sure.”
“Did you ever want to have a child?” Frances asks
Bahar’s smile fades.
For years, every time Bahar tried to focus on her dream of having a baby, life pulled her in another direction. First, it was the race to finish her master’s degree and secure permanent residency. Then, it was learning English well enough to meet visa requirements. Then, they lived like nomads for a while, moving from one house to another every few months, and later, every year, as they searched for stable work.
Just when things seemed to settle, her father-in-law’s dementia struck. They packed up again, returning to Iran for a year to care for him.
When they finally came back to Sydney and Bahar began to feel settled—daring, for the first time, to hope for motherhood—she learned that conceiving would be another uphill battle.
“Well,” she says, pausing to take a sip of her orange juice, “it took us years to finally settle here before we could even think about starting a family.”
***
The streetlights spill a soft glow through the car windows, brushing over Bahar’s laptop bag on the passenger seat. Tomorrow feels heavy: a report due for a project wrapped up two months ago and a team meeting to organize timelines for the Integrated Smart Grid Management System.
She leans back in her seat. Her eyes drift to the city skyline blurring past her window.
The uncertainty creeps in — what will my career, my life, look like in the next few months? she exhales sharply and focuses on the road.
At the next red light, she grabs her phone and opens ChatGPT, turning on the speaker. Her gaze sweeps over the mess in her car. I really need to clean this up over the weekend, she thinks with a sigh.
“What are the best foods to eat during the first trimester?” Bahar asks.
The gentle voice from her phone answers, “Focus on foods rich in folate, iron, calcium, and protein. Examples include leafy greens, lean meats, beans, dairy products, and fortified cereals.”
“And what activities are safe and encouraged during pregnancy?” she asks her phone.
“Low-impact exercises like walking, swimming, and prenatal yoga are generally safe and beneficial,” the response comes quickly. “Avoid activities with a high risk of falling or abdominal trauma.”
Her phone buzzes with a call from her mom.
“Hi, Mom! How are you? How’s the trip going?”
“I’m doing okay, today we’re visiting Eram Gardens, the Hafez Tomb, and the Nasir al-Mulk Mosque. The weather is lovely, but these knees of mine.” Her mon sighs. “I’m spending more time in taxis than walking around.”
She imagines her mom strolling through the streets of Shiraz, taking in the sights she’s always loved. The thought feels warm and yet distant.
“Take it easy, Mom, don’t push yourself too hard.” Bahar says softly. “I miss you. I wish you could visit us soon.”
“I miss you too, darling,” her mom says. “But maybe it’s best if I wait until after the baby’s born. I can come then and help you out.”
Bahar grips the steering wheel a little tighter. She hasn’t told her mom about the bleeding she saw at the bar a few days ago. Wish I hadn’t told you about my pregnancy, she thinks.
“How are you feeling?” her mom asks, her voice lifting with excitement.
“Feeling okay,” Bahar says. Her fingers tap restlessly on the wheel. “I swear, the traffic here never stops. It’s like a 24-hour party no one wants to leave.”
Her mom chuckles. “It’s still better than Tehran, isn’t it? Those streets feel like one of those video games Sami loves so much, it is total chaos.”
Bahar smiles faintly. “I miss my nephew, that little munchkin.”
She pulls into the driveway. There’s Rasam standing by the garage entrance waiting for her. “Ok, Mom, I just got home, take care and send me some photos”, Bahar says before ending the call.
Rasam grins as she steps out. They share a quick kiss.
“Well, I’ve been craving sweets ever since we got the news,” he says, holding up his ice cream cone.
“By ever since you mean just 14 days, yes?” she replies, forcing a smile. “Just let me wash my hands.”
She lowers onto the toilet seat, phone in hand, and opens the Flo app. Six weeks and three days. The words flash on the screen. Bahar sets the phone on the shelf, her fingers reaching for the toilet paper, and, there it is. Red. For the second time this week.
The stain stares at her, and for a moment, everything else fades. The walls, the shelves, even the faint sound of Rasam moving in the kitchen—all of it dissolves. It’s just her, and that tiny spot.
“What are you doing?” Rasam calls from outside the bathroom door. “I thought you were just washing your hands.”
“Coming,” she says. “Just a minute.”
When she steps out, Rasam is in the kitchen, waiting for her with a bowl of pistachio ice cream. His smile is wide and easy, like always.
They settle onto the sofa in front of the TV.
“How was your day?” Rasam asks.
“Busy but productive,” Bahar replies as she leans into the cushions.
“Okay,” he says, glancing at her.
She takes a deep breath. “I’ve noticed some blood,” she says softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
Rasam sets his ice cream down on the yellow plate on the coffee table. “When did you see it? Just now?” he asks, concern lacing his voice. “Maybe it’s implantation bleeding?”
“It could be. I’m not sure,” she replies, taking another bite of ice cream.
“When’s the ultrasound? Thursday or Friday?” he asks, watching her closely.
“Friday,” she says softly, avoiding his gaze.
Rasam stands from the yellow sofa and sits beside her on the gray three-seater. He wraps his arms around her, holding her close. “It’s probably just spotting,” he says gently. “Let’s try not to stress about it until then.”
She nods slightly, stirring her spoon in the nearly empty bowl, then places it down with a soft clink.
At 8 p.m., she heads to bed, hours earlier than her usual routine of staying up until 11.
Most nights, she’s full of chatter in bed, recounting the little moments of her day to Rasam. Whether it’s a podcast she found fascinating, an interesting news article, or a funny text from her family, she loves to share it all.
Tonight, she doesn’t say a word.
Lying on her side, she picks up her phone. Her fingers hover over the screen, hesitating for just a moment before she types: What types of bleeding can occur during the sixth to seventh week of pregnancy?
She reads through the list of possibilities, her chest tightening with every word:
Then she types: Can you show images of different types of bleeding?
“It feels like the entire internet knows about your pregnancy,” Rasam had joked a few days ago, laughing as he sat across from her. “ChatGPT and Gemini AI must be completely overwhelmed by your endless questions.”
“They’re handling it well,” Bahar had replied with a laugh. “What they don’t know is that this is just the beginning. I’ve got thousands more questions coming their way.”
At 2 a.m., she slips out of bed quietly and makes her way to the bathroom. She grabs a wipe. The sight of blood on it stops her breath for a moment. She puts on a pad, her movements slow, before quietly returning to bed.
Rasam stirs as she slides back under the covers. His arm wraps around her and pull her close. “Are you okay, azizam?” he murmurs.
“I’m fine,” she says softly. “Just went to the bathroom.”
He holds her for a moment longer before drifting back to sleep.
She lies awake, her mind racing, staring into the dark.
***
It’s Friday, and Bahar has decided to take the day off. Rasam insists on joining her for the ultrasound, but Bahar reassures him there’s no need. “You should attend your important meeting,” she says firmly. “I’ll keep you updated.”
Her words sound calm, but deep down, she’s almost certain the scan will confirm her worst fear, a miscarriage.
By 9:40 a.m., Bahar is seated in the waiting area, her hands resting nervously in her lap. The chairs are a mix of bright colours, scattered across the room. A TV on the wall plays the morning news. The sound is low and distant.
She glances across the room at a heavily pregnant woman whose belly looks impossibly large, as if it’s taken on a life of its own, protruding so far it seems detached from the rest of her body. Noticing Bahar, she offers a kind smile.
Bahar takes out her glasses and rubs the bridge of her nose. Her phone buzzes with a message from Rasam: Have you arrived?
She types back quickly: Yes, waiting for my turn.
A moment later, the sonographer’s voice cuts through the low hum of the waiting room. “Bahar.”
Her heart skips. She reaches for her glasses, fumbling slightly as the frame almost slips from her fingers.
Steadying herself, she pushes them onto her face and stands. Her legs feel heavier with each step toward the examination room.
“How far along are you?” the sonographer asks, his voice calm.
“Seven weeks,” Bahar answers, her voice shaky.
“And what brings you in today?” he asks, glancing at his monitor.
“My doctor wanted to check the baby’s development and heartbeat,” she explains, hesitating for a moment. “But… that was before I started bleeding.”
The sonographer looks at her. “When did the bleeding start?”
“Last week,” she says, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her shirt. “There were clots too.”
He nods slightly. “Alright, let’s take a look and see what’s going on,” he says, applying cool gel to her abdomen. The sensation sends a shiver down her spine. She holds her breath, eyes fixed on the monitor.
“Is it a miscarriage?” Bahar asks, her voice trembling.
The sonographer keeps his eyes on the screen. The pause feels endless.
Finally, he speaks. “I can see a small structure here, which is good. It shows something is developing. But I can’t detect a heartbeat yet.” He looks at her briefly, “this could just be a timing issue. Sometimes the dates of your last period don’t match up with what we see on the scan. I’d suggest repeating the ultrasound in about two weeks to get a clearer picture.”
“Two weeks’ time,” Bahar whispers to herself.
Once she leaves the clinic, she calls Rasam. The call barely rings before he picks up.
“I’m still pregnant,” she blurts out, her voice breaking. Tears start to fall as she continues, “The baby is still developing, but… but they couldn’t find a heartbeat yet. The sonographer said it might not mean anything bad. It could just be that the baby is too small, or the dates don’t match up exactly.”
Bahar can hear Rasam exhale on the other end. “So… that’s good, right?” he asks. “The baby’s still there?”
“I don’t know for sure, but I’m still pregnant,” Bahar says, wiping her tears with the back of her hand.
Rasam chuckles on the other end of the line. “I’m so glad to hear that.”
“I know,” she says, tilting her head back to look at the clear sky. The soft breeze cools her cheeks.
“I don’t feel like going straight home. I think I’ll stop by Morning Café for a bit.”
Rasam’s voice softens. “Good idea. You’ve had a long morning. Take some time for yourself.”
“Yeah, I think I will,” she says, a small smile forming.
Ten minutes later, Bahar steps into the familiar café. One side of the café is lined with bookshelves overflowing with novels and green plants that spill from their pots. On the other side, there are tables set up for meetings, where the sound of a piano is playing softly in the background.
The scent of coffee and fresh pastries greet her.
She orders a milkshake and then settles into her favourite spot on the green couch, grabbing a book from the shelf beside it.
Her gaze shifts to a nearby table where a little girl with curly blond hair chats animatedly with her mother. She watches as the mother laughs and places a pair of oversized sunglasses on the girl’s face. The little one giggles, spinning in place before they get up to leave, hand in hand.
Looking at the girl’s pink floral dress, she wonders if the tiny lentil inside her will one day grow to be as lively as this little girl.
She puts the book back on the shelf, takes out her laptop, and logs into her career planning portal.
***
The next morning, Bahar sits at her laptop, scrolling through her GP’s online booking system to schedule a blood test, following the sonographer’s advice to check her HCG levels. It’s Saturday—there’s probably no chance of finding an appointment, she thinks, her fingers clicking through the page.
To her surprise, a slot is open at 1 pm. She quickly books it.
A wave of nausea washes over her. She reaches for the glass of water on her desk. She takes a slow sip, trying to settle her stomach before heading to the kitchen.
“I’ve been feeling nauseous since I woke up,” Bahar says to Rasam as she opens the fridge and takes out bread, cheese, and cucumber.
“Let me make you a sandwich,” Rasam says gently. “You haven’t eaten anything since yesterday afternoon.”
She leans against the counter and takes a small bite. Her stomach turns. She pushes the plate away and closes her eyes for a moment. “It’s worse now,” she says.
“Maybe some rest will help,” Rasam says, wrapping his arms around her.
“Yes, maybe,” Bahar says, glancing at Rasam, “but make sure to wake me up at noon if I fall asleep. I need time to get ready for the GP.”
***
Bahar stands in front of her closet, staring at the rows of dresses under the soft light of the bedroom lamp. “Hmm, decisions, decisions,” she says quietly to herself, running her hand across the fabrics. After a small sigh, she pulls out an emerald, green dress and holds it up against herself.
The silky cloth settles against her skin. “Rasam, can you zip me up?” she calls out.
“On it,” he says, stepping over. He fumbles a bit with the zipper before pulling it up smoothly. “There we go, teamwork!” he says with a little grin.
“Thanks, hero,” she says as she adjusts the neckline of her dress, admiring how it drapes just right.
The drive to Shima’s house feels like a mini road trip. The hour-long journey is filled with light conversation and Rasam’s Iranian pop playlist.
By the time they arrive at 8 p.m., the party is in full swing. The sound of laughter and music is spilling out onto the front porch. Shima greets Bahar with a wide grin and a shot glass in hand. “Welcome to the party!” she exclaims, and a playful smile lights up her face.
“Let us get in first,” Bahar laughs, trying to buy some time.
“Come on, you’re three hours late!” a friend chimes in. “This is our third shot—you’ve got some catching up to do!”
Bahar hesitates as her mind is racing for a way out. Then it hits her.
“Excuse me for a moment,” she says quickly, holding up her phone. “I need to take this call. I’ll be right back!” She flashes an apologetic smile and slips away.
She steps onto the balcony and presses her phone to her ear, pretending to be deep in conversation.
After a few moments, she makes her way to the bathroom.
Inside, the noise of the party fades slightly, replaced by the whir of the exhaust fan. She checks her underwear and freezes at the sight of a dark red stain. Her chest tightens as she tries to steady her breath.
The distant music feels intrusive. The beat pounds through the walls. She closes her eyes, silently wishing they’d lower the volume, if only for a moment.
She pulls herself together, steps out of the bathroom and back into the party. Friends are dancing, cheering, and clinking glasses. The air is electric with energy she struggles to connect with.
Rasam catches her eye across the room. He grins and makes his way over, weaving through the crowd with a wine glass in hand.
“You okay, azizam?” he asks, his voice barely audible over the noise.
Bahar nods at Rasam, planting a quick kiss on his lips. “All good,” she says, then leans in to whisper, “You look so handsome in this blue shirt,” before spinning away.
Shima’s voice cuts through the chatter as she calls everyone to dinner. Bahar joins the line, scooping some Shirazi salad and a few spoonfuls of rice onto her plate. She moves to a sofa across from the kitchen, setting her plate on the side table. Her eyes wander to the red Persian carpet with its delicate floral patterns stretching across the living room floor.
Bahar takes out her phone and types a quick message to Frances: Thinking of you. I’m sure you’ll find a way to support your daughter.
Before she can dwell too long, Shima appears beside her with a teasing smile lighting up her face. “Bahar, what’s with just rice? You need some of my famous Fesenjan in your life!” she says, brandishing a spoon with theoretical flair.
Bahar looks up at Shima and lets out a faint laugh. “I will,” she says, getting up to ladle some Fesenjan onto her plate.
“This is the best food ever,” Rasam says loudly, raising his spoon. “Thanks, Shima!”
Bahar nods in agreement. “She really is the best cook.”
She walks back to her chair but notices someone else has taken it. So, she makes her way over to Rasam instead.
“You look a bit stressed, azizam,” Rasam says while taking a big spoonful of ghormeh sabzi with rice. “Are you sure everything’s okay?”
They both walk toward the balcony where the drinks are set. Bahar glances around, making sure no one is listening. She forces a quick smile at a friend who catches her eye from the living room, then looks away.
She leans closer to Rasam. “Just worried about work,” she whispers, “I’ve taken the last two Fridays off, and my manager doesn’t seem happy about it. Now I need another Friday for the next ultrasound.”
Rasam picks up a soda from the table, his voice low. “We can schedule future ultrasounds in the evenings.”
“I know,” she murmurs, her hand fiddling with her spoon. “But mornings feel better. I’m less stressed then.” She pauses, her voice faltering before she continues. “And honestly, I don’t know what’s happening with the lentil. Especially with the bleeding… what if…” Her voice catches. “What if it doesn’t survive, again?”
Rasam’s face pales. “You’ve been bleeding, again? I thought it had stopped the last few days,” he whispers, glancing around to ensure nobody is overhearing them.
“Yes,” Bahar replies softly, lowering her gaze. “I noticed it a few minutes ago.” She pauses, her voice trembling slightly. “My manager keeps asking for an answer about the principal lead position, and… it’s so hard to think about my future at work when everything feels so uncertain with this. The baby is all I want right now.”
Rasam reaches out and gently squeezes her hands. “We’ll be fine, azizam,” he says. He opens his soda with a soft hiss and takes a long gulp.
***
Bahar adjusts her glasses, pushing them back up her nose as she and Rasam step out of the car and walk toward the radiologist’s clinic.
“Can you believe it’s already been two weeks since the last ultrasound?” Rasam asks, glancing at her with a small smile.
“Yeah,” she replies, her voice quiet.
Inside, the walls are covered with photos of babies — tiny faces with bright eyes and big smiles, their innocence radiating from every frame.
She sits down in the waiting room. The near silence is only broken by the low murmur of the two receptionists chatting at the front desk.
Bahar shifts uncomfortably in her chair. Her fingers tap against her thigh. “We’re the first ones here for the ultrasound, but we’re still waiting,” she mutters.
Five minutes later, a young sonographer steps into the waiting room and calls Bahar’s name.
Bahar and Rasam follow her down a narrow corridor. She gestures toward a small room, and they step inside.
Bahar hands her glasses to Rasam before lying back on the examination table. The cold, hard surface sends a slight shiver down her spine. Rasam pulls a chair close and takes her hand.
“Sorry, this might be a bit cold,” the sonographer says, as she squeezes gel onto Bahar’s belly.
Bahar flinches slightly at the chill. “It’s alright,” she says.
The sonographer picks up the transducer and places it gently on Bahar’s belly, moving it slowly across her skin.
The monitor flickers on and reveals hazy shapes and shifting shadows on the screen. Bahar stares at it, trying to make sense of the blurry images.
“How many weeks are you supposed to be?” the sonographer asks, her hands adjusting the machine.
“About nine weeks,” Bahar replies, her grip tightening on Rasam’s hand.
The sonographer leans in, her brow creasing as she studies the screen carefully. “I’m sorry, it looks like there hasn’t been any progression. The development doesn’t align with a nine-week pregnancy, and I can’t detect a heartbeat.”
“What does it mean?” Bahar asks, her voice shaky.
“I’m so sorry,” the sonographer says gently. “You’re experiencing a miscarriage.”
Bahar stares at the screen. The sonographer’s voice fades as she explains what to expect in the coming days and the steps to take next.
Once they’re back in the car, Rasam hands her the glasses. Bahar takes them, turning them over in her hands.
Her gaze lingers on their overly bright frames. “I don’t know what I was thinking when I bought these,” she murmurs, as she wipes her tears with the back of her hand before putting the glasses on.
“Yeah.”
“I never liked these,” she says.
Rasam’s left hand reaches out and his fingers brush gently against her cold skin.
When they pull into their driveway, they stay in the car for a few moments in silence before stepping out.
In the front yard, under the dim light of the porch, they embrace tightly. Bahar buries her face in the crook of Rasam’s shoulder and the fabric of his jacket soak up her silent tears.
His arms hold her close.
“I’m really tired,” she says softly once they’re inside. “I think I’ll try to get some sleep.”
She drags herself to the bedroom, slipping under the orange flower quilt.
“Don’t you want to eat something first?” Rasam asks gently.
“Maybe after some rest,” Bahar murmurs.
Rasam stands in the doorway for a moment, watching her chest rise and fall in a steady rhythm. Waves of heat, hunger, and sweat wash over him, making the room feel smaller, as if the walls are closing in. He quietly steps back.
Alone, Bahar lies still, one hand resting lightly on her belly. “I’m so sorry,” she whispers into the stillness, her voice trembling. “I’m sorry that I’ve been failing you.” Her tears flow freely, tracing wet paths across her cheeks.
***
When Bahar wakes, the pillow beneath her head is damp from her tears.
She drags herself to her home office. The room feels dim and stifling. The only light is coming from the soft glow of her laptop screen. She sinks into the chair. Her fingers brush over the keyboard as she opens the document she’d been avoiding the last few days.
She navigates to the section about her aspirations for the year’s projects. Her hands hover for a moment: Performing my current role as a senior engineer to the best of my abilities.
She leans back, her thoughts swirling as she reaches the question about her 3-to-5-year career trajectory. Her fingers poise before she types: I plan to take on leadership roles aligned with the company’s strategic initiatives.
She saves the document and pushes the laptop aside.
On the balcony, Rasam is hunched over his phone. The afternoon sun is casting a warm light over him.
Bahar takes a deep breath before stepping to the balcony.
Rasam looks up as she approaches. He walks toward her and wraps his arms around her.
“We’ll be fine, azizam,” he whispers. “We can try again whenever you’re ready.”
She leans into him and murmurs, “Yes, we will,” lifting her gaze to meet his. “I’m going for a walk, would you like to join me?”
Rasam steps back to look at her. “I’ve taken the rest of the day off. Let me get ready.”
“Take your time,” Bahar kisses the nape of his neck before turning away.
Her phone buzzes. She checks the message: Guess what? I’ve been having a beautiful day with my girl, had lunch and watched a movie together. Will enjoy it while it lasts, Frances’s message reads.
Bahar adjusts her glasses with a quiet smile. “Rasam, after coffee, how about we stop by the optometrist? I think it’s time for a new pair of glasses.”
Hasti Abbasi holds a PhD in Literary Studies from Griffith University, with a focus on migration, identity, and writing. She is currently a Senior Lecturer in Learning Futures at Deakin University. Hasti has published short stories in a range of journals, reflecting her passion for exploring the intersections of migration, narrative, and identity.
