The suffocating sting of smoke and the cacophony of panic-ridden screams jerked Jayanti awake from her tablet-induced slumber. The ferocious thudding of her heart had replaced her morning migraine as she realised her home was on fire. 

She moved in the nick of time as a cement beam from the roof almost collapsed on her. She jumped out of an open window, realizing too late that she was on the top floor. But miraculously, she landed softly on her feet, not a scratch on her body. She was overjoyed as she caressed her swelled tummy, though a wee bit worryingly. 

She found people gathered around the house, trying in vain to stop the fire. Ignoring them she rushed to the hospital hoping the jump didn’t harm her baby. As she reached the main road, she saw her father.

“Appa, is that you?”

“Yes, my child! It’s been 25 years.”

She suddenly noticed her father holding a baby in his hands. Her face turned ashen as the truth dawned on her. 

“Yes, he’s your son. He died with you in the fire.”

“But I escaped, Appa,” she whimpered weakly.

“Your spirit escaped. Your body with your dead son in your womb is lying charred under the remains of the burnt house. You now belong in my world, my dear daughter.”

Father, daughter, and grandson disappeared into the horizon. 

Photo by Pixabay: https://www.pexels.com/photo/silhouette-photo-of-a-mother-carrying-her-baby-at-beach-during-golden-hour-51953/