‘Rat-a-tat-tat,’ she said. Eram had been frowning at his phone since they had returned to his place after the visit to the gynae clinic.

‘Hmm?’

‘What you doing?’

‘I’m trying to figure out what high BP in the third trimester means.’

‘It probably means I’m dying if you’re asking Dr Google. Those guys think a runny nose is a symptom of cancer. So, am I dying? Is it The Big C? Just tell me the truth, I can take it.’

‘I wish you wouldn’t joke about shit like that. It’s probably nothing, but have you ever heard of pre-eclampsia?’

‘Who hasn’t? It’s that bangin’ new club over at Phoenix Mills.’

‘No, it’s not any bangin’ new club at Phoenix Mills. It says on WebMD that “pre-eclampsia, formerly known as toxaemia, is a condition that pregnant women develop marked by high blood pressure and a high level of protein in their urine” . . . fuck, do you think that’s why the doctor asked for a sample? . . . “it is most often seen in first-time pregnancies and teen pregnancies” . . .’

Gehna stopped listening. It struck her in that moment how, after only seven months of having known each other, he had become more like her. More caring, more doubtful, more of a believer in the fragility of things. She wondered if that meant that she was now, in exchange, more hopeful, more carefree, and maybe even tougher. She couldn’t tell.

Maybe it’s opposite day and tomorrow everything will return to normal.

Eram was still reading out loud. Gehna watched his mouth move, and how the sunlight filtering into the room turned the fine hair along his forearms to gold. The muscle in his inner thigh was taut from the way he was leaning against the desk. She loved running her eyes over his body like this, unobserved, freely, and had a sense of why cameramen—directors, photographers—got such a buzz from their work. Voyeurs too.

‘Are you staring at me?’ said Eram, looking up from his phone. ‘I can feel you staring.’

‘Who, me? Nopes, not staring.’ Gehna went over to where he was standing and took his hand. She laced her fingers through his. Feeling a sudden itch on her nose, she rubbed it against his shoulder.

‘You know,’ he said, ‘I don’t think you heard a single word I said. You’ve got this whole zen thing going on, which is all highly cool, but this is serious stuff. I mean, I’ve never had a baby so I’m no expert, but when a doctor—’

‘Shh,’ Gehna said, putting her fingers over his lips. ‘You’re adorable when you worry. But can I just say that what I need from you right now, in this very moment, is . . .’ she leaned in close enough to whisper into his ear, ‘ . . . less talk, more cock.’

She had never said that before, not on text and certainly not aloud. Maybe it really was opposite day but, if so, nobody was complaining.