The waiting room was full of other stories. A woman in a green saree was knitting a tiny yellow bootie, not out of celebration, but out of trying to manifest joy. A young couple sat apart, not speaking, the husband scrolling endlessly on his phone while the wife stared at a poster about ovulation cycles.
The doctor’s room smelled of antiseptic and old books. Dr. Sen, a woman with sharp eyes and softer hands, was already looking at a printout. She didn’t smile or frown. She just looked up, removing her glasses. iui centre in dum dum
“Then we try again,” he said, his voice steady. “Dr. Sen said our follicles looked good. The motility was excellent. This is just… statistics.” The waiting room was full of other stories
The sound that came out of her was not a cry or a laugh. It was a release—a long, shaky exhale that carried eighteen months of injections, temperature charts, and silent tears in the bathroom. The doctor’s room smelled of antiseptic and old books