That evening she sat beside the window in Room 214.
Snow drifted slowly outside.
Her examination was over.
Her friends were safe.
Baby Pumpkin was moving normally again.
She rested both hands over her stomach.
People often called the pregnancy the miracle.
The doctors called it extraordinary.
The university called it unprecedented.
The newspapers would probably call it impossible.
But sitting there in the quiet room...
Alankrita wondered if perhaps they were all wrong.
Perhaps the miracle was not biology.
Perhaps miracles were smaller than that.
A librarian who forced students to eat.
Canteen workers who cooked food from home.
Professors who watched quietly from a distance.
Friends who stayed.
An old bookseller knitting sweaters.
Former gossipers carrying her to safety.
Perhaps miracles looked like people.
And perhaps...
that was enough miracle for one lifetime.