When Amir's pregnancy reached the second trimester, calamity flooded his senses after touching Khurram’s hand. 

“Maybe it was the treatments? The surgery?” Khurram asked. “Please, tell me what’s wrong,” he pleaded. 

Amir tried to describe the images suffocating his mind, but only venomous words were spoken. “Why are you asking me? Are you too stupid to figure this out?” Amir replied to his husband. “The dishes are still dirty. Don’t be so lazy and you’ll know what's wrong.” 

Amir’s tears could do little to change the weight of what he expressed. It was only when he tried to describe what he saw. Then, and only then, did ire stain his voice. He heard his nagging words, instead of descriptions, claw through his tightening throat. As his voice increased in volume, its hateful acidic taste lingered. 

“I’m not doing this”, he thought. The space shuttle set to launch tomorrow, burst into flames in his mind. A horrified crowd and a mourning nation… it all felt so avoidable. If only he could tell someone. Instead? 

You didn't do the laundry. Again.

And Khurram did the laundry. Amir apologized, explaining that he meant something else entirely, that he would never mean to say anything hurtful. 

“I love you,” Amir softly whispered while they embraced the day after, while the television report of the unexpected and horrific space launch, on mute, glowed with an intensity and clarity dwarfed by what Amir had himself seen and felt. 

The visions grew. Amir saw past unanswered catastrophes. He watched the meteor. Felt the heat and saw that, yes, indeed, it had come from a former moon. He watched the Parasaurolophus meet lunar rock and wanted to imagine it smiled. He felt this time sharing what was seen would be easy, exciting even. 

Why didn’t you take out the trash?! It’s been a whole day. What is wrong with you? 

The pain on Khurram’s face was unbearable and Amir’s guilt was overwhelming. Amir resolved to fix things. Perhaps writing? He saw the sun splitting, going supernova. But, there was a possibility of survival. Faster than light travel could be possible via a new energy source. Nur they’ll call it. Amir saw the generator schematics that would be responsible for constant, renewable, inexhaustible energy. His fingers didn’t move. Type. Write. Nothing. Frozen in front of the computer screen, he laughed and decided that there would be no more attempts to articulate the visions. No matter how compelling. 

Things got better in the third trimester. The baby discussions were delightful and as they browsed through catalogs, Amir had a vision of Khurram dying. Painfully, excruciatingly, and alone. 

Amir touched his belly, closed his eyes, and prayed.