My name is Rajiv, and I am 61 years old. Eight years ago, my first wife passed away after enduring a prolonged illness. Since then, I have been living alone in quiet solitude. My children, now married and settled, visit about once a month, bringing some money and my medications before leaving quickly.
I do not blame them; they have their own lives, which I fully understand. Nevertheless, on rainy nights, as I lie in bed listening to the raindrops hitting the tin roof, I feel overwhelmingly small and lonely.
Last year, while scrolling through Facebook, I stumbled upon Meena, my very first love from high school. I adored her back then. She had long flowing hair, deep dark eyes, and a smile so bright it illuminated the entire classroom. Just as I was preparing for university entrance exams, her family arranged for her to marry a man from southern India, ten years her senior.
Afterwards, we lost all contact. Four decades later, fate reunited us. She had become a widow — her husband had died five years before. She lived with her youngest son, who worked in a distant city and rarely visited.
Initially, we exchanged simple greetings, but soon started calling each other. Meetings for coffee followed, and before I realized it, I found myself riding my scooter to her home several times a week, carrying a small basket of fruits, some sweets, and joint pain supplements.
One day, partly joking, I said to her:
“What if… we two old souls got married? Would it not make dealing with loneliness easier?”
Her eyes welled up with tears, surprising me. I hurried to clarify that I was joking, yet she smiled softly and nodded in agreement.
That was how, at 61, I married my first love once again.
On our wedding day, I wore a dark maroon sherwani. She chose a simple cream silk sari. Her hair was neatly tied back, decorated with a small pearl hairpin. Friends and neighbors gathered to celebrate; everyone remarked, “They look like young lovers anew.”
Honestly, I felt youthful too. That night, after tidying up from the celebration, close to 10 p.m., I made her a warm glass of milk and went to lock the front door and turn off the porch lights.
Our wedding night — something I never imagined experiencing again at my age — had finally arrived.
However, as I gently removed her blouse, I froze.
Her back, shoulders, and arms bore dark discolorations — old scars crisscrossed like a somber map. I stood still, my heart aching deeply.
She quickly covered herself with a blanket, eyes wide with fear. Trembling, I asked:
“Meena… what happened to you?”
She turned away, voice choked with emotion:
“Back then… he had a terrible temper. He shouted… hit me… I never told anyone…”
I sat down heavily beside her, tears welling in my eyes. My heart ached for her. All those years, she had lived quietly — filled with fear and shame — without revealing her pain to anyone. Tenderly, I placed her hand over my heart.
“It’s over now. From this day forward, no one will harm you again. No one has the right to cause you suffering… except me, but only because I love you too much.”
She collapsed into silent, trembling sobs that echoed through the room. I held her tightly. Her fragile back and slightly protruding bones reflected the small woman who endured a lifetime of quiet suffering.
Our wedding night lacked the passion of youth. Instead, we lay side by side, listening to crickets chirping outside and the breeze rustling the trees. I stroked her hair and kissed her forehead. She caressed my cheek and whispered softly:
“Thank you. Thank you for reminding me that someone in this world still cares.”
I smiled, realizing at 61 that true happiness does not come from wealth or youthful desires. It lies in holding a hand, leaning on a shoulder, and having someone stay beside you through the night, simply to feel your heartbeat.
- Loneliness can be eased by rekindled connections.
- Love can blossom anew even after decades apart.
- Compassion and safety are foundations of enduring relationships.
The future is uncertain. No one knows how many days remain. Yet one thing I affirm: for the rest of her days, I will make up for what she lost. I will cherish and protect her so that fear never returns.
For me, this wedding night — after half a century of yearning, missed chances, and patient waiting — is the greatest gift life has ever given.
In summary, this story illustrates that love’s renewals bring profound healing, that companionship transcends age, and that true happiness emerges from mutual care and understanding. Even after many years, it is never too late to find solace and affection in another’s presence.